Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Nicholas said, ‘Step outside, grandfather, and I will be pleased to show you that I am, indeed, captain of this company.’

  The burly old man said, ‘Grandfather? Why, you puppy –’

  Nicholas had his sword out and the point to the man’s throat so fast the bowmen didn’t have a chance to pull back and release. ‘If you think your men can kill me before I can drive the point home, you can order them to shoot.’

  The old man held up his hand, warning the bowmen to hold fire. ‘If you are the captain of this company, we’ve a matter to settle. We may both be dead in moments, so don’t lie to me. It does no man honor to go to the House of Lady Kal with a falsehood on his lips.’

  Nicholas’s men had been moving around the room slowly, getting ready for the fight. Amos roared, ‘Anyone do anything particularly stupid and most of us will be dead before any of us have an idea what the bloody hell is going on!’

  The old man glanced down. Are you sure he’s not the captain?’

  Nicholas said, ‘He’s the captain of my ship.’

  The old man asked, ‘A ship? You have a ship?’

  Nicholas ignored the question. ‘Now, care to tell me why you come barging in here threatening my men and demanding to see me?’

  Slowly the old man put the palm of his gloved hand against the blade of Nicholas’s sword and gently pushed it aside. ‘I came to see if you’re the men who killed my sons.’

  Nicholas looked the man over; he was tall, at least his uncle Martin’s height, and as broad in the shoulders. He wore his hair pulled back and tied off in a warrior’s tail that fell to his shoulders. From the scars on his face and arms, Nicholas judged the hairstyle was not a vanity. The sword at his side was old but well kept. ‘Grandfather, I haven’t killed so many men that I wouldn’t remember one. Who were your sons, and why would you think I was the man who caused their death?’

  The old man said, ‘I am Vaslaw Nacoyen, Chieftain of the Lion Clan. My sons were named Pytur and Anatol. I think you know of their death because one of my men saw you enter the city. With you was a girl I think comes from the City of Kilbar.’

  Nicholas glanced at Ghuda and Amos, then put up his sword. ‘This is not a good place to talk,’ he said, indicating the room full of men neither of his company nor with Vaslaw.

  ‘We can speak outside,’ said the old man.

  Nicholas signaled to Amos and Ghuda to accompany him. The two men rose, and as they reached the door, Nicholas said, ‘Would you ensure no one leaves until we return?’

  Vaslaw instructed his bowmen to keep everyone away from the door, and stepped outside. A dozen horsemen waited outside, and behind them another dozen fighters on foot. Nicholas said, ‘It looks as if you came prepared for any answer.’

  The old man grunted, his breath condensing in the night air. He motioned for Nicholas and the others to follow and they moved to the center of the armed company. ‘No one who is not of my blood can overhear us. Do you know something of my sons?’

  Nicholas said, ‘If they were involved in a very foolish raid up at Shingazi’s Landing, yes, I do know of them.’

  ‘They are dead?’

  ‘If they were with that raiding party, they are certainly dead.’

  ‘Did you kill them?’

  Nicholas carefully framed his answer. ‘I don’t think so. We killed some clansmen who took a wagon caravan, but we found only bear and wolf talismans.’ He purposely neglected to mention the snake. ‘The others were green mercenaries who didn’t even think to put out a guard.’ Nicholas told of the entire encounter, from finding Tuka and the burned wagons to the discovery of the dead clansmen and mercenaries.

  The old man said, ‘You just happened by?’

  Nicholas refused to divulge his origin, so he said, ‘We just happened by.’

  Vaslaw didn’t seem satisfied. ‘Why should I believe you?’

  ‘Because you don’t have a reason not to,’ Nicholas said. ‘What motive would I have to attack that wagon train?’

  ‘Gold,’ the man said quickly.

  Nicholas sighed. Being the son of the Prince of Krondor didn’t acquaint one with a proper sense of greed, he realized. ‘Let’s say that gold is far down my list of things to covet. I have other concerns.’

  Amos said, ‘Look, you heard him say I was captain of his ship. His father has a fleet.’

  ‘Who is your father?’ asked Vaslaw.

  Ghuda said, ‘He rules a distant city. This is the third son.’

  The old man nodded. ‘Ah, proving your manhood in war. I understand that motive.’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Nicholas. ‘Besides, a far more important question is to ask yourself who profits by the death of your sons.’

  The old man said, ‘No one. That’s the damnable part of it all. The raid was an ill-conceived plot to irritate the Overlord dreamed up by my sons and some hotheads from the other clans. Killing all those young men profits no one, not even the Overlord. All it achieves is distrust between all the clans and the Overlord, and a general lessening of trust in a city that knows precious little of it already.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Well, there’s a lot about this that doesn’t make any sense. What if I told you that twice the raiders left behind enough gold to ransom a city? And what if I told you that one of the dead we found was clutching a Red Slayer helm?’

  ‘Impossible,’ said the old man.

  ‘Why?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘Because no Red Slayer has ever left the city without the Overlord. They are his most personal bodyguards.’

  Nicholas weighed what to say next. There was something very basic about this old man, something that spoke of simpler times when these people lived much as the Jeshandi did, roaming the plains of grass, living in yurts, riding after the grazing herds. The clansmen might be city men for generations, but they honored their heritage. They were rulers and warriors, still a people whose word was considered their bond. ‘What if I told you that another detachment of soldiers came to finish off anyone who managed to escape and to kill the Ranjana, and that these were from the Overlord’s personal guards, His Radiance’s Own?’

  ‘What proof do you have?’

  ‘I killed a man named Dubas Nebu.’

  ‘I know that swine. Captain of the Second Company. Why did you kill him?’

  Nicholas explained in detail what they found at Shingazi’s, leaving out only the part about the serpent talisman. When he was finished, the old man said, ‘You’ve given me and the other clan leaders something to ponder. Someone is attempting to set us all against one another, and against the Overlord.’

  ‘Who would benefit from such chaos?’ asked Amos.

  Vaslaw said, ‘That is one thing I must discuss in council with the other clan leaders. We have many rivalries and feuds among the families of the various clans – that is tradition – but this sort of disaster could set us back a dozen years in our alliance with the Overlord.’

  ‘You have an alliance with the Overlord?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘We do,’ said the old man. ‘I can’t explain our history to you standing out here in the cold. Come to my house in the Western Quarter of the city tomorrow night and dine with me – bring your companions if you fear for your safety. I can tell you more then.’

  He signaled, and a horse was led over. Despite his years he easily swung into the saddle, while another fighter opened the door and signaled for the bowmen to leave the hostel. Vaslaw said, ‘I shall send a guide for you tomorrow. Until then.’ He turned and led his company away. Amos, Ghuda, and Nicholas watched the Lion clansmen leave, and then re-entered the commons.

  Returning to the table, they sat, and Harry said, ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘A dinner invitation,’ said Nicholas. Amos and Ghuda broke out laughing.

  Calis signaled to Marcus to wait. They had been in the burned-out farmhouse for nearly an hour, and both had remained silent, against any possibility of sentries or patrols. Crossing the river had proved more difficult
than they had expected, as a squad of guardsmen stood watch on the bridge. They had made their way stealthily to the docks, where they appropriated a small boat. They rowed across the river and left the boat concealed in the bushes.

  Calis signaled two, and Marcus nodded. If he wasn’t back in two hours, Marcus was to assume he had been captured or somehow prevented from leaving. Marcus would return with the information for Nicholas.

  Calis left at a quick trot, dodging across the open road that ran past the farmhouse into a stand of trees. Between the boles, he ran quickly, feeling certain of his ability to hide should the need arise. The woods were familiar, though he had never trodden the paths between these trunks before. His eyes peered into gloom where no human could see and saw clearly the outlines of brush and branches – his nature was such that he needed almost no light to see. Only absolute darkness rendered him sightless.

  Reaching the edge of the woods, Calis paused. He listened, his senses extending as far as possible. Animals scuttled nearby, rabbits or ground squirrels. Calis sent forth a thought of reassurance, and the rustling sound quietened.

  Calis was unique among mortals on Midkemia. His mother was an elf, but his father was a human with many of the powers of the legendary Valheru, whom men called the Dragon Lords. It was his father’s magic that had made his birth possible, and his father’s magic that had given to his son abilities that could only be called magical. Calis smiled slightly, considering what Nakor would say to that. He had overheard much of Nakor’s discussions with Anthony on the ship – Nakor would say there is no magic and that the universe is all composed of stuff. Calis knew that Nakor was closer to the truth than he understood, and wondered if he should take Nakor to Elvandar to visit with the Spellweavers should they all manage somehow to return home.

  Calis sprinted from the woods across the road that ran along the boundary of the estate, little more than a blur in the moonlight unless someone was staring directly at him. He moved with unnatural silence, even for one elven-born and taught. When he halted behind a solitary oak that stood near the wall, his breathing was still slow and normal and there was no sign of the exertion that burst of speed had taken save for a slight sheen of dampness on his brow.

  Calis inspected the wall and waited. He had inhuman patience and stayed in one place, unmoving, for more than a half hour. There was no sign of movement atop the crenellated wall. Ducking under a low-hanging branch, Calis hurried to the base of the wall. It loomed fifteen feet high and had little purchase for climbing. Calis had carried his bow in his hand; he now slung it over his back and bent deep at the knees. With all his power he jumped straight up and with both hands grabbed the top of the wall.

  Silently he pulled himself up high enough to peek over the wall. The parapet was empty. He pulled himself up and over the outer edge, and crouched down on the rampart in the shadow of the chest-high merlon, so as not to become silhouetted against the night sky – even a few blocked stars might catch the notice of an alert guard, and the city’s distant light was directly behind him.

  Studying the grounds below, he saw why there was no guard atop the wall. The estate was immense, with pathways leading between gardens and outbuildings. The central house was more than a quarter-mile away and had its own protective wall.

  It was not in Calis’s nature to curse fate or demand anything of the gods. The search of these grounds would take many nights unless he was lucky. He also knew he had less than an hour left to explore before he needed to return to Marcus. Not that he worried about getting back across the river without the boat – he could swim the strong currents of the river as easily as he jumped to the top of the wall – but he was concerned about Marcus’s safety. Close to the same age as elves count such things, he was the only friend Calis had in many respects. Like Martin, Marcus had accepted Calis without reservation, while even his closest friends in Elvandar kept some distance. Calis felt no rancor or sadness – it was simply the elvish way. His father also had few friends in any real sense, but his father had the love of a wife and the respect granted a proven Warleader. Calis knew his fate was eventually to leave Elvandar, which had been one of the things prompting him to accompany Marcus on this voyage.

  Calis marked the path through the garden below him, and saw how it meandered through several landscaped terraces before reaching the main compound. He jumped down lightly from the parapet and followed the path, listening for any sounds of anything approaching as he explored.

  Margaret awoke, pulling herself upward through a murky cloud of disorientation. Her head ached with a strange thudding, and her mouth felt dry. Once, when first allowed to drink wine at her father’s table, she had felt this way, but she had not had any spirits with her meals.

  The light was grey, as dawn was still not quite upon them. Forcing herself to sit up, she pulled a deep breath of air into her lungs and was aware of a strange spicy odor, not unpleasant or offputting, but alien.

  In the gloom of the bedroom, she saw Abigail’s still form on the other bed, her breathing evident by the rise and fall of her breasts under the thin blanket. Abigail’s face was contorted, as if she was having a bad dream.

  Then Margaret remembered: it had been a dream that had awakened her. She had seen herself being held motionless by creatures … she couldn’t remember them.

  Then she saw movement as one of the two strange creatures stirred. It made a brushing motion with one hand, and Margaret felt a dull surprise, as if strong emotions were being damped by whatever was giving her the headache. The creature appeared to be brushing back its hair

  Margaret got out of the bed, forcing weak and unwilling legs to move. Heavily she plodded across the room to where the two creatures sat, their heads close together as if whispering. Margaret felt a distant stab of alarm. The creatures had changed. As grey light began to come in through the window, illuminating the room in tones of grey and black, she could see that the creatures’ skin was somehow smoother and lighter, and atop their heads hair was now sprouting. Margaret took a step back, her hand going to her mouth. One of the creatures had hair that matched Abigail’s blond locks, while the other’s was exactly the same shade as her own.

  Marcus drew back his bow, though he was certain that it was Calis who approached. Few other men, perhaps only Marcus’s father and some among the Rangers of Natal, would have sensed his approach in the early morning gloom.

  ‘Put away your bow,’ Calis whispered.

  Marcus was up and moving without being told. They were cutting it very fine if they were to get back across the river without being noticed. Once they were safely within the flow of river traffic they’d be just another boat, but anyone seen putting out from this side of the river this close to the Grand Adviser’s estate would be suspect.

  Once in the boat, Marcus began rowing. He said, ‘Did you find anything?’

  ‘Little useful. One oddity: there seemed to be no guards and few servants.’

  For an estate that size?’ said Marcus.

  Calis shrugged. ‘My experience with human estates is limited.’ With a wry grin showing in the predawn light, he added, ‘This is the first I’ve seen.’

  Marcus said, ‘From the size of those walls and how far they stretch, I thought it would be a town within.’

  ‘It’s not. Many gardens, empty buildings, and odd signs.’

  ‘Signs?’

  ‘Footprints like none I’ve seen before; smaller than a man’s but shaped somewhat manlike. Scratchmarks before the toes.’

  Marcus didn’t need to be told that meant claws. ‘Serpent men?’

  ‘I won’t know until I see one,’ said Calis.

  ‘You’re going back?’

  ‘I must. There are many places I must explore if we are to find the captives and discover what is being undertaken there.’ He smiled to reassure his friend. ‘I shall be careful, and methodical. I will explore the entire outer estate before I explore the inner. And I will explore that before I venture into the great house.’

 
; Marcus didn’t feel reassured, but he knew Calis was fast and strong, calm and quick-witted. ‘How long?’ he asked, meaning to finish the search.

  ‘Three, maybe four more nights. Less if I find them before I go into the great house.’

  Marcus sighed and said nothing as he rowed back toward the docks on the other side of the river.

  • CHAPTER NINETEEN •

  Explorations

  A GUIDE APPEARED.

  Marcus had selected Amos and Ghuda to accompany him, while Harry and Brisa were out scouting the city for more clues to the prisoners’ fate. Calis’s report had troubled Nicholas; the absence of guards and servants was simply one more thing that made no sense. There were too many mysteries in all of this for the Prince’s liking. The only positive possibility was the track that might have been that of a Pantathian serpent priest, in which Nicholas found little comfort. He also wasn’t pleased at Calis’s plan to return, but he couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.

  Anthony would remain at the inn with Praji, Vaja, and the other men, to listen and see what local gossip they could uncover. Praji and Vaja had elected to stay in exchange for a stiff payment from Nicholas, since he had still not told the local mercenaries all the facts of this journey, but just enough to satisfy them, apparently. Praji was certain at least a half-dozen agents of other companies, the mysterious Black Rose, and other clans were in the commons asking discreet questions.

  Nicholas and his two companions left the hostel. The journey on foot took the better part of an hour, which gave Nicholas a good chance to examine further the City of the Serpent River.

  The bazaar and the merchants’ quarters that surrounded it, as well as the docks, were something of a common ground, where men of all clans and alliances passed freely; peace was maintained by a garrison of the Overlord’s personal guards. Those black-clad soldiers walked in pairs everywhere, and occasionally a patrol of a dozen could be seen moving briskly through the crowd.

  But once they left the commercial center of the city, it was clear they were entering something close to a war zone. Barricades had been erected at the ends of streets, forcing wagons and horsemen to make slow turns to get past them, so charges couldn’t be easily mounted. Men traveled in numbers. Women were never seen without armed escort. Many times passersby moved to the other side of the street rather than trust Nicholas and his friends to be harmless.