Prince of the Blood

by Raymond Feist

  Erland nodded. “I expect so. From what I can see, ale isn’t a major concern around here. Let us see if there’s something better in the village.” The brothers stood up from the bench, bowed slightly at the Earl and his new countess, who nodded briefly in return at the Princes’ leaving the table of honor.

  As they passed by the other tables set up around the square, Borric asked, “Where are you heading?”

  Erland said, “I don’t know. Around. There must be some fishermen’s daughters among all these people. I see a few pretty faces here and there. Every one of them can’t be married,” he added, attempting a light tone.

  Borric’s mood seemed to darken rather than improve. “What I really wish is to be quit of this nest of spellcasters and on our way.”

  Erland put his hand upon his brother’s shoulder as they walked and agreed in silence. With the steady lectures they had been getting about responsibility, they felt hemmed in and controlled, and both Princes were eager for anything that resembled movement, change, and the possibility of adventure. Life was just a bit too quiet for their liking.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SOUTHWARD

  THE GUARDS LAUGHED.

  James turned to see what caused their mirth and saw the two Princes approaching. Erland was wearing an improbable-looking coat of heavy chain, weighing at least five times what his usual leather armor weighed, and a bright red cloak tossed rakishly over his shoulder. But the laughter was primarily directed at his brother, who wore a robe that covered him from head to toe. It was a repulsive shade of purple with arcane symbols sewn in gold thread around the hood and sleeves. No doubt once the stunning centerpiece of some magician’s wardrobe, it had clearly seen better days. An odd looking wooden staff with a milky white glass ball mounted atop it hung in place of the usual sword at his side. On Kulgan or one of the Keshian magicians the robe would have seemed appropriate; on Borric the effect was entirely comic.

  Locklear joined in the laughter as he came to James’s side. “What are they made up for?”

  James sighed. “I have no idea.” To the Princes he said, “What is this, then?”

  Erland grinned. “We found a game of pokiir—here they call it poker. Our luck was … uneven.”

  James shrugged, absently wondering how long Gamina would keep him waiting. His bride was in her quarters, gathering the last of what she would bring with her to Kesh. The rest of her belongings would be sent to the palace in Krondor, in anticipation of her return there after the Empress’s Birthday Jubilee.

  Borric said, “I lost my cloak to a barge-man, and my sword to a fellow who most likely sold it for a bottle of wine. But then I found a magician who believed a little too much in luck and not enough in good card sense. Look at this.”

  James cast a glance at the elder of the twins and saw him holding out the odd-looking staff. “All right. What is it?”

  Borric took the staff out of its sheath and gave it to James to examine. “It’s a magic device. The crystal glows when it gets dark, so you needn’t bother with lamps or torches. We saw it work last night. It’s quite good.”

  James nodded as if to say that was nice. “What else does it do?”

  “Nothing, except it’s a rather nice-looking walking stick, I think,” answered Erland. To his brother, he added, “But I wager you’ll wish you had your sword back if someone comes running at you with a bloody great falchion in his hand.”

  “I expect,” agreed Locklear.

  “Well, I’ll buy another sword when we reach civilization,” said Borric.

  James sighed. “And some new clothing. Those outfits look absurd.”

  Locklear laughed. “You want to see absurd?” To Borric he said, “Show him the boots.”

  Grinning, Borric pulled up the hem of his robe, and James shook his head in astonishment. Borric wore boots of red leather, rising to mid-calf, each adorned with a yellow eagle. “I won these as well.”

  “I think the previous owner was pleased to see the losing hand when those were wagered,” James said. “You look like you’re about to open a traveling carnival. Hide those, if you please. The colors are beyond belief.” To Erland he added, “And you look like you’re about to invade Kesh single-handed. I haven’t seen chain like that since the battle of Sethanon.”

  Locklear who, like James, wore a simple tunic and a leather vest, said, “You’re going to love that chain when we reach the edge of the desert.”

  Erland’s retort was interrupted by the appearance of Gamina and her parents. Pug held Katala’s arm and it was now clear to James that she was indeed ill. Whether it was due to the demands of her daughter’s wedding the day before or her realization that now her children no longer needed her or the illness asserting itself, James could not know. But it was clear to anyone with eyes that Katala’s life was numbered now in weeks at the most.

  They came to where James waited, and Katala spoke to her son-in-law in quiet tones. “This is good-bye, James.”

  James could only nod. Katala’s people were warriors and proud and always direct. So Pug had impressed on him and so she behaved. “You will be missed,” he said at last.

  “As I will miss all of you.” She placed her hand on his chest, gently, and he could feel the frail fingers touching him lightly over his heart. “We only pass on from view. We live here as long as we are remembered.”

  James lowered his head and kissed her lightly upon the cheek, a gesture of both affection and respect. “Always remembered,” he said.

  She returned his kiss, then turned away to say goodbye to her daughter.

  Pug motioned James to walk with him a short distance away. When they were out of earshot of the others, he said, “Katala returns to her homeworld tonight, James. There’s no reason to delay any longer, and if we linger, she might not have the strength to make the journey from the site of the rift on Kelewan to the Thuril border. I have friends who will help, but it will still be an arduous trip for someone in her condition to make alone.”

  James’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re not traveling with her?”

  Pug just shook his head. “I must be about other business.”

  James sighed. “Will we see you …?” He had been about to say soon, but something in Pug’s expression caused him to let the sentence fall off.

  Pug glanced over his shoulder at his wife and daughter, who stood holding hands silently. Both Pug and James knew they were speaking with their minds. “Probably not. I suspect if I come this way again, few will welcome the sight of me, for I imagine it will herald only the most dreadful circumstances—perhaps something akin to the terrors we faced at Sethanon.”

  James was quiet a moment. He had been only a boy when the armies of the moredhel, the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, marched under the banner of their false prophet, Murmandamus. But that time was forever etched in stark relief in his memory. He still recalled the battles of Armengar and Sethanon in detail and could vividly recall the sight of the sky torn open by the return of the Dragon Lords, and the nearly catastrophic end of life their return heralded. The seemingly miraculous victory over them, directed by Pug, Tomas of Elvandar, Macros the Black, and Arutha was still something he could not fully comprehend. Finally James said, “That would be when you were the most needed, though.”

  Pug shrugged, as if to say that wasn’t necessarily true. “In any event, I am now dependent upon others to carry forth the work begun under my guidance. You must help.”

  “What can I do?”

  With a faint smile, Pug said, “The first should be no issue between us. Love my daughter and care for her.”

  James smiled. “No more could any man do.”

  “And keep an eye on her brother.”

  “Willie is a more than competent officer, Pug. He needs very little looking after. I expect he will be Knight-Marshal of Krondor in a few years. Locklear’s tenure was a stopgap to do administrative work after Gardan was named Duke.” He didn’t truly understand the estrangement between Pug and his son;
William had one very odd talent, the ability to understand animals and talk to them in some fashion they could comprehend, but as far as James could tell, the total net effect was to make him an exceptional horseman. Other than that, he showed no particular skills in the area of magic. Trying to help, James said, “I will never know what it’s like to be a father until Gamina and I have a child, so I won’t presume to know what caused your differences with Willie, but you must know that he’s happy in his work and more, he has exceptional talent, perhaps even genius, and that’s where his true talents lie.”

  Pug shrugged again, showing only a small hint of his disappointment that his son was not here to follow after him. “I’ll think on that,” said Pug. “Secondly, I need your voice in support of Stardock’s autonomy.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And remember what I told you when you need to speak on my behalf, the secret I shared with you.”

  James tried to find humor in the sad departure, but could only say, “As you wish. I will remember. Though standing upon an island where men work spells of great art every day makes me wonder at what nonsense I’m to remember.”

  Pug patted his arm as he moved to return to his wife and daughter. “Not nonsense. Never fall into the trap of judging that which you don’t understand as nonsense. That error can destroy you.”

  James followed after, and then they were leaving. As they walked to where three large barges waited to ferry them across the lake, James glanced over at the Princes.

  Borric and Erland stood chatting about the coming trip, obviously relieved to be away from what they judged unwelcome tranquillity, and for a brief moment James wondered if they might not all regret having no more such tranquillity.

  Light gusts blew stinging sand, and the twins reined in their horses. Gamina studied the horizon and spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “I don’t think it’s a serious storm. The sky looks wrong. But it may be bothersome.” They rode at the edge of the Jal-Pur, along the road to Nar Ayab, the northernmost city of consequence in the Empire. The rough plateau landscape was almost as desolate as the desert itself, with few trees and bushes, and most of those thickly bunched along the banks of the few small streams that coursed down out of the hills below the mountains called the Pillars of the Stars by the Keshians.

  James motioned toward the far end of the road, where it crested a distant hill, as a company of riders slowly made their way toward them. “Keshian border guards,” he shouted over the rising wind. “Sergeant! Time to display the guidons.” The sergeant of the company motioned two guards forward, and they quickly broke segments of wooden standards out of their saddlebags. Hastily screwing the segments together, they raised two small standards just as the Keshian riders breasted the hill upon which James and his companions waited. Two Royal Krondorian House flags, each with a different cadence mark overlaid, Borric and Erland’s royal standards, now greeted the suspicious eye of the advancing Keshian leader.

  A dark-skinned man, his nappy beard matted with grey dust, motioned his own company to halt. They were a rough-looking band. Each man had a bow slung over the saddle horn as well as a round hide shield with a metal bosk; each rider wore a curved scimitar at his belt and carried a light lance. All wore heavy trousers tucked into high boots, white linen shirts, leather vests, and metal helms with long linen head coverings hanging over their necks. Borric motioned to Erland. “Clever, isn’t it? They keep the sun off their necks and can hook the cloth over their faces if the wind gets vicious.”

  Erland simply let out a heavy breath and said nothing. He was feeling the heat in the heavy chain-mail coat.

  The leader of the Keshian patrol kicked his horse and trotted forward, pulling up before James. He examined the ragged-looking company, unconvinced that such dirty, tired-looking travelers would indeed be a royal caravan from the Isles. At last he saluted no one in particular, a lazy gesture of bringing his right hand to his head, palm out, then let his hand fall to his horse’s neck. “Welcome, my lords … and lady.”

  James moved to the fore. “I am James, Earl of Krondor, and I have the honor of presenting Their Royal Highnesses, Princes Borric and Erland.”

  The two Princes inclined their heads slightly, and the Keshian patrol leader bowed his head slightly in return. “I am Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi, my lord. What conspires to bring your august company to such a miserable place?”

  “We are traveling to the city of Kesh for the Empress’s Jubilee.”

  The Sergeant shrugged, indicating that the ways of the gods were not for mortals to understand, nor the ways of nobility clearly sensible to common soldiers. “I would have thought nobles such as yourselves would have been traveling in more … stately company.”

  As the wind increased, the horses began to stamp and shy. James raised his voice over the noise, “It seemed better to move quickly and with stealth than slowly, Sergeant. The storm rises. May we continue?”

  The Sergeant signed his own men forward as he said, “Of course, my lord. I and my men are traveling to the Inn of the Twelve Chairs, to wait out the storm in comfort. I suggest you join us.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  The Sergeant glanced at the horizon as Gamina had and said, “Who can say? Dust storms that rise in the Jal-Pur may blow quickly or long. If I was a betting man, I would wager this one will be little more than an inconvenience. Still, I would rather be conveniently inside.”

  “We’ll continue,” said James. “We stayed longer at our last rest than planned, and it wouldn’t do to arrive late to the Jubilee.”

  The Sergeant shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other. “Insults to the Empress, blessings be upon her, are to be strenuously avoided. She is often merciful, but rarely forgiving. May the gods guide your travels, my lords.”

  With a wave, he motioned his patrol to give way as the Kingdom party resumed its journey. James signaled and his small band started down the hard-packed dirt that passed for an Imperial road in the northern frontier.

  As they rode past the silent Keshians, Borric nodded to Erland, who had also been studying the tired, dirty soldiers. Each man looked a seasoned fighter, with not one youthful face in the company. To his brother, Erland said, “They keep their veterans along our borders.”

  Jimmy, overhearing, said loudly enough for the entire company to hear, “They have veterans to spare in Kesh. A man who retires in their army has spent twenty years and more putting down revolts and fighting civil wars. They keep but a tenth part of their army near our borders.”

  Borric said, “Then why do they fear us?”

  James shook his head. “Nations fear their neighbors. It’s a fact of life, like the three moons in the sky. If your neighbor is bigger than you, you fear invasion and occupation. If smaller, you fear their envy, so you invade them. So, sooner or later, there’s war.”

  Erland laughed. “Still, it’s better than having nothing to do.”

  James glanced at Locklear. Both had seen more than their share of war before they were the twins’ age. Both disagreed with Erland’s sentiments.

  “Riders!”

  The soldier pointed to the far horizon, where the wind blew up a dark wall of swirling sand that raced toward the travelers. And within the dusty murk, the shape of approaching riders could be seen. Then, as if the soldier’s warning had been a signal, the riders spread out and galloped their horses.

  “Gamina! Get to the rear,” James shouted, as he drew his sword. The soldiers were but a moment behind in releasing the pack animals and bringing their own weapons to the ready.

  “Bandits!” cried one, as he moved to Borric’s side. Instinctively, the Prince reached for his sword, finding the odd staff there instead. Cursing fate, he circled his horse away from the attack, moving toward the rear alongside Gamina, who had taken it upon herself to herd the shying packhorses in a circle so they didn’t run away. Seeing that the four animals were more than she could manage, Borric leaped from his horse and took two in hand.

  The sounds of s
teel upon steel caused Borric to pull the horses around, back to the wind, in time to see the first bandits intercepted by his own soldiers. In the fray, he sought out sight of Erland, but the milling horses and swirling dust made it impossible.

  Then a horse screamed and a rider went down cursing loudly. A clash of sword upon shield and a grunt of effort were followed by a succession of shouts made almost incoherent by the rising shriek of the wind. The bandits had timed the raid with perfection, picking the moment when the travelers would be most vulnerable to the onslaught, almost blinded by the sandstorm. In the time it had taken to react and draw weapons, the bandits had already succeeded in throwing the men of the Isles into confusion.

  But the men of Arutha’s garrison were tested veterans and quickly regrouped as the first few bandits rode past. To a man, they sought Baron Locklear, who shouted orders to those closest to him. Then a tremendous blast of stinging sand and dust hit the company and it was as if the sun had vanished.

  In the biting sand, Borric fought to control horses terrorized by the sounds of wind and battle and the smell of blood. He could only use his weight to slow their pulling, shouting “Whoa!” repeatedly. A pair of war-trained, riderless horses heard his shouts and halted their trot away from the battle, but the pack animals were ready to bolt.

  Borric was suddenly pulled off-balance and released his grip on the lead ropes. He hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet. He thought of Gamina and feared she might be in danger from the spooked horses. He looked about, but all he could see were riders locked in combat. He called her name. In his mind he heard her answer, I am fine, Borric. See to yourself. I will attempt to keep the pack animals in sight.

  Attempting to “think” back at her, he yelled, “Be alert for raiders! They’ll seek the pack animals!” He glanced about, hoping to find a dropped weapon, but saw none.

  Then suddenly, a rider was galloping toward him, one of his own guards, shouting at him. Borric couldn’t understand him, but sensed something behind. He spun as two bandits bore down upon him, one pointing a scimitar at the guard who raced toward them, the other veering his horse toward the Prince.