Shards of a Broken Crown

by Raymond E. Feist

  Kahil rose and departed, closing the door behind him. A faint smile passed across his face before he turned and left upon his next task, following Nordan and marking those men for death who displayed even the smallest hint of disloyalty.

  Fadawah looked at the two soldiers and motioned for them to stand away from him. The scars on their faces reminded him of the dark and distant time he was caught up in the magic of the Emerald Queen 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 9

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  and the lost months when the demon had ruled her army. He hated feeling used and would kill anyone who again attempted to use him as the Emerald Queen had.

  He moved to the map on the wall and began to plan his spring campaign.

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  One

  Winter

  THE WIND HAD died.

  Dash waited. The frigid bite of the air still brought tears to his eyes as he scanned the road below. The reconstruction of Darkmoor had been tedious, slowed by continuous snows and rain, as the winter proved a fickle one. If slippery ice wasn’t making footing treacherous for those workmen attempting to rebuild the walls around the western portion of the city, then knee-deep mud stalled wagons carrying needed supplies.

  Now it was icy again, but at least Dash was thankful there was currently no snow. The sky was clear, the late afternoon sun hinting at warmth that wasn’t really there. Dash knew it was his mood as much as the weather, but this particular winter seemed to have lasted longer than any in his young life.

  The sounds of the city carried through the still, icy air as the day wound down. With luck the new gate would be finished before sunset, and an extra modicum of security would be added to the sum of things that needed to be done yesterday.

  10

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  Dash was tired, fatigued beyond anything he could remember in his twenty years of life. Part of it was from the seemingly endless list of things that needed attention, and the rest was from worry; his brother Jimmy was overdue.

  Jimmy was acting the part of exploring officer, a scout behind enemy lines. Prince Patrick of Krondor had decided to move hard and fast against a threat of Keshian expansion into the southern flank of the Kingdom in the spring. That meant that the retaking of lands lost during the invasion the previous summer would be left to Owen Greylock, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, and Erik von Darkmoor, Knight-Captain of the Crimson Eagles, an elite mobile force of handpicked men.

  Which had meant the Prince needed information on what the invaders were doing between Darkmoor and Krondor. And Jimmy had volunteered to go see what was going on.

  He was now three days overdue.

  Dash had come to the edge of the patrolled area, a series of burned-out walls that marked the western edge of the foulbourgh of Darkmoor. The Prince’s army in the city insured that there was little danger within a day’s ride of the city, but these partial walls and piles of tumbled masonry provided ample cover for ambush and had been refuge to more than one band of scavengers or outlaws.

  Dash scanned the horizon, watching for his brother. The sounds of the winter woodlands below were few and infrequent. An occasional rustle as snow fell from tree branches, or the crack of ice some miles away as the thaw began. A bird call or the rustle of some animal in the brush. Sound carried 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 12

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  for miles in the winter cold.

  Then Dash heard something. A faint sound, coming from far away. It wasn’t the sound of hooves striking hard dirt and rock Dash had hoped to hear.

  Rather it was the rolling crunch of ice underfoot.

  And whoever made the sound was coming toward him with a methodical step, even and unhurried.

  Dash flexed his gloved fingers and slowly pulled his sword from his scabbard. If the previous conflict had taught him nothing else, it was to always be ready. There were no safe positions outside the fortress that was the city of Darkmoor.

  In the distance he detected motion, and he focused on it. A single figure trudged along the road.

  He was moving at a plodding walk, and as Dash watched, he hurried to a slow trot. Dash knew he was walking one hundred paces, then trotting one hundred paces, a practice drilled into Dash and his brother by their arms teachers as boys. For a man without a mount it could cover almost as much distance as a horse could in a day, more over the course of weeks.

  Dash watched. The figure resolved itself into a man wrapped in a heavy grey cloak; clothing designed to make it difficult to see the wearer from any distance in the gloom of winter. Only on the bright days when the sky was clear would the wearer be easy to spot.

  As the man on foot came closer, Dash saw he was without a hat, but had his head covered in a thick cloth, a scarf or torn remnant of another piece of clothing. He carried a sword at his side, and his hands were clad in mismatching gloves. His boots were filthy with mud and ice.

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  The crunching of snow under his tread became louder by the moment, until he stood before Dash.

  He stopped and looked up, and at last he said,

  “You’re in my way.”

  Dash moved his mount aside and swung the horse’s head around toward Darkmoor. He put his sword away, urged the animal forward and walked beside the man on foot. “Lose your horse?” he asked.

  Jimmy, Dash’s brother, hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “Back there.”

  “That was pretty careless,” said the younger brother. “That was an expensive horse.”

  Jimmy said, “I know. But I didn’t feel like carrying him. He was dead.”

  “Pity. That was a really good horse.”

  “You don’t miss him nearly as much as I do,” said Jimmy.

  “Would you like a ride?” asked Dash.

  Jimmy stopped, turned, and regarded his brother.

  Neither son of Lord Arutha, Duke of Krondor, resembled the other. James looked like his grandmother, slight, blond, and possessing features that could only be called finely drawn, with sapphire eyes. Dash looked like his grandfather, with tight curls of light brown hair, dark eyes, and a mocking expression. In nature, they were as alike as twins.

  “About time you offered,” said Jimmy, reaching up to take Dash’s hand.

  He swung up behind his brother and they rode slowly toward the city. “How bad was it?” asked Dash.

  “Worse,” said Jimmy.

  “Worse than we thought?”

  “Worse than anything we could have imagined.”

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  Dash said nothing more, knowing his brother would report directly to the Prince, and that Dash would hear every detail.

  Jimmy took the hot cup of coffee, sweetened with honey and made rich with cream, and nodded his thanks. The servant quickly departed, closing the door behind him. Jimmy sat in the Prince’s private chamber, while the Prince, the Knight-Marshal Owen Greylock, Duke Arutha of Krondor, and Erik von Darkmoor patiently waited for his report.

  Patrick, Prince of Krondor and ruler of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, said,

  “Very well. What did you find?”

  Jimmy finished his first sip of the hot drink, and said, “It’s far worse than we feared.”

  Patrick had detailed five men to ride into the West, toward Krondor, his capital city, and only three of them had returned so far. The picture he was having painted for him could be called nothing but bleak. “Go on.”

  Jimmy put his cup down on the table and started removing his heavy cloak as he said, “I got to Krondor. It took some doing, but most of the remaining soldiers between here and there are nothing more than bandits. After a couple of months of snow, rain, and slee
t, they are dug in, hugging their fires and trying hard to stay alive.”

  “What of Krondor?” Patrick asked.

  Jimmy said, “It’s almost deserted. There were a few people around, but no one wanted to talk to me, and frankly, I wasn’t anxious to strike up many conversations myself. Most of those I caught a glimpse of were soldiers, foraging for what they could find in 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 15

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  the rubble.”

  Jimmy stretched, as if tired. He took another sip of coffee. “Though what they could possibly find is beyond me.” He looked at Patrick. “Highness, Krondor looks like nothing I’ve seen before or could dream of in my worst nightmare. Every stone blackened, and almost no board unburned. The smell of char still lingers in the air and it’s been months since the fires. Rain and snow have yet to cleanse the city.

  “The palace—”

  “What of the palace?” asked Patrick, his voice anxious. “Gone. The outer walls stand in place, but great breaches exist. The inner palace is little more than a huge pile of blackened rubble—the fire was so hot the timbers burned through and some inner walls collapsed. Only the ancient keep still stands, if you use the term ‘stands’ generously. It’s a blackened shell of stones. I climbed the stone steps inside, for no wood remains untouched, and reached the roof.

  From there I could see the entire city and some distance to the north and west.

  “The harbor is a sea of sunken ships, their masts blackened and rotting. The docks are gone. Most of the first street after the docks has been leveled. All the buildings in the western third of the city have been gutted or reduced to rubble, as if the fires burned the hottest there.”

  Arutha, Duke of Krondor, nodded. His father, Lord James, who had preceded him in his office, had fired the city to trap the invaders inside the flames, and had died, along with his mother, in doing so.

  Arutha knew the placement of Quegan fire oil in the sewers below the city would have concentrated the damage where his father would have judged it most 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 16

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  appropriate, at the docks, near the ships unloading troops, then throughout the maze that had been the poor quarter of the city, then the merchant quarter.

  “The central third of the city is seriously damaged, but there may be a building or two that can be salvaged on every street. The rest will have to be razed before any construction can begin. The easternmost third is also heavily damaged, but many of the buildings there can be restored.”

  “What of the outlying estates?” asked Erik, thinking of his friend Rupert’s large house, a day’s ride to the east of Krondor.

  “Many burned to the ground; others were sacked and left empty. A few of them were being used as headquarters for what I took to be companies of the invaders, so I didn’t get too close,” answered Jimmy.

  He sipped at his coffee.

  “I was about to leave when things turned interesting.” Patrick and Arutha looked at Jimmy expectantly. Jimmy took another sip of coffee, then continued.

  “A command of at least a hundred men rode past where I was camped—” He glanced at his brother.

  “That little inn up the street from Weavers’ Road, where you got into that fight?” Dash nodded.

  Looking back at the Prince, Jimmy continued, “It’s atop a little rise, and had an intact roof, which was welcome, and best yet, provided an unobstructed view of High Street and Palace Road, as well as several other byways from the north gate.”

  “The men?” prompted Owen Greylock.

  “If I understand the markings used by the mercenary companies, General Duko is now on his way to Krondor or is already there.”

  Erik swore. Then he glanced at Patrick and said, 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 17

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  “Sorry, Highness.”

  Patrick said, “I understand. All the reports I’ve read tell me Duko is a worthy foe.”

  Erik said, “He’s more than a handful. He kept constant pressure on our northern flank along Nightmare Ridge, without wasting soldiers. He’s the closest thing the invaders have to a Kingdom general in his knowledge of tactics and deployment.”

  Owen nodded. “If he’s in Krondor, and ordered to hold it, our job just became a great deal more difficult.”

  Patrick looked worried but stayed silent a moment. Then he said, “Why would they move into Krondor in strength? There’s nothing left, they don’t need it to protect their southern flank. Could they know of our new base down at Port Vykor?”

  “Perhaps,” said Owen. “Or they simply wish to keep us from using Krondor as a forward base.”

  Patrick suddenly looked tired, and worried, thought Jimmy. After another long silence, the Prince said, “We need more information than we have.”

  The brothers exchanged glances, each acknowledging what the other knew: they were among those most likely to be sent ahead to get that information.

  Patrick asked James, “How long did you stay?”

  “Long enough to see them start to secure the area, so I made for the eastern gate to get free before they spotted me. I got out of the city, but ran right into a patrol between Krondor and Ravensburg. I managed to get loose from them in the woods, but they killed my horse.”

  Patrick said, “Patrol? That far east?”

  Owen nodded and said, “Erik?”

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  Erik’s expression showed he was as perplexed as anyone else in the room. “We’ve gotten reports from refugees that General Fadawah might be pushing south again, or at least is making his presence known. If Duko’s in Krondor, those rumors are true.

  But to have patrols already that far east means they’re quickly deploying to welcome us should we march home.”

  Patrick said, “It’s icy hell out there. What’s he up to?”

  “If we knew that,” said Dash dryly, “we wouldn’t have to go slogging about in that icy hell.”

  Owen smiled. Duke Arutha tried to hide his own amusement, but failed.

  Patrick said, “True,” ignoring the breach of protocol. The winter shared in close quarters had turned this group into a fairly informal band of friends when court wasn’t in session.

  The invaders had been defeated at the Battle of Nightmare Ridge, but the destruction done to the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was unimaginable. As spring approached, and with it the ability to move his forces, Patrick was desperately trying to imagine what had happened to his princi-pality.

  Patrick turned to Greylock. “How soon can you move?”

  “Highness?” asked Owen.

  “How soon before you can move to retake the city?”

  Owen said, “I can marshal the men and have them ready to march in under a week. We’ve got some of the garrison scattered along the ridge and down toward the Vale of Dreams, but most are near 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 19

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  enough to muster, though from what I’ve seen, we’ll need better information than we have to know what strength we’ll face.”

  Patrick sat back. “I was hoping for better intelligence.”

  Jimmy glanced at his father, who shook his head slightly, warning him from making any comment.

  Dash allowed his brother the confirmation that what the Prince had just said was thoughtless by raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.

  Patrick said, “We’ve got a massive front to the south, and all the major units of the Army of the East are ready to answer any invasion from Kesh, but we have limited resources to reclaim the Western Realm.”

  Jimmy said nothing.

  Finally the Prince noticed Jimmy, nodded and waved his hand. “Dismissed. Get some clean clothing and bathe. We’ll discuss this again at length after the evening meal.”


  Jimmy left, finding his father and brother following him out of the room. They paused just outside the door. Arutha said, “I’ve got to get back inside, but I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “I’m fine,” said Jimmy, with a faint smile of appreciation for his father’s concern. With the death of their grandparents, Arutha’s features had taken on a drawn, haggard edge, from too much worry and too little sleep. “Just some cold toes.”

  Arutha nodded, squeezed his son’s shoulder a moment. “Get some food and rest. This isn’t half over, and while Patrick may be ready to storm the enemy, we need a great deal more information.” He opened the door and returned inside to the Prince’s 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 20

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  council. Dash said, “I’ll go with you to the kitchen.”

  Jimmy said, “Fine.”

  The two brothers walked down the long hall.

  Erik entered the kitchen. He waved across the large stone room to Milo. The innkeeper from his hometown of Ravensburg had been put to work in the castle’s kitchen, along with his wife, so they could be close to their daughter, Rosalyn, mother of the next Baron of Darkmoor. She and her husband Rudolph the baker lived in the castle where they took care of the baby baron.

  Erik’s own mother now lived in one of the buildings close by the castle—the long history of animosity between her and the Dowager Baroness made it prudent to keep the two women separated. The Baroness had been humiliated publicly for years by Erik’s mother Frieda over Erik being the illegitimate son of the late Baron Otto. Erik’s stepfather, Nathan, was furiously working in the Barony’s smithy, readying weapons and other iron goods for the coming spring campaign. It was a socially awkward situation at times, but Erik enjoyed having his family close by.

  Erik sat. “You all right?” he asked Jimmy.

  “Just tired. Came close to not making it once, but it’s not much of a story. I had just lost my horse and had to hide from a patrol for a while, and damn near froze hiding under a log. The snow was falling so they didn’t track me after I had crossed some rocks, but I could barely move when they finally left.”