Arutha looked at Anita, her green eyes flickering with reflected candlelight, and something else. “Matters of state, I’m afraid. Father wanted my claim to the throne bolstered, and Lyam’s too dangerous a match, being the older. You’d be ideal, for the King would not likely object . . . or wouldn’t have then, I guess. Now, with Guy set upon having me, I suppose the King is in agreement.”
Arutha became suddenly irritated, though he wasn’t certain why “And I suppose we’re not to be consulted in the matter!” His voice rose.
“Please, it’s not my doing.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s only I’d never given much thought to marriage, and certainly not for reasons of state.” The wry grin reappeared. “That is usually the province of eldest sons. We second-born as a rule are left to get by as best we can, an old widowed countess, or a rich merchant’s daughter.” He tried to make light of it. “A rich merchant’s beautiful daughter, if we’re lucky, which we usually are not.” He couldn’t manage a light tone and sat back Finally he said, “Anita, you will stay at Crydee as long as need be. It may prove dangerous because of the Tsurani for a time, but we’ll see that through, somehow, send you down to Carse, perhaps. When this war is over, you’ll go home in safety; I promise you. And never, never shall anyone force you to do anything against your will.”
The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a seaman entered with a steaming bowl of chowder, hard bread, and salted pork on a platter. As the seaman placed the food on the table and poured a cup of wine, Arutha watched Anita. When the sailor was gone, Anita began to eat.
Arutha spoke of little things with Anita, finding himself once more captivated by the girl’s open, appealing manner. When he finally bade her good night and closed the door, he was abruptly aware the idea of a state marriage was causing him only a little discomfort. He went up on deck; the fog had lifted, and once more they were running before a light breeze. He watched the stars above and, for the first time in years, whistled a happy air.
Near the helm Martin and Amos shared a wineskin and spoke low. “The Prince seems unusually cheerful tonight,” said Amos.
Martin blew a puff of smoke from a pipe, which was quickly carried away on the wind. “And it’s a good bet he’s not even aware why he feels so cheerful. Anita’s young, but not so young he’ll be able to ignore her attentions for very long. If she’s made up her mind, and I think she has, she’ll have him snared within the year. And he’ll be glad to be caught.”
Amos laughed “Though it will be some time before he owns up to it. I’m willing to wager young Roland is hauled up before the altar sooner than Anita.”
Martin shook his head. “That’s no wager. Roland’s been caught for years. Anita has some work to do yet.”
“You’ve never been in love, then, Martin?”
Martin said, “No, Amos. Foresters, like sailors, make poor husbands. Never at home long and spending days, even weeks, alone. Tends to make them a brooding, solitary lot. You?”
“Not so you’d notice.” Amos sighed “The older I get, the more I wonder what I’ve missed.”
“But would you change anything?”
With a chuckle Amos said, “Probably not, Martin, probably not.”
As the ship put in at the quayside, Fannon and Gardan dismounted. Arutha led Anita down the gangway and introduced her to the Swordmaster of Crydee.
“We’ve no carriages in Crydee, Highness,” Fantion said to her, “but I’ll have a cart sent for at once. It’s a long walk to the castle.”
Anita smiled “I can ride, Master Fannon. Any horse that’s not too spirited will do.”
Fannon ordered two of his men to ride to the stable and bring one of Carline’s palfreys with a proper sidesaddle. Arutha asked, “What news?”
Fannon led the Prince off a short distance and said, “A late thaw in the mountains, Highness, so there has been no major Tsurani movement as yet. A few of the smaller garrisons have been raided, but there is nothing to indicate a spring offensive here Perhaps they’ll move against your father.”
“I hope you’re right, for Father’s received most of the Krondonan garrison.” He quickly outlined what had occurred in Krondor, and Fannon listened closely.
“You did well not sailing for your father’s camp. I think you judged things correctly. Nothing could prove more disastrous than a major Tsurani offensive against Duke Borric’s position as he was marshaling to march against Guy. Let us keep this to ourselves for a time. Your father will learn what has occurred soon enough, but the more time it takes for him to discover Guy’s treachery, the more chance we have of keeping the Tsurani at bay another year.”
Arutha looked troubled. “This cannot continue much longer, Fannon. We must soon see an end to this war.” He turned for a moment and saw townspeople begin to gawk at the Princess. “Still, we at least have a little time to come up with something to counter the Tsurani, if we can but think of it.”
Fannon thought a moment, started to speak, then stopped His expression became grim, almost painful. Arutha said, “What is it, Swordmaster?”
“I have grave and sorry news to greet you with, Highness. Squire Roland is dead.”
Arutha was rocked by the news. For a brief moment he wondered if Fannon made some tasteless joke, for his mind would not accept what he had heard Finally he said, “What . . . how?”
“News came three days ago from Baron Tolburt, who is most sorely grieved. The Squire was killed in a Tsurani raid.”
Arutha looked at the castle upon the hill. “Carline?”
“As you would expect. She weeps, but she also bears up well.”
Arutha fought back a choking sensation. His face was a grim mask as he moved back to Anita, Amos, and Martin. Word had spread that the Princess of Krondor was upon the wharf. The soldiers who had ridden with Fannon and Gardan formed a quiet ring around her, keeping the townsfolk at a respectful distance, while Arutha shared the sad news with Amos and Martin.
Soon the horses arrived and they were in the saddle, riding toward the castle. Arutha spurred his horse on and was dismounted before the others had entered the courtyard. Most of the household staff awaited him, and with little ceremony he shouted to Housecarl Samuel, “The Princess of Krondor is guesting with us. See rooms are made ready. Escort her to the great hall and tell her I will join her shortly.”
He hurried through the entrance of the keep, past guards who snapped to attention as their Prince strode by. He reached Carline’s suite and knocked upon the door.
“Who is it?” came the soft voice from within.
“Arutha.”
The door flew open, and Carline rushed into her brother’s arms, holding him tightly. “Oh, I’m so glad you are back. You don’t know how glad.” She stepped back and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I was going to ride down to meet you, but I just couldn’t seem to gather myself together.”
“Fannon just told me. I’m so very sorry.”
She regarded him calmly, her face set in an expression of acceptance. She took him by the hand and led him to her chambers. Sitting upon a divan, she said, “I always knew it might happen. It was the silliest thing, you know. Baron Tolburt wrote a very long letter, the poor man. He saw so little of his son and was stricken.” Tears began to come, and she swallowed hard, looking away from Arutha. “Roland died . . .”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
She shook her head. “It’s all right. It hurts . . .” Again tears came, but she spoke through them. “Oh, it hurts, but I’ll get over the pain. Roland taught me that, Arutha. He knew there were going to be risks, and should he die, I’d have to keep living my own life. He taught me well I think because I finally learned how much I loved him, and told him so, I gained the strength to cope with this loss.
“Roland died trying to save some farmer’s cows.” Through the tears, she smiled. “Isn’t that like him? He spent the entire winter building up the fort, and then the first time there’s trouble,
it’s some hungry Tsurani trying to steal some skinny cows Roland went riding out with his men to chase them away, but got shot by an arrow. He was the only one hurt, and he died before they could get him back to the fort.” She sighed long. “He was such a jester at times, I almost think he did it on purpose.”
She began to weep, and Arutha watched in silence. Quickly she regained control over herself and said, “No good comes from this, you know.” She rose and looked out a window and said, quietly, “Damn this stupid war.”
Arutha came over to her, holding her tightly for a moment. “Damn all wars,” he said.
For a few more minutes they were quiet, then she said, “Now tell me, what news from Krondor?”
Arutha gave her a brief account of his experiences in Krondor, half his attention on her. She seemed much more accepting of Roland’s loss than she had when grieving for Pug. Arutha shared her pain, but also felt certain she would be all right. He was pleased to discover just how much Carline had matured over the last few years. When he finished telling of Anita’s rescue, Carline interrupted “Anita, the Princess of Krondor, is here?”
Arutha nodded, and Carline said, “I must look a fright, and you bring the Princess of Krondor here. Arutha, you are a monster.” She rushed to a polished metal mirror and fussed with her face, daubing at it with a damp cloth.
Arutha smiled. Under the mantle of mourning, his sister still showed a spark of her natural spirit.
Combing her hair out, Carline turned to face her brother. “Is she pretty, Arutha?”
Arutha’s wry smile was replaced by a grin. “Yes, I’d say she is pretty.” Carline studied Arutha’s face. “I can see I’ll have to get to know her well.” She put down her comb and straightened her gown. Extending her hand to him, she said, “Come, we can’t keep your young lady waiting.”
Hand in hand they left the room and walked down the stairs to the main hallway, to welcome Anita to Crydee.
TWENTY-SIX - Great One
An abandoned house overlooked the city.
The site upon which the house had been constructed had once seen the lights of a great family manse On top of the highest of many rolling hills surrounding the city of Ontoset, it was considered the choicest view of the city and the sea beyond. The family had come to low estate, the result of being on the losing side in one of the Empire’s many subtle but lethal political struggles. The house had fallen into disrepair and the property been ignored, for while it was as fine a building site as any found in the area, the association of ill fortune with the property was too real for the superstitious Tsurani.
One day news reached the city that some kula herders had awakened to the sight of a single black-robed figure walking up the hill toward the old house. They all acted with haste to avoid him, in the socially correct fashion for their station. They stayed within the area, tending their animals—the source of their meager income: kula wool—when, near midday, they heard a great noise, as if the heavens above them had erupted with the grandfather of all thunder peals. The herd scattered in terror, some running up the hill. The herders were no less terrified, but true to their trade, they put aside their fears and chased after the animals.
One herder, a man named Xanothis, came to the top of the once-famous hill to be greeted by the sight of the black-robed magician he had seen earlier, standing upon the crest. Where the run-down great house had stood moments before, a large patch of smoking land was laid bare, several feet below the level of the grass that surrounded it. Fearing he had intruded upon some business of a Great One, Xanothis started to back away, hoping to avoid detection, for the Great One’s back was to the herder and his cowl was drawn over his head. As he took the first step backward, the magician turned to face him, fixing him with a pair of unsettlingly deep brown deep eyes.
The herder lowered himself as custom demanded, on his knees, eyes cast downward. He did not fully abase himself, for he was a freeman, and while not a noble, he was head of his family.
“Stand up,” the magician ordered.
Slightly confused, Xanothis rose, eyes still cast downward.
“Look at me.”
He looked up and found the face in the cowl regarding him closely. A beard as dark as the eyes framed a fair face, a fact that added to Xanothis’s discomfort, as only slaves wore beards. The magician smiled at this obvious confusion and walked around the herder, inspecting him.
The magician saw a man tall for a Tsurani, an inch or two taller than his own five feet eight. His skin was dark, like unclouded chocha or coffee. His eyes were black, and his hair was black as well, save where it was shot with white. The herder’s short green robe revealed the powerful build of a former soldier, a fact the magician gleaned from the man’s erect posture and several scars. Past fifty he looked, but still capable of the strenuous life of a herder. Though shorter, this man resembled Gardan of Crydee slightly.
“Your name?” asked the magician, as he came round to stand before the herder. Xanothis answered, his voice betraying his unease. The magician then startled him by asking, “Would you agree that this is a good place for a home, herdsman?”
Confused, Xanothis stammered, “If . . . if it . . . is your will, Great One.”
The magician snapped, “Ask not what I think! I ask your thoughts!”
Xanothis could barely hide his anger at his own shame. Great Ones were sacrosanct, and to be false with one was to do a dishonor. “Forgive me, Great One. It is said this spot is ill favored by the gods.”
“And who is it that says so?”
The sharpness in the magician’s voice caused the older man’s head to snap up as if he had been struck. His eyes hid little of his anger, but his voice remained calm as he said, “Those who live in the city, Great One, and others about the countryside.” The herdsman met the magician’s gaze and held it.
The corners of the magician’s eyes wrinkled in mirth, and his mouth turned up a little, but his voice still rang out. “But not you, herder?”
“I was fifteen years a soldier, Great One. I have found it often the case that the gods favor those who take care of their own welfare.”
The magician smiled at this, though it was not an entirely warm expression. “A man of self-reliance. Good. I am glad we are of a like mind, for I plan to build my estate here, as I have a taste for the view of the sea.”
A certain stiffness of posture in the herder’s stance at this remark caught the magician’s notice, and he said, “Have I your approval, Xanothis of Ontoset?”
Xanothis shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then said, “The Great One jests with me. My approval or disapproval is of no consequence, I am certain.”
“True, but you still avoid my question Have I your approval?”
Xanothis’s shoulders sagged a little as he said, “I will have to move my herds, Great One That is all. I mean no disrespect.”
“Tell me of this house, Xanothis, that stood here before this day.”
“It was the home of the Lord of the Almach, Great One. He backed the wrong cousin against Almecho when the office of Warlord was contested.” He shrugged. “I was once a Patrol Leader of that house I was a prideful man, which limited my advancement as a soldier. My lord gave me permission to leave his service and marry, so I took over my wife’s father’s herds. Had I stayed a soldier, I would now be a slave, dead, or a grey warrior.” He glanced out toward the sea. “What more would you know, Great One?”
The magician said, “You may keep your herds upon this hill, Xanothis. The grazers keep the grass neat, and I have no liking for unkempt grounds. Just keep them away from the main house where I will be working, else I cook one for my supper now and again.”
Without another word, the magician pulled a device from within his robe and activated it. A strange hum was emitted for a moment; then the black-robed figure disappeared with a small popping sound. Xanothis stood quietly for a few minutes, then resumed his search of his lost animals.
Later that night, around a campfire, h
e told his family and the other herders of his meeting with the Great One. None doubted his word, for whatever his other faults might be, Xanothis was not one to expand upon the truth, but they were amazed. And they never quite got used to one other thing: over the following months while a new great house was being built, one or another of the herdsmen would occasionally catch sight of Xanothis engaged in conversation with a Great One, atop the hill while kula grazed below them.
Now a new and strange house stood atop the hill. It was the source of both some speculation and a little envy. The speculation was about its owner, the strange Great One. The envy was over its design and construction, something of a revolution in Tsurani architecture. Gone was the traditional three-story, open-center building. In its place was a long, single-story building, with several smaller ones attached to it by covered walkways. It was a rambling affair, with many small gardens and waterways winding between the structures. Its construction was as much a sensation as its design, for it consisted mainly of stone, with fired brick tiles upon the roof. Some speculated that it offered cool protection during the heat of summer.
Two other facts added to the fascination evidenced over the house and its owner. First was the manner in which the project had been commissioned. The magician had first appeared in Ontoset one day, at the home of Tumacel, the richest moneylender in the city. He appropriated over thirty thousand imperials in funds and left the moneylender stricken over his loss of liquidity. This was Milamber’s method of dealing with the Tsurani passion for bureaucracy. Any merchant or tradesman commanded to render service to a Great One was forced to petition the imperial treasury for repayment. This resulted in slow delivery of ordered materials, less than enthusiastic service, and resentment Milamber simply paid in advance and left it to the moneylender—-who was better able to account for his losses than most other merchants, by nature of his bookkeeping—to recover from the treasury. The second fact was the style of decoration. Instead of the garishly bold wall paintings, the building was left mostly unpainted, except for an occasional landscape in muted, natural colors. Many fine young artists were employed on this project, and when it was done, the demand for their services was phenomenal. Within a month a new wave in Tsurani art was in progress.
Book 1 - Magician Page 66
