Nakor said, “There’s been an accident.” He began running toward the castle.
Suddenly Harry understood. Only three people were up at the castle: two masons and the Duke. Harry said, “I’ll get Marcus and Nicholas.” He rushed off to the inn.
Before he ran to the castle, Amos called after Harry, “And find Anthony! We’re going to need a healer!”
—
BY THE TIME they all reached the castle, one of the monks from Silban’s Abbey was tending Martin. He lay unconscious on a clear patch of ground, his face drawn and pale as the monk inspected his injuries.
Marcus shouted, “What’s happened?” as he rushed up to his father’s side.
The senior mason said, “A section of the parapet gave way and His Grace fell. I told him it was dangerous up there.” His manner showed he was more interested in avoiding blame than in anything else.
Marcus looked at the monk. “Is it bad?”
The monk nodded, and Anthony and Nakor knelt beside Martin. They whispered, and after a moment Anthony said, “We need to carry him down to the inn.”
Nicholas asked, “Should we make some kind of stretcher?”
Anthony said, “We don’t have time!”
Harry, Nicholas, and Marcus lifted Martin, and slowly they moved down the hillside, picking their way along the most forgiving path.
At the inn, they moved Martin into one of the smaller rooms on the second floor. Anthony motioned for the others to step outside, and he and Nakor closed the door.
The others hovered by the door of Martin’s room for a few moments; then Amos said, “No use waiting here. We have a hundred things to do before tomorrow.”
Marcus said, “Tomorrow? You can’t be serious.”
Amos paused and looked back at Martin’s son. “Of course I’m serious. We leave on the morning tide tomorrow.”
Marcus took an angry step forward. “Father will be in no condition to travel by tomorrow.”
Amos said, “Your father will be in no condition to travel until spring, Marcus. We can’t wait for him.”
Marcus began to protest and Nicholas said, “Wait a minute.” He asked Amos, “How do you know?”
Amos said, “In my years, Nicky, I’ve seen men fall from the yards and hit hard decks.” Looking at Nicholas’s cousin, he said, “Marcus, Martin is closer to seventy years of age than sixty, though you’d never know it to look at him. Younger men than he have died as a result of such injuries. No one’s going to lie to you and say your father isn’t in danger. But so are your sister and the other captives. Our waiting here won’t make your father any safer, but it will certainly place your sister in more peril each day we wait. We leave tomorrow.”
Amos turned and left the three young men standing in the hallway in silence. At last Nicholas said, “I’m sorry, Marcus.”
Marcus glanced at Nicholas; then without saying anything else he hurried down the stairs.
—
CALIS ENTERED THE inn, ducking out of the sudden rain. He shook his head as he removed his hooded cloak and hung it on a peg near the door. The inn was still crowded, but not as packed as the last time the elfling had been in Crydee, for several new shelters had been raised.
Seeing Nicholas and Harry sitting at a distant table, he moved quickly to sit with them. “I have messages for your uncle, Prince Nicholas.”
Nicholas told him of the accident. Calis listened impassively, then said, “This is ill news.”
Anthony appeared on the stairway and, seeing Nicholas, hurried down to the table. “His Grace has regained consciousness; where is Marcus?”
Harry jumped up. “I’ll find him.”
Anthony nodded to Calis, who said, “I have messages for the Duke.”
Anthony said, “You can have a few minutes.”
Nicholas rose as well, and the magician said, “Only one at a time.”
The Elf Queen’s son followed Anthony up the stairs, and in a few minutes Marcus and Harry entered the inn. Nicholas came up to his cousin as Marcus said, “Father’s awake?”
Nicholas nodded. “Calis brought a message from the Elf Queen and is with him now. You can go up as soon as he comes out.”
Calis appeared at the top of the stairs and Marcus started up. The elfling put a restraining hand upon his chest and said, “His Grace wants a word with Nicholas.”
Marcus’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing as Nicholas hurried up the stairs past him. He entered the room and found Martin propped up by a down comforter, a heavy blanket pulled up to his chest.
Anthony, Nakor, and the monk who tended him hovered nearby. Nicholas said, “Uncle?”
Martin extended his hand and Nicholas took it, squeezing it briefly. Martin’s voice sounded shockingly weak as he said, “I need to speak with you, Nicholas. Alone.”
Nicholas glanced at the others. Anthony said, “We’ll be outside.”
Martin closed his eyes and lay back, perspiration beading upon his brow. After he heard the door close, he said, “Calis brought me this.”
He held out a ring to Nicholas, which the Prince took and examined. It was made of silver-black metal, and it sparkled coldly. There was something repellent about its design, two serpents intertwined, each holding the other’s tail in its mouth. He started to hand it back to Martin, who said, “No, you keep it.”
Nicholas put it in a small pouch he wore at his belt. Martin asked, “How much has your father told you of Sethanon?”
Nicholas was surprised at the question. “Some,” he replied. “He doesn’t speak of it often, and when he does, he tends to be modest about his part. Amos has told me a great deal, though.”
Martin smiled weakly. “No doubt. But there are many things concerning that battle Amos doesn’t know.” He motioned for the young man to sit upon the side of the bed. As he did, Martin said, “I may be dying.”
Nicholas started to object, but Martin said, “We don’t have time for meaningless protestations, Nicholas. Too much is at stake. I may be dying, or I may live; that’s as the gods will it—though without Briana…” For the first time, Nicholas saw the pain of Martin’s loss. Then his uncle’s face hardened. “You must know certain things and I have little breath to tell you.”
Nicholas nodded, and Martin rested a moment before he went on, “In ancient times, our world was ruled by a powerful race.” Nicholas blinked in surprise. Martin continued. “They were known to themselves as Valheru. Our legends call them the Dragon Lords….”
—
MARCUS FUMED. “WHY did he ask to see Nicholas?”
Harry shrugged. “I know as little as you.” Harry studied the young man he had been Squire to for the last month. He still didn’t know Marcus well, but he knew him well enough to know that there was rage bottled up, barely kept in check. First the rivalry for the affections of Abigail, then the death of his mother and abduction of his sister, then Nicholas’s refusal to play at Duke’s Squire anymore and asserting himself as Prince of the Kingdom—all had combined to keep Marcus at the verge of boiling over for a week.
Nicholas appeared at the stairs and motioned for Anthony, Nakor, and the monk. They reentered the room as Marcus took the stairs two steps at a time. Nicholas said, “He wants to see you.”
Marcus passed him without a word and Nicholas continued down the stairs. Harry saw the thoughtful expression of his friend and said, “What is it?”
“I need some air,” Nicholas answered.
Harry fell in beside his friend as they left the inn, and, misreading Nicholas’s expression, he asked, “The Duke…?”
Nicholas said, “His leg is broken above the knee and below, and Anthony says there’s some bleeding inside.”
“Is he going to…” Harry had almost said “die,” but caught himself and said, “…be all right?”
Nicholas said, “I don’t know. He’s older than I thought, but he’s still pretty tough.” Nicholas continued to walk, heading in the general direction of the ocean.
Harry said, “The
re’s something else, isn’t there?”
Nicholas nodded.
“What?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Harry said, “Nicky, I thought we were friends.”
Nicholas stopped and regarded his companion. “We are, Harry. But there are things that only the royal family may know.”
There was something about his tone that stopped Harry in his tracks. He hesitated, then fell in beside Nicholas again. “It’s serious?”
Nicholas nodded. “I can tell you this much: there are forces out there working to destroy us and everything—I mean everything—we love. And they may be the hand behind what’s happened here.”
From out of the dark a voice said, “Indeed.”
Both Harry and Nicholas turned, and Nicholas had his sword half out of his scabbard before he recognized Calis. The son of the Elf Queen stepped out of the shadows and said, “I think I had much the same talk with my father that you did with your uncle, Prince Nicholas.”
Nicholas said, “You know of the serpents?”
Calis said, “One of our scouting parties encountered a band of moredhel near the border with Stone Mountain and there was a fight. That serpent ring was found on the body of a moredhel. It may be something from the days of the Great Rising, when the false Murmandamus marched against Sethanon. If so, there is nothing to fear.”
Nicholas nodded. “But if it’s not…”
“Then trouble stirs again.”
Nicholas said, “What do Tomas and your mother propose to do?”
Calis shrugged. “Nothing presently. Reacting to shadows is not our way. But because there may be some risk hidden in the gloom, I will travel with you.”
Nicholas smiled. “Why you?”
Calis smiled in return. “I am human as well as of the elvenkind. My looks will not betray me as they would anyone else from Elvandar.” He glanced around at the wreckage of Crydee. “I would see what sort of men can do this thing.” He looked again at Harry and Nicholas. “And I would learn more of my human heritage.” He shouldered his bow. “I think I shall spend this evening with my grandparents. I see them rarely as it is, and we may be gone a long time as they count such things.” Saying no more, he left.
Harry waited a moment before he said, “What’s this about a ring?”
Nicholas removed the ring and held it out for Harry’s inspection. In the twilight it seemed to have a glow of its own. “That’s an ill-aspected piece of jewelry,” commented Harry with a grimace.
“It may be more,” said Nicholas. He put it back in his belt pouch and said, “Come along. We have a dozen things to do before we leave.”
—
THE SHIP CLEARED the harbor and Amos called for all sails. The day had dawned clear and warm, an auspicious start, Nicholas hoped. He stood on top of the forecastle, watching a nimble sailor scamper along the forechannel, adjusting the shrouds on the masthead. Nicholas looked down at the foaming water coursing past. Dolphins jumped off the bow wake, seeming at play.
“A good omen,” said the sailor who clambered down from the rail. He landed lightly upon bare feet and hurried to his next task.
Nicholas considered the appearance of the crew and contrasted it to what he remembered from his journey to Crydee. Then each sailor had worn some variation of the uniform of the Kingdom fleet: blue trousers, blue-and-white-striped shirt, and a blue wool cap. Now they wore the most outlandish collection of castoffs and borrowed finery he had seen. Filthy trousers and tunics had been gladly exchanged by the fisherfolk of the village for the sturdy and warm naval issue. From out of the old trunks in the basement of the castle had come silk jackets and trousers, shirts of fine linen, hats of various fashion, some with plumes and others with tassels. From the fashions and cuts, the clothing had belonged to Lord Borric, Nicholas’s grandfather, and King Lyam and Nicholas’s father, when they had been boys at Crydee. A dozen gowns that must have belonged to Princess Carline or her mother, Lady Catherine, had also been put to good use, for Amos had made it clear that outrageous finery was one of the hallmarks of the Brotherhood of Corsairs, as he called them. So now common Kingdom sailors were wearing tunics owned by a young man thirty years ago who was now King of the Isles, and sewn upon the cuffs and collar were brocades and laces once adorning the gowns of the present Duchess of Salador, the King’s sister.
Nicholas had to smile. He had elected to dress in some of his father’s old clothing; the fit and cut betrayed them as Arutha’s without doubt. He wore a pair of black, calf-high riding boots with a high flare of leather protecting the knee. Plain black trousers, full enough for easy movement, were topped with a plain white shirt, with loose collar and puffed sleeves. A black leather vest over that provided some protection against a sword’s point. His only concession to the more flamboyant choices of the crew was a red sash around his waist. Over his right shoulder hung a baldric of tooled black leather, a series of vines intertwining in the design. From this hung a saber, not the weapon Nicholas would have chosen, but one far more common than the rapier, widely known as the weapon favored by the Prince of Krondor and his sons. At his belt hung a long dagger.
Nicholas left his head uncovered. His long hair had been pulled back into a tail, tied with a red ribbon, and his beard now approached ten days’ growth.
Harry still wore his fanciful riot of colors, but at Amos’s insistence he had let them become dirty and start to fade in the sun. He complained of the discomfort, but Amos insisted that while colorful, buccaneers were usually a filthy lot.
Marcus came up on deck and Harry laughed. The Duke’s son was turned out in almost identical fashion to Nicholas, save that his belt sash was blue and he wore his hair loose about his shoulders, with a blue wool cap upon his head. At his side he wore a cutlass, the weapon of choice for boarding a ship during battle, when fighting was in close. “If you two don’t look like brothers—” But Harry fell silent as he received twin glares from the cousins.
Nicholas said, “How was your father?”
Marcus said, “He said very little to me. He smiled and wished me well, then fell into a deep sleep.” Putting his hands on the rail, he gripped it tightly. “I stayed at his side all night…but he still was asleep when I left this morning.”
Nicholas said, “He’s a strong man for his age.”
Marcus only nodded. After a long silence, he turned to face Nicholas. “Let’s be clear on something. I don’t trust you. I don’t care what you’ve done since you’ve come to Crydee; once the situation turns bloody, I think you’ll quit. You don’t have the stomach for what we’re going to have to do soon.”
Nicholas felt his color rise with the accusation, but he kept calm. “I don’t care if you trust me or not, Marcus, as long as you obey me.” He turned his back and began to walk away.
Marcus shouted after him, “I’ll not be named oath breaker, Nicholas, but if you cause any harm to my sister or Abigail…” He let the threat go unfinished.
Harry hurried down the companionway to overtake Nicholas. “This has got to stop,” he said.
Nicholas said, “What?”
“This rivalry with Marcus. It’s going to get someone killed if you’re not careful.”
Nicholas moved aside as a pair of sailors pulled a heavy rope past them, repositioning a yard. Amos shouted instructions from the quarterdeck. Nicholas said, “Until Marcus chooses to stop hating me, or at least distrusting me, there’s nothing I can do.”
Harry said, “Look, he’s really not such a bad fellow. I’ve spent enough time around him to know. He’s a lot like your father in some ways.” Nicholas’s eyes narrowed at that remark. “No, I mean it; your father’s a pretty hard man, but he’s fair. Marcus just lost any reason to be fair to you, that’s all. Do something to give him the chance to do what’s right, and he’ll do it.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know, but somewhere you’ve got to find a way to let him know that you’re not his enemy.” Hiking his thumb over his shoulder t
oward the west, he added, “The real enemy’s out there.”
Thinking on the incredible things his uncle had told him the night before, Nicholas could only nod. “I think I may have a way, then.”
Harry said, “Well, I’m going to go talk to Marcus and try to make him see reason. If you think of something to help, do it, because we’re all going to need each other out there before this is through, I’m certain.”
Nicholas grinned. “When did you get so smart, Harry of Ludland?”
Harry returned the grin. “When things stopped being fun.”
Nicholas nodded. “I’m going to talk to Amos. Have Marcus come to his cabin in a few minutes, will you?”
Harry nodded and ran forward while Nicholas worked his way back to the quarterdeck. Reaching Amos’s side, he said, “We need to talk.”
Amos glanced at Nicholas’s face and saw the seriousness of his expression. “Privately?”
“In your cabin is best, Amos.”
Amos turned to his first mate. “You have command, Mr. Rhodes.”
“Aye, Captain!” shouted the mate.
“Keep her on course. I’ll be in my cabin.”
They made their way to the captain’s cabin. In the companionway, they glanced through an open door to the cabin Marcus shared with Nakor, Calis, Ghuda, and Anthony. Those four lay on their bunks, content to rest after the long night’s preparation and in anticipation of more hectic days to come. Nicholas waved to them as he and Amos passed by.
Amos opened the door to his own cabin and, once inside, said, “What is it, Nicky?”
“We need to wait for Marcus.”
A few minutes later a knock sounded and Nicholas opened the door. “What is it?” asked Marcus as he stepped into the room.
Nicholas said, “Sit down.”
Marcus glanced at Amos, and the captain nodded.
Nicholas said, “I know about Sethanon.” He looked at Amos.
Amos said, “I’ve told you about it, Nicky. What do you mean?”
“I mean Uncle Martin told me everything.”
Amos nodded. “There are things about that battle that your father and uncles know that even those of us who were there are ignorant of. I’ve kept from asking questions. If they judge it important enough not to speak of…” He let the thought go unfinished.
The King's Buccaneer Page 20
