“He uses very powerful tricks to keep those men moving, but, worse, they carry the plague.”
“We can’t mount a second offensive against that ship,” said Amos. “We don’t have enough pitch and oil.”
“We’ll ram her,” said Nicholas.
“Not in this lifetime,” said Amos. He pointed. The sails on the droman lowered, while the oars began to lift and fall. “The rowers are rowing, dead or not.”
“Mighty arts,” said Praji, spitting over the side.
“How do you fight dead men?” asked Marcus.
“The best way you know how,” answered Nicholas, drawing his sword. He glanced toward the distant shoreline and said, “Where are we, Amos?”
“Less than a half day’s sailing from Land’s End, another three days to Krondor.”
“We’re going to let her close and ram us, we’re going to fire the Eagle, then those who can will swim for shore.”
“It’s more than three miles,” said Amos softly. “Few of us are going to make it.”
Even more softly, Nicholas said, “I know.”
Harry came racing up from the main deck. “We’re going to fight that?”
Nicholas nodded.
Nakor said, “Anthony!”
The young magician said, “What?”
“It’s time!” Nakor said with a grin.
“Time for what?” asked Anthony, blinking in confusion.
“Use the amulet!”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed, then he reached into his tunic and pulled out the talisman Pug had originally given to Nicholas. He closed his hand around it and shouted, “Pug!” Nothing happened for a minute, then Anthony closed his eyes and shouted Pug’s name again.
As he spoke the name a third time, a low thud of wind struck the ship, as if a thunderclap had sounded next to them, and the ship heeled over slightly. Men shouted and exclaimed, and pointed. Directly in front of the droman, a creature hung in the air. As large as the ship itself, its wings beat a wind with enough force to back away the bireme.
“A dragon!” said Amos.
The dragon was golden, with a silver crest. Ruby eyes the size of shields gleamed in the sunset, while talons black as ebony extended like a cat’s. Dahakon gaped, and for a moment was motionless. The dragon snapped wings, held position before the droman, and opened its giant maw.
Fire erupted, white-hot and blinding, and washed over the ship. The sails and decks exploded into flames, while the dead crew ignited. The Overlord and his eagle stood like a statue, a mockery of majesty, as flames consumed them. The bird blackened and toppled from its master’s arm, which shriveled moments later as the ruler of the City of the Serpent River died in truth.
For a terrible moment, the rest of the droman’s crew stood motionless, their skin burning on them while they crouched for the attack. Lifeless warriors, mindless of their own destruction, they awaited the magician’s command to swarm over the side and take the Eagle. Then swords fell from fingers too shriveled to hold them, and they began to topple.
The Royal Eagle moved listlessly, no effort being made to keep her on course as every living soul aboard was riveted by the sight of the most majestic creature in Midkemia, one told of in story and legend, hanging less than a hundred yards away, destroying the ship of the dead.
Then Anthony pointed. “Look!”
In the midst of the conflagration, Dahakon stood motionless, surrounded by a ruby nimbus that shielded him from the dragon’s fury. Nicholas said, “Is there anything we can do?”
Calis notched another arrow and fired again, but this bounced off the ruby shield as the first had off the invisible one. Nakor said, “I think…” He grabbed an arrow from Calis’s quiver and broke it across his knee. Holding the broken arrow up, he said, “His trick stops steel. Can you shoot this?”
Calis took the shaft, broken to three-quarter length, and said, “I can try.” He notched the arrow and drew it back to its abbreviated length, then let fly. Unlike the last two, this struck the magician in the chest, and he cried out; the ruby shield instantly vanished and the dragon’s flames seared him.
With a shriek that could be heard on the Eagle, the magician erupted into flame and spun backward, falling out of sight.
The dragon watched the burning ship, then with a snap of its wings, it moved away. It soared, gliding above the waves, toward the sunset. In a lazy, soaring circle, it rose and passed above the ship, turned toward the northwest, and sped away.
Harry whispered, “Ryana.”
Nicholas nodded.
“Look!” said Harry.
Nicholas squinted to see what his friend pointed to, and there, upon the back of the dragon, a tiny figure could be seen riding.
“Is that Pug?” asked Harry.
Nakor grinned and said, “I think so.” He laughed. “Now we are done.”
Vaja called from the main deck, “Nakor!”
They all looked and saw he was kneeling over Ghuda. Nicholas and the others followed Nakor and Anthony to Ghuda’s side. The wounded mercenary lay with his head propped on a bag of sand, and blood flowed from his nose.
Anthony rolled him on his side and examined the wound, and looked at Nicholas with pain in his eyes. He shook his head no.
Nakor took Ghuda’s hand. “What is it, old friend?”
Ghuda coughed and blood ran from the corner of his mouth. “Friend?” he said, his voice weak and liquid. “I’m lying here drowning in my own blood because you want me to go halfway around the world with you, and you call me friend?” He squeezed Nakor’s hand tightly and tears rolled down his leathery cheeks. “Sunsets above other oceans, and mighty sights and great wonders to behold, Nakor.” He coughed violently and spit blood on Nakor and Anthony. Gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, he said, “A dragon of gold!” With his last breath, he said, “My friend.” With a choking, strangled sound, he convulsed and thrashed a moment, then lay still.
Nicholas choked back his own pain, looking around the deck. Other wounded men lay nearby, and he said, “Anthony.”
The young magician looked where Nicholas pointed, and hurried to lend aid and comfort to those who needed it.
Nicholas felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Iasha next to him. He rose and she said, “Are we going to your home, now?”
Nicholas let the tears run down his cheeks as he took her in his arms. He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded, then, letting the sob out, half relief, half sorrow, he said, “We’re going home.”
Nicholas composed himself, and then he gently set Iasha aside. Turning toward the quarterdeck, he said, “Mr. Pickens, make for Krondor!”
Amos shouted, “Get aloft, you dock rats!”
The Royal Eagle slowly turned; then, as her sails filled, she moved away in stately fashion from the two burning hulks. With the sun setting behind them, Nicholas watched as first the counterfeit Royal Gull and then the Overlord’s bireme sank into the water.
Amos came to stand next to Nicholas and put his hand on his shoulder. “Have I told you that lately you’ve begun to remind me of your father?”
Nicholas turned toward Amos, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Squeezing his shoulder, Amos whispered, “Well, you do. And I’m as proud of you as if you were my own grandson.”
Nicholas drew a deep breath and said, “Thank you,” adding, with a forced grin, “Grandfather.”
Amos gripped Nicholas by the back of the neck and shook him slightly as he said, “Grandfather! Damn me, you are like him. Trying to take the fun out of life!”
Nicholas smiled. Putting his hand on Amos’s shoulder, he said, “No one has ever managed to rid your life of fun, Amos.”
Amos threw him a sad smile and said, “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? Though days like this make you understand why the fun is important.”
Amos unexpectedly threw his arms around Nicholas and hugged his foster grandson. “Let’s bury our dead, Nicky, hoist a d
rink to their memory, and go home.”
—
IT WAS A subdued party on the main deck. The mood of the crew was a mixture of profound relief, stunned amazement at sight of the dragon, and sorrow at the injury and death of friends.
Ghuda and Tuka were not the only casualties. One of Iasha’s maids, her friend, had been badly burned by some spilled pitch that she had smothered before it could catch fire and imperil the ship.
Five mercenaries had died, as well as three other boatmen. A dozen men of Crydee had given their lives to protect their Kingdom. Nicholas took stock and found that of those, six men who had left Crydee with him to pursue the raiders had died. Out of the sixty-five men and women on the ship, only twenty-seven had left with Amos and himself at the start of the journey.
Nicholas had ordered the brandy broken out and as they stood before him he said, “Some of you know all we’ve been through, while others of you are recently in our company. But without any of you, I don’t know if we could have accomplished what we have. The crown is in your debt. I’ve decided that whatever booty we have left in that chest below will be equally divided among all of you.” The mercenaries grinned while the sailors and soldiers of the Kingdom exchanged startled glances, but their smiles were equally appreciative. Bonuses in service to the Kingdom were rare. “We’ve lost some good friends,” said Nicholas. “Let us never forget.” He raised a glass and said, “To Ghuda, and the others.”
They all drank and then Nicholas said, “For you that have come across a vast ocean to a distant land, we will do all we can to make you feel at home. I don’t know how we shall aid you to return home, but someday you shall. You have our word. Until then there’s honest work and ample pay for all of you.”
Turning toward the sunset, made red-orange and gold by the smoke from the burning ships, he said, “Set sail for Krondor!”
A cheer erupted from the crew and men leaped to their duties, anxious to be heading at last for home.
—
THREE DAYS LATER, near noon, they sailed into Krondor harbor. Amos ordered the royal ensign hoisted, and it was a flustered harbor pilot who raced to intercept the boat. Climbing aboard with two assistants, he greeted Amos and Nicholas with a mixture of wonder and astonishment.
Nicholas said, “Amos, would you like to take her in for the last time?”
Amos shrugged. “It’s not really the same thing. If this were the true Eagle, or my Royal Dragon, perhaps.” The remark caused the harbor pilot to glance from Prince to Admiral in confusion. Then with an evil grin, Amos said, “You should practice coming in under sail. Can’t start any sooner.”
Nicholas returned the grin. “Make ready to trim sail!” he shouted.
The harbor pilot said, “Highness, I urge you; lower your sails and let us tow you in.”
Nicholas said, “Harry!”
“What?” called his friend.
“Get into the bow and make sure that assistant pilot doesn’t faint.” In an almost joyous challenge, he shouted, “We’re coming in under sail!”
Sailors scrambled as smaller boats moved out of the way. The Royal Ensign gave the Eagle right-of-way over any other save a smaller boat also under royal colors, and old hands in the harbor knew the Prince’s Admiral’s habit of sailing into the royal docks. With Trask’s pennant flying from the masthead, no one in their right mind was about to cross the bow of the Royal Eagle; the only two to ever try it now stood on the Eagle’s deck.
Harry shouted, “We’re on line!”
Nicholas called out, “Reef all sails! Ready the landlines!”
The sailors above furiously pulled up the canvas. The ship moved forward, her inertia carrying her straight into the docks. Nicholas watched expectantly, waiting for the proper moment to call for the lines to be tossed to those waiting on the dockside.
The ship continued to slow and Nicholas waited, and waited, until at last Harry turned and shouted, “We’re…ah…a little short, Nicky.”
Nicholas put his head down in the crook of his arm, resting on the rail, and said, “Master Pilot. Call for your boat, if you will.”
Amos laughed, a belly roar that rattled the sails. Slapping Nicholas on the back, he said, “You’ll get the hang of it, one of these days.”
Nicholas peeked out from the crook of his arm and said, “Now who’s taking the fun out of life?”
25
WEDDING
The guests cheered.
Lyam, King of the Isles, drank the toast he had just made to the bride and groom. Amos stood grinning, looking almost unrecognizable in his formal court clothing; lace-front shirts and cutaway coats had become the fashion in the Kingdom this year. Only the desire of his beloved Alicia for him to look his best on their wedding day could get him into what he called “those silly-looking garments.” His other choice was his Admiral’s uniform, which he despised even more, so he relented on her request and dressed in current fashion.
Nicholas sat with the other guests at the head table in the banquet hall of the Prince’s palace in Krondor. At his right, his sister, Elena, and her husband were speaking with Erland, one of his brothers, and Erland’s wife, the Princess Genevieve. Borric, Erland’s twin, spoke to his wife, Yasmine, while Alicia looked on.
Nicholas’s mother had been almost overwhelmed when she saw her youngest child walk into court, without the limp that had marked him for life. Nicholas had realized that during the last battle he had been so preoccupied with making sure everything was ready in case things turned for the worse, that if the foot had hurt him, he hadn’t noticed. Nakor had said that his healing was now complete.
It had taken months to plan the wedding and get everyone back to Krondor. The King had to come from his royal court in Rillanon for the wedding, and reached Arutha’s court before Arutha returned. Word had finally reached the Prince of Krondor when Baron Bellamy of Carse sent a small boat to Freeport, where Arutha and his fleet were waiting. Amos had been almost right: Arutha had decided against following after Nicholas and his companions only after a long and bitter debate with himself.
When Arutha had returned to Krondor, Nicholas and Amos told him and the King the entire story, from the raid to the destruction of the two ships north of Land’s End. Lyam sent a special messenger to Sorcerer’s Isle, to see if Pug could be located, and sent Nicholas and Borric to Sethanon, as only a member of the royal family could be trusted to know the mission.
Nicholas and his brother had returned two weeks later with word that all was well at Sethanon, and Nicholas had expressed his awe at meeting the Oracle of Aal. To his surprise, the Lifestone had not been in evidence, being masked by a magic time distortion that Pug had placed upon it. Still, the knowledge it was there and vulnerable despite its protection was not hard to impress on Nicholas after what he had been through the previous year.
The messenger to Sorcerer’s Isle had returned with a message from Pug, via Gathis, his representative, that the magician would join them for the wedding. In time, all the guests had at last gathered and the ceremony was performed.
The celebration wore on, and Nicholas found himself relaxing for the first time in what seemed a lifetime. He glanced over at his companion for the day, and smiled. He found Iasha adapting well to the court, and her command of the King’s Tongue was growing daily. She got on well with the ladies of the court. Her injured maid had recovered, and with the aid of Anthony’s magic she had been spared severe scars. The other three girls were already the focus of attention of many of the younger men of the court. The story was making the rounds that they were five sisters from a distant land, daughters of a powerful Prince, and the girls showed no inclination to dispel that notion.
Marcus sat with his father and his sister, who kept a tight grip on Anthony’s hand, while Marcus ignored Abigail’s habit of catching the eye of the more dashing courtiers in the hall. Nicholas noticed that Abigail was now almost openly flirting with the son of the Duke of Ran’s second son, Elena’s brother-in-law.
Duke M
artin had aged, his hair now almost all grey, and his erect carriage and vigorous step were missing. What age had not taken, sorrow had. Sadly, Nicholas judged his joy in life had died with his wife. He already spoke of retiring in Marcus’s favor as Duke. Nicholas knew there would be long discussions between the King, Arutha, and Martin before that step was permitted. Still, Martin appeared profoundly relieved to have his children back. He had attempted to communicate his gratitude to Nicholas, forcing an awkward moment between them. Nicholas realized what torture convalescence must have been for Martin, while waiting for word of his children. All Nicholas could say was “It was what you would have done in my place.”
Martin had been able only to nod, tears in his eyes; then he embraced his nephew. Nicholas knew how difficult that open display had been for him.
Abigail’s laughter brought Nicholas back from his reverie. He leaned back, saying behind Iasha’s back to Harry, “How long do you think Marcus is going to put up with that?”
Harry grinned. “Right now, I think he’d welcome someone taking Abby off his hands.”
Brisa hit Harry under the table and said, “You two stop that.”
Iasha smiled. “Abby’s just making sure Marcus doesn’t take things for granted. He was her first lover, but she doesn’t wish him to think he’s the only choice out there.” She laughed. “They’ll probably end up married; she really does love him.” She studied Marcus a moment. “He’s handsome enough, in a stern way, like your father.” She glanced at Nicholas. “Both lack your kind nature.” Then, playfully, she said, “Besides, your cousin lacks your…imagination.”
Nicholas had the decency to blush. Then his face clouded over. “How do you—”
Brisa grinned. “Abby talks. After her first time, she had to talk to someone. You men have such a strange notion of what women talk about when you’re not around.”
Nicholas put his hand to his face, covering his eyes. “Poor Marcus.” Then his eyes widened in near terror as he looked at Brisa and Iasha and said, “What about you two?”
Brisa grinned and said nothing. After a moment, Nicholas couldn’t help but grin back. The street girl looked stunning. Her dark red hair had grown long enough since the voyage that Anita and her maids could arrange it high on her head, setting it off with silver and pearls. She wore a specially made gown of deep green, which showed her skin and eyes to good advantage.
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