James’s breath caught in his chest. The same mixed feeling of alarm and excitement struck him like a hammerblow. He felt as embarrassed at his intrusion into her privacy as he would have felt had she found him at his own pool. Conflicting signals to hold motionless, move back, say something, not be discovered, all clashed together and paralyzed him.
Again his boyhood training overrode conscious thought and he froze in place. Then another thought intruded, and he felt his stomach tighten as a hot rush of excitement gathered in his stomach and groin. Almost aloud he said: It’s about the most beautiful bottom I’ve ever seen.
Instantly the young woman turned about, her hands flying up to her mouth, as if startled by a noise. In that instant, James discovered that the rest of her was equal to what he had already seen. Her figure was slender, like a dancer’s, and her arms and neck were long and elegant, her stomach flat, her breasts not large, but full and lovely. As her hand dropped away from her face, he saw a high forehead, fine cheekbones, and pale, slightly pink lips. Her eyes, wide in astonishment, were the blue of midwinter’s ice. All these details were etched in his mind in an instant. A thousand instants of recognition flooded through James, and in each he knew the young woman before him was at once the most wonderful and terrifying sight he had ever beheld. Then those beautiful pale blue eyes narrowed and suddenly pain exploded in James’s head.
He fell back as if struck by a weapon, and his voice cried out hollow in his ears as he went beneath the water’s surface. Sharp knives of hot agony filled his mind as water filled his mouth. James sank into the murk of the water as he lost consciousness.
In a place that was not a place James swam, drowning in memories: his playing upon the street cobbles and never a moment passing without the fear. Strangers were a danger, yet every day brought strangers into his mother’s house. Men who were loud and frightening passed the boy each day, some ignoring him, others attempting to amuse him for a brief moment with a pat upon the head or an odd word.
Then the night when she died and no one came: the man with the crooked smile had heard him cry and fled. Jimmy had found his way out of the house, his child’s feet padding through the sticky blood on the floor.
Then the fights with the other boy for the bone and the bread crust left out behind the inns and taverns, eating the raw wheat and corn that spilled from under the grain wagons at the dockside. And the drops of bitter wine in the almost empty bottle. The occasional coin from a generous passerby to buy a hot pie. Hunger was always there.
A voice in the dark, no face to remember, asked him if he was clever. He had been clever. Very clever. His beginning with the Mockers.
Danger around, at all times. No friends, no allies, only the rules of the guild to protect Jimmy the Hand. But he was gifted; the Upright Man forgave small trespasses from one who brought in so much wealth at such an early age.
Then the man with the crooked smile reappeared. Jimmy had been twelve. It had been nothing of proud honor and hot revenge. A boy thief had crept in and dosed the drunk’s wine with a poison purchased from a man dealing in such things. The man with the crooked smile died without knowing his murderer’s reasons, his face blackening as his tongue protruded through swollen lips and his eyes bulging, while the son of a murdered whore watched through a crack in the ceiling of the flophouse where he lay. Jimmy had felt no triumph, but somehow he hoped his mother rested better. He never knew his mother’s name. He felt as if he wanted to cry but didn’t know how. He had cried twice … no, three times in honesty. When Anita lay stricken and when he thought Arutha dead. That had been grief, and it was not a sign of weakness or shame. But he had cried in the darkness when trapped in the cave with the rock serpent, before Duke Martin had saved him. He could never admit to his fear.
Other images: his incredible, almost inhuman skills in the calling. His discovery that his fate was linked to great things when he helped to hide the Prince and Princess of Krondor from their captors during the reign of Mad King Rodric. His freeing the captives in Del Garza’s prison and fleeing the city and the Upright Man’s wrath afterward, then his adventure in Land’s End. His death duel with a Nighthawk upon the rooftops of the city, and saving Arutha’s life, though he had not known it at the time. His travels twice to the Northlands and the great battles of Armengar and Sethanon, and the peace that followed after the battle to stem the return of the Dragon Host.
Now he was James.
His service to Arutha and his reward by being elevated to a place in his court, his title, and, later, another title, and his being named Chancellor of Krondor, first in rank after Duke Gardan in the Prince’s court, all became a haze of pleasant thoughts—the only pleasant thoughts in his life. Faces passed, some named, others nameless. Thieves, assassins, nobles, peasants. Women. He remembered many, for early on he had developed a taste for the attentions of women and, as a rising young nobleman, had his choice of many companions. He never treated any poorly, and genuinely cared for those he bedded, but there was always something lacking. Something important. The moments were pleasant, but pleasure was fleeting and he felt empty afterward. Then a nude figure wading in the lake as she squeezed water from her hair. The most stunning vision he had beheld.
A face with pale blue eyes, and lips like pink roses. A concerned face, which peered into James’s, saw past the mask and deep into his very being. Something magical and beautiful burst within James, and again he wanted to cry. A sadness filled him with awful joy and he cringed before those clear eyes. They looked inside and saw things, and he had no secrets. He had no secrets! I am lost! he cried out and a child whimpered at the death of his mother, and a boy cried as a young woman lay dying from an assassin’s bolt, and a youth cried as the only man he had come to trust lay dead before him in his chambers, and a man cried for all the old pain and torment, the fear and loneliness that had lived within his breast since the day of his birth.
James awoke upon the shore, a cry of pain and fear upon his lips. He sat bolt upright, his arm over his head, a child avoiding a blow from above. He was still damp, and naked. A voice said, “The pain will pass.”
James turned, and as he did so the terrible aching inside slipped away. He turned to find the young woman sitting upon the shore a few feet away from him. She sat with her legs pulled up before her, arms around her knees, still without her clothing.
James had never so much wished to flee in his life. No experience filled him with such nameless dread as seeing this beautiful young woman sitting near. Tears rose unbidden to his eyes. “Who are you?” he whispered. Yet as he wished to flee, so much more so did he long to be close to this woman.
Slowly she rose, unself-conscious in her nudity, and came to stand before him. She knelt until her face was before his. A voice sounded inside his mind: I am Gamina, James.
Fear again visited James, and he found himself unable to move. He said, “You spoke inside my head.”
“Yes,” she answered aloud. “You must understand that I can see your thoughts, hear them”—she seemed to grope for a concept—“no, those words are not right. But I know what you think unless you try to keep your thoughts from me.”
He attempted to gather his wits about him as he fought down the aching pain inside. “What happened? Over there …” He indicated the reed-filled pool.
“Your thoughts startled me, and I reacted without reason. I can defend myself, as you discovered.”
James raised a hand to his head, a memory of pain there. “Yes,” was all he could say.
She reached out and touched his cheek softly. “I am sorry. It was not something I would have done knowingly. I can cause much harm to the mind. It is one of the ways my talents could be abused.”
James found the touch of her hand both reassuring and disturbing. A fearful thrill ran from his chest to his groin. Softly he asked, “Who are you?”
She smiled and pain and fear fled from James. “I am Gamina. I am Pug and Katala’s daughter.” Then she leaned forward and softly kissed his lips
. “I am who you have been seeking, and you are who I have sought.”
James felt hot desire rise up within, but a giddy fearfulness came with it. No stranger to a woman’s embrace, he suddenly felt a child with his first stolen moment of love. Words he had never thought to hear himself utter came unbidden. “I am frightened,” he whispered.
“Don’t be,” she whispered back.
Holding him close, she spoke to his mind. When I stunned you, you fell back into the water. Had I not pulled you out, you would have drowned. As I revived you, your mind was open to me, and mine to you. Had you the ability, you would know me as well as I know you, my Jimmy.
James’s own voice sounded small and wounded in his ears as he spoke. “How can it …?”
“It is,” she answered. Then she sat back, rubbing salt tears from his face. “Come, let me show you.” Like a baby, he let himself be gathered to her breast, and as her hands caressed his head and shoulders, her voice spoke into his mind. You will never be alone again.
Borric and Erland sat beside each other, enjoying the array of foods for the morning meal. Besides the usual Kingdom fare, a large number of Keshian delicacies also were provided. Pug’s family as well as Kulgan and Meecham dined with the guests. Two places were empty, next to Katala and Locklear.
Borric chewed a mouthful of fine cheese and wine, while Erland said, “Cousin Pug, how many people live here now?”
Pug picked lightly at his plate, not eating much. He smiled at his wife and said, “Katala attends the daily business of governing this community.”
Katala said, “We number nearly a thousand families, both here and on the shore. Here, upon the island—” Her words fell away. All at the table turned to see the cause of Katala’s truncated speech.
The door at the end of the hall had opened and James entered, escorting a young woman dressed in a simple lavender dress cinched about the waist with a rainbow-colored belt.
Borric, Erland, and Locklear rose, as the girl hurried to Pug and kissed him upon the cheek. Then she looked into Katala’s eyes for a long moment, as if speaking, though no words were exchanged. The older woman’s eyes began to brim with tears as a smile spread across her face.
Pug turned to look at James, expectantly.
Locklear said, “James—”
James cleared his throat, and in a self-conscious tone of voice, like a schoolboy reciting before his master, said, “Lord Pug, I—I have the honor to ask permission … to ask for the hand of your daughter in marriage.”
Borric’s and Erland’s eyes widened in disbelief, then both looked at Locklear. James’s lifelong companion since coming to the palace sat down heavily with a stunned expression equal to the twins’ own. Shaking his head, all he could say was, “Sink me!”
CHAPTER FOUR
CONCERNS
BORRIC SHOOK HIS HEAD.
Erland asked, “What’s bothering you?”
Borric said, “What?”
“You’ve been shaking your head ‘no’ as you’ve been walking for the last couple of minutes. You’re arguing with yourself again.”
Borric made a sound between a sigh and a grunt. “I’m worried about Uncle Jimmy.”
Erland turned slightly as he picked up the pace so he could examine his brother’s face while they walked. The evening sky was turning inky, as the middle moon hadn’t risen yet. But the balmy evening promised romance for those inclined and able to find willing partners. It was upon such a search the twins were now embarking. As they headed to where the ferry barge was tied, Erland said, “It’s not usual for you to concern yourself with others, let alone someone as capable as Uncle Jimmy.”
“That’s why I’m worried,” said Borric, halting to emphasize the point. He poked his finger on Erland’s chest. “ ‘There’s nothing dumber in the world than a man with an erection,’ he used to tell us, right?”
Erland laughed and nodded. “Except Uncle Locky. It just makes him that much more cunning.”
“Only when it comes to finding a warm place to put his great sword. Otherwise, he’s just as stupid as the rest of us.”
“The rest of us except Uncle Jimmy.”
“Right,” agreed Borric. “My point exactly. He’s had his share, we both know that. But he’s always kept them at a distance and never made stupid promises. It’s like … he never found something he was looking for. Now he meets this woman and …” He paused, at a loss for words.
“Like magic.”
“Exactly!” said Borric. “And what better place to find magic than an island of magicians?”
Erland put a restraining hand on Borric as his brother started to walk again. “You think this is some sort of spell? An enchantment?”
“Ah, a very special enchantment,” said a gravelly voice from the dark.
Both brothers turned to see a stout figure sitting upon a tree stump not ten feet away. Because the man had been motionless, he had remained unseen in the gloom until he spoke. Coming closer, the young Princes saw the speaker was the old magician, Kulgan.
“What do you mean?” asked Borric, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.
Kulgan laughed. He stuck out his hand for a moment, then waved it impatiently. “Well, just don’t stand there. Give an old man some help. My knees are older than creation!”
Erland assisted the old magician as Kulgan pulled himself upright, one hand in Erland’s, the other on a large wooden staff. The magician continued, “I’ll walk with you to the ferry landing. I assume you’re going across to find some trouble. Boys your age always are interested in trouble.”
“The enchantment?” said Borric impatiently.
The old man laughed. “You know, when your grandfather Borric was a little older than you, he was just as unwilling to wait. When he wanted an answer, he wanted it right now, by damn. It took a lot of years for him to get over that. Your father has the same flaw, but he hides it better. Arutha always was among the best I’ve known for recognizing limits.”
Erland said, “He has that knack, except when it comes to us.”
Kulgan fixed both brothers with a baleful gaze. “Limits? What do you spoiled children know of limits? Oh, maybe you’ve had to use your swords now and again, but limits?” He halted for a moment and leaned upon the staff. Tapping his head with one finger, he said, “This. Your brain. When you bring all your faculties to bear on a problem, try every conceivable solution in your mind, and still have no solution, then you’ll understand what limits I’m talking about.”
“Father always said you were one of his most demanding teachers,” said Erland with a grin.
“Ha!” snorted Kulgan. “Now Father Tully, there was an exacting taskmaster.” His eyes looked off in the distance, reflecting for a moment, then he continued, “It’s a pity you never knew him. You were babies when he died. Tragic loss. One of the finest minds I’ve ever known … even if he was a priest,” he added, unable to resist the jab at his old debating partner, and feeling sadness at the lack of a rejoinder.
Borric said, “Were you joking about the enchantment on Jimmy?”
Kulgan said, “You are very young, my Prince. You don’t know half of everything yet. Or a half of a half. Or even half of that,” he added with a more than playful whack with his staff to Borric’s leg for emphasis.
“Ow,” Borric said, reflexively dancing back.
As Erland began to laugh, Kulgan gave him a bark on the shins as well, saying, “Just to keep things even.”
As both brothers made a show of being in pain, Kulgan said, “Now pay attention. I’m old and I don’t have the time to waste repeating myself.”
When the twins ceased their little dances of distress, Kulgan said, “The sort of enchantment I am speaking of is nothing you can teach. It’s not of the sort of magic men can employ at whim. It’s a magic the gods have given to only a few lucky men and women. It’s the magic of a love so real and profound that nothing can change you back once you’ve known it.” His eyes again sought distant horizons as he said
, “I’m so old I have to work to remember last night’s dreams. Yet there are times boyhood recollections come to me as if they were but moments ago.” He looked at Borric, as if searching for something familiar in his young face. After a quiet moment, he said, “Your grandfather was a passionate man, and your uncle is, as well. So’s your father, though you’d not know it to look at him—he was trapped by your mother almost from the moment they met, though he was too thick to know it. He was incredibly fortunate that he fell in love with a woman to whom marriage was advantageous to the nation. If not for that, your mother might have been a minor Princess from Roldem or the daughter of some eastern Duke.
“Your aunt Carline was set upon marrying your uncle Laurie within days of meeting him. And do you know what a fuss that caused? She was the King’s sister, and it could have been vital for Lyam to marry her off to a Prince of Kesh or Roldem, or the Duke of Olasko, or an eastern noble to strengthen his rule, but she would have none of it. She made him name a commoner Duke of Salador so she could marry nobility, but your aunt would have run off with him had he stayed a lowly minstrel.” He chuckled. “Fortunately for everyone, your uncle Laurie turned out to be a competent enough ruler.
“The point is that you will feel needs as you get older, needs that carousing through alehouses with netmenders’ daughters will not satisfy, no matter how rosy their cheeks, sweet their laughter, or soft their arms may be. And the bedsilks of nobility’s daughters will lose their luster as well.”
Both Borric and Erland exchanged glances, and Erland said, “That will be some time to come, I think.”
Kulgan silenced him with another smack to his shins. “Don’t interrupt. I don’t care if you are a Prince. I’ve whacked better men than you and of higher rank. Your uncle, the King, was a poor student and saw the flat of my hand more than once.” He sighed. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, true love. You’ll find as you get older that passion fades, but the need for a true mate deepens. Your father found it, Carline found it, your uncle Martin found it. The King did not.”
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