Prince of the Blood

by Raymond Feist

  With a chuckle, she answered, “As well he should, my prince. I am his best friend in this court, have no doubt.” She sighed, then said, “When this business of Jubilee is over with, return Kesh’s fondest wishes for the Isles’ continued well-being. We have much in common. Now, who is this with you?”

  Erland made introductions, and when that was done, the Empress surprised them all by sitting up slightly and saying, “Countess, would you do me the courtesy of approaching.”

  Gamina flashed a quick glance at James, then moved up the ten steps that put her before the Empress. “You of the North can be so fair, but I have never seen your like,” said the old woman. “You are not from the area near Stardock originally, are you?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” answered Gamina. “I was born in the mountains north of Romney.”

  The Empress nodded, as if the response explained everything. “Return to your husband, my dear. Your looks are lovely in their exotic fashion.”

  As Gamina descended from the dais, the Empress said, “Your Highness, a table has been set aside for your party. You will do me the pleasure of dining with us.”

  The Prince bowed again and said, “It is our honor, Your Majesty.”

  When they were seated at the indicated table—the one closest to the Empress save one—another courtier appeared and announced, “Prince Awari, son of She Who Is Kesh!” The Prince who had met Erland that afternoon made his entrance from a side door that Erland assumed came from another, different wing of the palace than the one in which his party was housed.

  “If I may advise His Highness,” came a voice from Erland’s right, and he turned to find that Kafi Abu Harez had insinuated himself between the Prince and Earl James. “Her Majesty, may she prosper, considered your potential for discomfort at so many new things and instructed me to sit at your side and answer whatever questions you might have.”

  And discover what it is we are curious about, came Gamina’s thoughts.

  Erland nodded slightly, and to Kafi it appeared he was merely considering this, but Gamina knew he was agreeing with her. Then the courtier cried, “The Princess Sharana!” Behind Awari came a young woman near Erland’s age from her appearance. Erland felt his breath catch in his throat at sight of the Empress’s granddaughter. In this palace of beautiful women, she was stunning. Her dress was in the fashion of all others he had seen, but like the Empress, she also wore the linen vest—and her allure was heightened by more of her being hidden from view. Her arms and face were the color of pale almonds, turned golden by the hot Keshian sun. Her hair was cut at the forehead and shoulders, square and without fashion, but she wore a long braid in back, interwoven with gems and gold.

  Then the courtier shouted, “The Princess Sojiana,” and Locklear almost came out of his seat. If the Princess Sharana was loveliness in its first bloom, then her mother, Sojiana, was beauty at its height. A tall woman of athletic stature, she moved like a dancer, each step designed to show her body to maximum advantage. And an exceptional body it was, long-limbed, flat stomach, and ample breasts. She had the look of fullness without hint of fat, of softness over firm muscle. She wore only the white kilt, with a golden girdle rather than the white belt. Around her arms two golden serpents coiled and around her neck she wore a golden torque set with fire opals, all of which set off her dusky skin. Her hair was the brown of wine-soaked wood, red as abundant as brown. And from a face as striking as her body, eyes of the most startling green regarded her mother.

  “Gods,” said Locklear, “she is astonishing.” The desert man concurred. “The Princess is conceded among the most beautiful of the trueblood, m’lord Baron.” There was a guarded tone in his observation.

  James looked at Kafi with an odd, questioning expression on his face, but the desert man seemed unwilling to speak. After enduring James’s stare a moment, he took note of Locklear’s rapt attention to the Princess as she came to stand before her mother, and at last said, “Lord Locklear, I feel the need to add a note of caution.” He glanced back at the Princess Sojiana as she reached the dais, and whispered, “She is the most dangerous woman in their court after the Empress. And that makes her the second most dangerous woman in this world.”

  With a defiant grin, Locklear said, “I can well believe that. She is breathtaking. But I think I could rise to the challenge.”

  Gamina gave him a dark look at the crude joke, but the desert man forced a smile. “She may give you the opportunity. It is said her tastes are … adventuresome.”

  James didn’t miss Kafi’s true message, even if Locklear was too enamored of the woman to listen. James gave Kafi a slight nod of thanks for the warning.

  Unlike Awari and Sharana, Sojiana did not simply bow before the Empress and retire to the table set aside for the Imperial family, but bowed and spoke. “Is my mother well?” she asked in a formal tone.

  “I am well, my daughter. We rule another day in Kesh.”

  The Princess bowed and said, “Then my prayers are answered.” She then moved to sit beside her brother and daughter, and the servants entered the hall.

  Dishes of remarkable variety were presented one after the other, and Erland had to consider what to try every minute or two. Wines were brought forth, dry and sweet, red and white, the latter chilled by ice brought down from the peaks of the Guardian Mountains.

  To the Keshian, Erland said, “Tell me, then, why were the Imperial family members last to enter?”

  Kafi said, “In the strange way we in Kesh do things, those of the least importance enter first—the slaves and servants and minor court officials, who make all ready for the highborn. Then, She Who Is Kesh enters and takes her place upon her dais, then come the others of noble birth or special merit, again in the order of least to most important. You’re the only ranking noble in attendance besides the Imperial family, so you entered just before Prince Awari.”

  Erland nodded, then found himself struck by an oddity. “That would mean his niece, Sharana, is—”

  “Higher in rank in this court than the Prince,” finished Kafi, glancing about the room. “This is something of a family dispute, my Prince.”

  And something he doesn’t wish to speak of here, added Gamina. Erland gave her a glance and she said, I’m not reading his thoughts, Highness. I would not do that with anyone who did not give me permission, but he’s … announcing it. I can’t explain it better, but he is straining to not speak about many things.

  Erland let it drop, and began asking questions about the court. Kafi answered in much the same way a bored history teacher might, save when questions could lead him into funny, embarrassing, or scandalous anecdotes. He was revealed to be something of a gossip.

  James chose to let the others do most of the speaking while he sifted through the answers Kafi gave. While the meal continued, he pieced together hints and tantalizing bits of this and that and fitted them into the pattern of what he already knew. Kesh was as complex as an anthill, and it was only the presence of this hill’s queen, the Empress, that maintained order. Factions, old national rivalries, and age-old feuds were facts of Keshian court life, and the Empress kept her Empire intact by playing off one faction against another.

  James sipped a fine dry red wine and considered what part they were to play in this drama, for he knew as certain as he knew boots hurt his feet that their presence would be seized upon by someone to further his own political ends. The question would be who would try the seizing and what his motives would be.

  Not to mention how such a person would attempt to employ Erland’s presence in court. It was clear that at least one faction in court wanted Erland dead and war between the Kingdom and the Empire. James glanced around the room, then tasted the dry red wine again. As he savored it, he considered that he was a stranger in a very strange land and he would quickly have to learn his way around. He let his gaze wander, studying faces here and there and found more than a half dozen faces studying him in turn.

  He sighed. There would be time. He doubted there would
be trouble the first night they were in the palace. For if he were in charge of murdering Erland, he would do so when there were more guests to throw off suspicion and the effect of the death would do more to ruin the Empress’s Jubilee. Unless, of course, he amended, it’s the Empress herself who wishes Erland dead.

  He instantly dismissed the notion. If the Empress wanted Erland dead, she wouldn’t have sent a band of cutthroats in the desert; she’d have waited until they were someplace quiet and simply had a few hundred fanatic followers from one of her Imperial Legions waiting for them.

  He picked up a delicately seasoned piece of melon off his plate and ate it. Savoring the taste, he decided to let matters of state go for a few hours. But less than a minute later, he found his gaze wandering again about the room as he sought some clue, some hint of where the next attack might originate.

  CHAPTER TEN

  COMPANION

  THE LOOKOUT POINTED.

  “Farafra!”

  The Captain called to trim sails as they rounded the headlands and came into view of the Keshian seaport. A sailor at the rail turned to Borric and said, “Some fun tonight, eh, Madman?”

  Borric smiled ruefully. From behind, the Captain said, “Get aloft and make ready to reef in sail!” The sailors jumped to obey. “Two points to port,” commanded the Captain, and Borric turned the large ship’s wheel to bring the ship to the indicated heading. Since joining the crew of The Good Traveler, he had earned the grudging respect of the Captain and crew. Some tasks he did well, while others he seemed to have no understanding of, but he learned quickly. His sense of the ship, and shifts in current and wind, learned while sailing small boats as a boy, had earned him the job of helmsman, one of three sailors the Captain allowed the task.

  Borric glanced upward, where Suli ran along a spar, negotiating the sheets and hawsers like a monkey. Suli had taken to the sea like one born to it. In the month they had been at sea, his child’s body had put on a little bulk and muscle, made strong by constant exercise and the plain but filling food, hinting at the man he would be someday.

  The Prince had kept his identity to himself, which probably wouldn’t have mattered. After his lunatic behavior with the knife, he was called by crew and Captain alike “the Madman.” Claiming to be a Prince of the Isles was unlikely to change their minds, he was sure. Suli was just “the Boy.” Nobody had pressed them for why they had been drifting at sea in a boat near to sinking, as if to know such things was to invite trouble.

  From behind, the Captain said, “A Farafran pilot will take us into harbor. Bloody nuisance, but that’s the way the Port Governor likes it, so we must heave to and wait.” The Captain called out to reef sails and made ready to drop anchor. A pair of green-and-white pennants were run up, a request for a pilot. “Here’s where you leave us, Madman. The pilot will be here within the hour, but I’m putting you over the side and will have you rowed to a beach outside the city.”

  Borric said nothing. The Captain studied the Prince’s face and said, “You’re a fit lad, but you were no kind of real sailor when you came aboard.” His eyes narrowed as he added, “You know a ship like a sailing master knows one, not like crew; you knew nothing of the most common sailor’s duty.” As he spoke, the Captain kept glancing about, ensuring everyone was performing his tasks as he should. “It’s like you’ve spent your days upon the quarterdeck and never a minute below or aloft, a boy captain.” Then his voice lowered, “Or the son of a rich man who owns ships.” Borric moved the wheel slightly as the ship’s speed dropped off, and the Captain continued, “Your hands showed calluses, but those of a horseman, a soldier, not a sailor.” He glanced about to see if anyone was shirking his duty. “Well, I’m not asking to know your story, Madman. But I do know that the pinnace you had was from Durbin. You’d not be the first pair to want out of Durbin in a hurry. No, the more I think on it, the less I wish to know. I can’t say you’ve been a good sailor, Madman, but you’ve given your best, and been a fair deckhand with no complaining, and no man can ask for more.” He glanced aloft, saw the sails were all in, and called out for the anchor to be dropped. Lashing the wheel while Borric held it steady, the Captain said, “Normally, I’d have you bursting your liver hauling cargo until sundown with the rest of the men, not counting your work for passage finished until then, but there’s something about you that tells me trouble’s following in your wake, so I’ll have you off and unnoticed.” He looked Borric up and down. “Well, get below and get your things. I know you robbed my men blind with your card tricks. It’s a good thing I haven’t paid them yet, or you’d have all their earnings, as well as the rest.”

  Borric saluted and said, “Thank you, Captain.”

  He turned toward the companionway and slid down the ladder to the main deck, yelling up to Suli, “Boy! Come below and get your things!”

  The Durbin beggar boy swung down the ratlines and met Borric at the entrance to the forecastle. They went inside and gathered together their few belongings. Besides the sheath knife and belt, Borric had won a small stake of coins, a pair of sailor’s tunics, a second pair of trousers, and a couple of like pieces of clothing for Suli.

  By the time they emerged from below, the crew was loitering idly, waiting upon the arrival of the Farafran pilot. Several bid the two good-bye as they crossed to the rope ladder that hung off the lee side of the ship. Below, a small captain’s boat waited, with two sailors to row them to shore.

  “Madman. Boy!” said the Captain as they turned to descend the ladder. Both hesitated. He held out a tiny pouch. “It’s a quarter wages. I’ll not turn a man penniless into a Keshian city. It would be kinder to have left you to drown.”

  Suli took the pouch and said, “The Captain is kind and generous.”

  As the boat was rowed toward the breakers, Borric took the pouch of coins and hefted it. He put it inside his tunic, next to the pouch he had taken off of Salaya. Letting out his breath, he considered his next action. To get to the city of Kesh, obviously, but how? Deciding not to dwell on that until land was underfoot, he asked Suli, “What did the Captain mean he’d not turn a man penniless into a Keshian city?”

  It was one of the two rowing sailors who answered, before the boy could speak. “To be penniless in Kesh is to be a corpse, Madman.” He shook his head slightly at Borric’s ignorance. “Life is cheap in Kesh. You could be the bloody King of Queg and if you didn’t have a coin upon you, they’d let you die in the street, step over you as they go about their business, and curse your soul to the Seven Lower Hells for your corpse being in the way.”

  Suli said, “It’s true. Those of Kesh are animals.”

  Borric laughed. “You’re of Kesh.”

  The boy spit over the side. “We of Durbin are not truly of Kesh, no more than the desert men. We have been conquered by them; we pay their taxes, but we are not Keshians.” He pointed toward the city. “Those are not Keshians. We are never allowed to forget this. In the city of Kesh the true Keshians are found. You shall see!”

  “Boy’s right, Madman,” said the talkative sailor. “True Keshians are a strange lot. Don’t see many along the Dragon Sea or anywhere else ’cept near the Overn Deep. Shave their heads and walk around naked they do, and don’t care if you make free with their women. It’s a fact!” The other sailor grunted, as if this was but another story yet to be proven to his satisfaction. The first said, “They ride in their chariots, and they think they’re better ’en us. They’d kill you as soon as look at you.” Both sailors pulled hard as they neared the breaker line, and Borric felt the boat rising on the back of a comber. The first sailor returned to his narrative. “And if one of ’em does kill ya, why the courts’ll just turn ’im loose. Even if’n he’s just as common as you are, Madman. It’s being trueblood.”

  The second sailor said, “That’s fact enough. Watch yourself with the truebloods. They think different than the rest of us. Honor’s different. If you challenge one, he might fight you, might not, won’t care a fig about honor. But if he figures he
’s a grievance agin’ you, why he tracks you, like you’d hunt an animal.”

  The first sailor added, “And he’ll follow you to the edge of the world if he has to; that’s a fact, too. Hunting’s the thing, with ’em.”

  The breaker caught the boat and propelled it into the beach. Borric and Suli jumped out into waist-high water and helped the two rowers turn the boat around, then when the tide began to surge back out toward sea, they gave the boat a shove, so that the rowers would have some momentum to carry them over the breakers. Wading out of the water, the Prince turned to the beggar boy and said, “Not the sort of welcome to Kesh I had anticipated, but at least we’re alive”—he jiggled the pouch under his tunic—“have some means to eat, and are free of pursuit.” He glanced back to where the ship waited for the Keshian pilot. He knew that sooner or later one of the seamen would mention the man and boy picked up outside of Durbin, and those who might be in this part of the Empire seeking news of him would connect that fact with his escape. Then the hunt would be on again. Taking a deep breath, Borric said, “At least no pursuit for the moment.” Slapping the boy playfully upon the back, he said, “Come along and let’s see what this Keshian city has to offer by way of a good, hot meal!” To that prospect, Suli agreed vigorously.

  Where Durbin had been crowded, dirty, and miserable, Farafra was exotic. And crowded, dirty, and miserable. By the time they were halfway to the center of the city, Borric understood exactly what the Captain had meant by his remark. For within twenty yards of the sea gate, next to the docks where they entered the city, a dead body lay rotting in the sun. Flies crawled over it and from the mangled appearance of the torso dogs had feasted sometime before dawn. People passing the corpse ignored it, the only noticeable reaction being an occasional averting of the eyes.