Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  But what caused Calis to feel shock and revulsion was the sight of the creatures who roamed among the prisoners. They were grotesque imitations of humans. They moved and gestured, and some moved their lips in imitation of speech, but the voices were wrong, mostly nonsense syllables. The two men carrying the stew moved through the yard, providing a bowlful for each prisoner.

  Calis moved slowly along the peak of the roof, seeking to learn as much as he could about the environs and seeking sight of Margaret and Abigail. Mounting a rescue would be difficult. While those guarding the prisoners did not appear to be plentiful, there was a lot of ground to cover getting out of the estate, and most of those below looked barely fit to move, let alone run.

  Calis made a complete circuit of the building, committing every detail to memory. For a moment he studied two creatures who squatted next to a pair of prisoners. One creature rubbed the hair of a prisoner, who weakly attempted to pull away. The creature’s gesture was almost soothing. Then it struck Calis: the creature resembled the prisoner! He again scanned the area, and now he could see clearly that for each prisoner chained to a pallet, there was one creature who was beginning to resemble that man or woman! Calis continued around the building one last time to ensure he wasn’t mistaken. When he reached the point where he had jumped up, he sprang down, hurrying to a hiding place behind the hedge. There had been no sign of the two noblewomen from Crydee.

  Calis felt a small surge of doubt. Should he return to Marcus and inform him of the prisoners or continue his search?

  Caution overrode any sense of urgency; his nature was not given to impatience. He headed back toward the outer wall and the path back to Marcus.

  Nakor watched with fascination. He had been observing the still figure in the chair for almost half a day, and despite there being absolutely no movement from the man, Nakor was nevertheless enthralled.

  Since entering the palace, Nakor had wandered completely unhindered through halls and galleries. There were no soldiers stationed inside, except for the entrance hall, and the few servants he spied had been easily avoided. Most of the rooms were unused – and uncleaned, given the layers of dust he encountered. He found it easy to slip into the palace kitchen and take what he needed, and he always had his apples, though he felt a twinge of nostalgia for his oranges. He had grown accustomed to them.

  He had slept in soft beds, and even taken a bath and put on a new robe, one that had been fashioned for someone not much larger than himself. He was now resplendent in a lavender robe cropped at the knee and elbow, with a dark purple sash trimmed in golden thread. He considered the possibility of renaming himself Nakor the Purple Rider, but decided the name somehow lacked panache. When he returned to the Kingdom, he would find himself a new blue robe, if he could manage the time.

  Early that morning he had spied the beautiful dark-haired Lady Clovis hurrying along, and he decided to follow her. She had moved deep into the palace, down into a lower chamber below ground level. There she had met with the Overlord and they had spoken briefly. Nakor had been too distant as he hid to either hear them or read their lips – a trick he often found useful – but when the Overlord had departed, Nakor had decided to follow the woman. Something about her was disturbingly familiar.

  She had entered a long tunnel, and he had been forced to hang back so he could follow unseen. He walked for nearly a half hour before he reached the far end of the tunnel, where he found a locked door. Picking the lock caused only a short delay, and he discovered stairs leading down. Without hesitation he hurried down them, after closing the door behind him, and entered a completely dark tunnel. Nakor paused. The darkness held no fear for him, but he was not gifted with unusual sight or hearing, and he was leery of using any of his light tricks, as they would be mistaken for magic and he had no wish to be eaten by Dahakon – if indeed that was his practice. Nakor was beginning to doubt it. But it was a good story and Nakor was enough of a pragmatist to consider the unfortunate consequences of discovering it wasn’t just a story. He reached into his bag and felt around for another seam he had created in it, one that went to a different place than the seam leading to the fruit bin in Ashunta. He stuck his arm in up to the shoulder and felt around on the table he had prepared before leaving to find Ghuda, almost two years before. He had moved a variety of useful items to a cave in the hills near Landreth, a short distance from Stardock, and had pushed rocks down to hide the cave from view, protecting his cache from chance discovery. Then he had carefully created the tear in what he called the stuff, at a proper height and distance from the table for him to reach anything on its surface by extending his arm through the bag.

  He found the object he sought and awkwardly pulled out a lamp. Closing the seam, he paused a moment. Shutting his eyes, he extended his senses along the lines of power he detected running above him. No sudden disturbance of the fabric of stuff announced some mystic alarm. Nakor shrugged and grinned in the darkness. The magician’s fabled arcane alarm must be another lie. So many lies had been uncovered in his searching the palace, and he was certain he would uncover more before this journey was through. He dug into his belt pouch and pulled out a flint and steel, and quickly had the lamp going.

  Now that he could see, he stood and examined his surroundings. The tunnel sloped downward slightly and vanished into gloom. Nakor followed it until it leveled out. He examined the walls and saw green mould growing and puddles of water beneath his feet. He closed his eyes, gauged how far he had come since leaving the palace, and decided he must now be standing beneath the river. Grinning to himself, he decided he knew where the tunnel was going. The destination pleased him, so he hurried along.

  After walking for nearly another half hour, he came to a ladder leading upward, iron rungs hammered into the side of the tunnel, vanishing into a well above. Being in no hurry, he blew out the lamp and climbed the rungs. When he reached the top he hit his head on a hard surface. Rubbing his bump, he cursed silently, then felt around in the dark. He discovered a latch, and pulled on it, and heard a metallic click as a release was sprung. He pushed upward and the trapdoor grudgingly moved. After the darkness, he was almost blinded by the light. He peered cautiously upward and saw that he was in a covered well near the foundation of the burned-out farm. Delighted at the discovery, he lowered the trapdoor as he returned below. He left it unlatched against the possible need of a quick exit.

  Once he was back in the tunnel, he relit the lamp and continued on. He found his way to another flight of steps and took them up to another locked door. This he carefully picked, and when he had it open, he peeked through. Seeing no signs of movement, he hurried through, locking the door behind him. He blew out the lamp, for torches burned in sconces on the wall. Putting the lamp carefully back into his bag, he wandered into the basement of what he was certain was Dahakon’s estate across the river from the palace. Things like secret tunnels and hidden passages appealed to Nakor, and he thought this day’s exploration delightful. Besides, he was fascinated by the beautiful woman who was not who she appeared to be.

  He prowled around for most of the morning, looking for her, but all he saw were silent servants wearing black tunics and trousers, and red cloths tied around their heads. At noon he smelled food and snuck into a kitchen in a building near the rear of the main house. He saw three men leave, two carrying a hot cauldron of food. Ducking into the kitchen, crouching low, he peered into the building and saw two cooks hard at work. He stole a loaf of hot bread near the door and ducked back outside. Turning a corner, he almost walked into a pair of the black-clad men, but fortunately for him, their backs were turned. He hurried the other way and hid behind a low hedge for a minute.

  Chewing the bread, he decided to investigate the main house before he prowled the grounds. As he started to get to his feet, he noticed something odd in the grass. Lowering himself even closer to the grass, he saw a footprint, barely recognizable as one because the blades had almost completely recovered from being stepped on. Nakor was captivated by the way
whoever had walked here had carried himself in such a way that no dirt beneath the grass had been gouged and few of the blades were crushed or broken. He grinned, for no human could have done this. Calis had been here the night before.

  Nakor was pleased, for now he felt less concerned about the need to return and inform Nicholas of what he had found. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure what it was he had found, so he thought he had better go investigate and be certain before he returned to the hostel. And, as he counted such things, he was having a great deal of fun.

  Inside the house again, he discovered a series of rooms in the center of the building. In them he found signs of the sorts of practices that were ascribed to Dahakon. The remains of several unfortunates were displayed on the wall, hanging from hooks or impaled on stakes, or upon shelves. One poor man hung from a hook through his chest, without an inch of skin upon his body. A large man-sized table was covered in brown stains that could only be blood, and the room reeked of chemicals, incense, and decay. In another, Nakor found a library, which almost made his heart leap. So many books he hadn’t read! He moved to the closest shelf and examined titles. Some he knew by reputation, but most were alien to him. He could read most of the languages represented there, but a few were strange.

  He began to reach for a book, when caution held that impulse in check. He screwed up his face and stared at the books through fluttering lids, almost closed, but opened just enough to admit light. He didn’t know why this trick worked, but he had discovered that by doing that, he could see certain signs of tricks, or what others insisted was magic.

  After a moment he detected the faint blue glow. ‘Traps,’ he whispered. ‘Not nice.’

  He turned his back on the books and crossed to another room. Opening the door, he felt his heart leap as he stared into the eyes of a man sitting in a chair. It was Dahakon!

  The man did not stir. Nakor slipped through the door and closed it behind him, and saw the magician’s body was motionless and his eyes were fixed on space. Nakor walked over to him and bent to stare into his eyes. There was something going on in there, he was certain, but whatever it was, he was not paying attention to Nakor.

  Then Nakor saw the other Dahakon, and he grinned. He hurried over to the figure that stood motionless against the wall, and he examined it. The thing reeked of spices and fragrances purchased from a seller of colognes and perfumes. Nakor touched its hand and pulled his own away; the thing was obviously dead. Nakor looked into the eyes and considered what he had seen in the previous two rooms. Now he knew where the poor dead man’s skin had gone.

  Behind the real Dahakon was a study table, with scrolls and other things of interest, so Nakor sat and began to snoop.

  Hours had gone by and he had investigated everything of interest in the room. In the desk he had found a crystal lens, and upon looking through it, Nakor discovered he could see the telltale energies of tricks. The blue nimbus around the books in the next room sprang out, even though he could see only some of them through the open door. And around Dahakon a ruby light shone, a thread of which rose through the ceiling. ‘Pug?’ Nakor whispered, and suddenly things made sense. Nakor knew with certainty what was occupying Dahakon’s attention. With no apology, he put the appropriated lens in his bag.

  He got up, hurried past the motionless magician, and began to retrace his steps back to the city. He decided exiting at the burned-out house would save him the irritation of sneaking out of the palace, though he would be forced to swim the river. Feeling sorry for what that would do to his fine new robe, he moved on.

  Margaret tried to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She looked over her shoulder, but couldn’t see what was pursuing her. Ahead she saw her father; she opened her mouth to shout for his help, but she couldn’t make a sound. Panic rose up within her, and she again tried to shout. The thing behind was almost upon her. As terror enveloped her, she opened her mouth.

  With a scream she awoke. The noise startled the two creatures in the room and they moved away. Margaret was dripping with perspiration. Her nightdress clung to her body as she pushed aside the bedcovers and moved to Abigail’s bed. She found herself unsteady on her feet, but for the first time in days her mind was clear.

  She sat on the edge of Abigail’s bed and shook her. ‘Abby!’ she called keeping her voice low.

  Abigail stirred but wouldn’t awaken. ‘Abby!’ she repeated as she shook her.

  Then a hand fell on Margaret’s shoulder and she felt her heart leap. She spun to warn off the creature, but instead of an alien thing, Abby stood behind her. Margaret stood up and pressed her back against the wall, eyes wide with fear. The second Abby was nude, and perfect in every detail. Margaret had bathed with her friend enough to recognize the small birthmark above her navel, and the scar on her knee from when a brother had pushed her down as a child.

  Everything about the second Abby was perfect, except for the eyes. They were dead. In a distant whisper, the second Abby said, ‘Go back to bed.’

  Margaret glanced behind her as she moved toward her own bed and saw the second figure was sitting, slack-jawed, in the corner. Margaret’s eyes widened as she saw herself, also nude, across the room. Margaret’s scream tore the night.

  • CHAPTER TWENTY •

  Plans

  NICHOLAS LOOKED UP.

  Nakor entered the inn, still dripping from his swim across the river. The little man crossed the crowded common room and sat down at the table with Nicholas, Amos, Harry, and Anthony. Praji, Vaja, Ghuda, and Brisa sat at the next table. Grinning, he said, Anything hot to eat?’

  Nicholas nodded and said, ‘Harry, would you get Nakor some food?’

  Harry got up, and Nicholas said, ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Around. Lots of places. I’ve seen lots of things. Interesting things. But we shouldn’t talk about them here. After I eat.’

  Nicholas nodded. Harry returned with a plate of hot food and a mug of ale and the entire company sat in silence watching the little man eat. He showed no discomfort at being the object of so much silent scrutiny. When he was finished, he stood up and said, ‘Nicholas, we need to talk.’

  Nicholas rose and said, ‘Amos?’

  Amos nodded and followed them. They entered Nicholas’s room and Nakor said, ‘I think I know where the captives are.’

  ‘Calis has found them,’ said Nicholas. He repeated what Calis had told him.

  ‘But not Margaret or Abigail,’ said Amos.

  Nakor nodded vigorously, his face split into a grin. ‘I know Calis has been there. Saw his footprint. He’s very good. Even a good tracker wouldn’t have seen it, but I was lying hiding and my nose was an inch from it.’ He chuckled.

  ‘How did you get into that estate?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘Found a passage from the palace that goes under the river.’

  Amos and Nicholas exchanged open-mouthed expressions of amazement, and Amos said, ‘And how did you get into the palace?’

  Nakor told them how he had entered it, and of some of the things he saw. ‘This Overlord is a strange man. He’s very preoccupied with silly things: ceremonies and pretty girls.’

  Amos grinned. ‘Well, you’re half right: ceremonies are silly.’

  Nakor said, ‘I think he is a tool. I think this Dahakon and his lady friend are those who are controlling things. This Overlord acts like a man whose mind has been tampered with; he serves his role. The woman with Dahakon, she’s very interesting.’

  Nicholas said, ‘I don’t care. What about Margaret and Abigail?’

  Nakor shrugged. ‘They must be somewhere in the big house. I didn’t look. I can go back and see.’

  Nicholas shook his head. ‘Wait until Calis returns. I don’t want you tripping over each other over there.’

  Nakor grinned. ‘We wouldn’t. There are things about him that are very special, and I know how to hide.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Nevertheless, wait until tomorrow. If he’s found them, there’s no need for you to return.’

&nbs
p; Nakor’s expression turned serious. ‘No. I will go back.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Amos.

  ‘Because I am the only one who can face Dahakon’s lady friend and live.’

  ‘Is she a witch?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘No,’ answered Nakor. ‘How are we going to get home?’

  Arnos rubbed his chin. ‘There are two ships in the harbor, either one of which would do – they are copies of Kingdom ships.’

  Nakor said, ‘This is all very strange. Dahakon is making copies of people.’

  ‘Copies?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘Yes. He made a copy of himself. That’s what I saw when the Overlord was announcing his wedding to the Ranjana. It’s a very good copy to look at, if you don’t get too close, but it’s stupid. It can’t talk, so his lady friend spoke for him. It smells very bad. I think he must make a new one soon.’

  ‘How does he make copies?’ asked Amos.

  Remembering the room with the corpses, Nakor said, ‘From dead people. You really don’t wish to know.’

  Nicholas said, ‘But the prisoners aren’t dead.’

  Nakor nodded. ‘That’s the strange part. Different tricks. Dahakon’s a necromancer. The tricks Calis saw are not death tricks, but’ – he shrugged – ‘something else. These are tricks to manipulate living creatures. These copies will not be stupid and they will not smell bad. This is not Dahakon’s trick.’

  Amos said, ‘Well, one thing’s obvious.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Nothing seems obvious to me. What is it?’

  ‘They’re going to take them home.’

  ‘The prisoners?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘No,’ said Nakor. ‘The copies.’

  Amos stroked his chin. ‘But we don’t know why.’