Shards of a Broken Crown

by Raymond E. Feist

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  For an instant there was a tiny hope she might come back to him, but then she called out her greeting, a loud whinny.

  Suddenly shouts filled the air and other horses answered the mare’s call. Jimmy didn’t hesitate.

  “That way!”

  Malar shoved through underbrush and ignored scratches from branches as he went where Jimmy had directed. Jimmy came next, leading his gelding, eyes wide and nostrils flaring from excitement. The mare balked and resisted as she screamed her welcome to the other horses. A stallion’s herd cry answered, and Dash knew the only way he could control his mare was from her back. Letting her head come around toward the stallion, he quickly swung up onto her back, exposing himself to view.

  He didn’t hesitate, and slammed heels into her flanks. Urging her into a gallop, he seemed to burst from the underbrush toward those riders arrayed on the trail. Then he was past them, moving away from his brother and Malar, and the chase was on.

  From a vantage point a short distance off, Jimmy turned and saw the riders wheel and charge after Dash. Malar, almost out of breath, puffed as he said,

  “Sir, will they catch him?”

  Jimmy swore. “Probably. But if they don’t, he should try to get back to that farmhouse. That’s what we planned.”

  “Shall we turn around?” asked the servant.

  Jimmy was silent. After a moment he said, “No.

  Dash will either be captured, in which case we can’t help him escape, or he’ll win free. If he gets back to that farmhouse we found the day we met you, he’ll wait one or two days, then return to Darkmoor. If we 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 56

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  go now, we’ll have no more information than he will.”

  “We go to Krondor?”

  “We go to Krondor,” said Jimmy. He glanced around, seeking any sign of other riders in the area. As the sound of Dash and his pursuers faded into the distance, he pointed and said, “That way.”

  As quietly as they could, the pair set off.

  * * *

  Dash rode as hard as he could, despite the balky mare, who wanted to turn and greet the stallions behind. Every hint of hesitation from her brought a hard kick to her sides as he used every skill he had to keep her heading down a windy woodland trail made dangerous by mud and ice, overhanging branches, and sudden turns. Dash knew that if his old riding instructor, the King’s own horsemaster, could see what he was doing, he’d be shouting at the top of his lungs, telling Dash to slow down. Dash knew his race across treacherous footing was unbelievably dangerous and foolhardy.

  He couldn’t spare a glance back to see how close his pursuers might be, but the noise behind him told him all he needed to know: they were close. It would take a stroke of luck for him to lose them. He knew that to them he was a dimly-seen figure on a horse moving through the long shadows of the woodlands, but as long as he stayed on the trail, they would be able to stay close and not lose him.

  He had a rough idea where he was. There were a dozen or more woodland trails to the east of Krondor that led to farms throughout the area. He knew that 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 57

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  eventually—if he outran his pursuers—he’d hit the King’s Highway. A horse’s scream and a panic-stricken rider’s cry told Dash that one of his pursuers’ mounts had lost footing and was down, probably breaking a leg.

  Dash glanced to the left and saw the trees thinning as he reached a clutch of farms, open fields that were dotted with burned-out buildings. He hesitated for a moment, but to try to ride across muddy fields would be far worse than staying on the trail. Here the mud was a nuisance, slippery muck over hardpan compacted by years of wagons, riders, and foot traffic. The mud in the fields was deep enough for an adult horse to sink up to the point where it would be unable to move.

  The horse labored as Dash pushed her along the trail; lack of grain and fodder had shortened her endurance and she was blowing hard as she struggled to obey his commands. Then he saw a stone path, and a glimmer of hope appeared.

  He almost caused her to fall, so abruptly did he pull the mare around, but once she got her feet back under her, she sped off in the desired direction. Dash said a silent prayer to Ruthia, Goddess of Luck, and gathered his horse under him for a jump. The fence along the road was mostly broken down, but he needed to land on a relatively narrow pathway that was blocked by one of the few remaining intact sections and a closed gate.

  The horse was tired, but athletic enough to easily clear the fence, landing on the wet stones. The reassuring clatter of hooves on stone told Dash that Ruthia at least didn’t say “no.”

  He stole a glance to his left and saw several of the 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 58

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  riders attempt to cut him off by veering into the muddy field. He smiled to himself.

  Making sure the horse was heading exactly where he wanted, he chanced another look back and saw that the horses in the field were now half buried, attempting to pull their hooves out of the deep, thick muck.

  Dash gained precious seconds as the riders who followed on the road chose to double back and work their way around the intact fence. He now had a chance.

  The sun was now out of sight behind the trees ahead, as the long shadows of late afternoon crept across the fields. He rode past a burned-out farmhouse and saw the stone path he was on passed the door and continued on toward the foundation of a burned-out barn. He continued to ride, but slowed as he reached the terminus of the path.

  Dash could only spare a moment to let the horse rest, as curses from behind told him those trying to reach him were now also mired in the mud. Dash judged the way to his right was more substantial footing than elsewhere—at least he hoped that was the case, and set off, letting his horse move at a trot until she slowed down due to the mud.

  The sound of the mare’s hooves hitting tightly compacted sand caused Dash to feel a surge of hope.

  It was quickly extinguished when he heard riders coming hard behind on the stone path.

  The trees were close enough to give the illusion of safety, but Dash knew that if he couldn’t get into them at least a minute ahead of the riders behind him, he wouldn’t be able to shake them.

  He urged his mare on to a loping canter and 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 59

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  glanced back. The riders were just now reaching the edge of the farmhouse, and again hope rose up within Dash. Their horses were lathered and their nostrils were flaring wide. They were almost as exhausted as his own. They must have been at the end of their patrol, or they weren’t getting enough to eat, but for whatever reason, they didn’t look as if they had enough left to overtake him—as long as he could keep his own exhausted mare moving.

  He reached the treeline and ducked under a low-hanging branch. As quickly as he could, he picked his way among the trees, varying his course and trying to keep clear of those behind. He hoped there were no trackers behind, but then, considering the terrain, realized a blind man could follow his trail.

  Glancing around he saw a small outcropping of rock that rose up a slight incline and appeared to be flat on top. He turned the horse and walked her up the rise, and found the rock ran off along what appeared to be a smaller trail. He jumped off and led her down the trail.

  Exhaustion was curbing her desire to call to the stallion, as she could barely catch enough breath to walk after Dash. He pulled her reins and she reluctantly set out at a fast walk behind him.

  Shadows deepened as the sun lowered in the west, and Dash moved deeper into the woods. If Jimmy and Malar had stayed clear of pursuit, they would be approaching the city several miles to the south. Dash wondered if he should attempt to cut back behind his pursuers and try to
find his brother and the stranger from the Vale of Dreams.

  Dash considered the best that would bring him would be to get him haplessly lost. There couldn’t be 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 60

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  so many people in Krondor that if both brothers reached there safely, they couldn’t find one another.

  At least Dash hoped that was true. Hearing the riders coming closer to the point where he had left the trail below, Dash hurried deeper into the woods.

  Jimmy gripped Malar’s arm and said, “We join there.” He indicated a point in the road where a fairly steady stream of travelers had been coming past the woodlands, at the edge of what had once been the foulbourgh outside the walls of Krondor. “I’m a mercenary from Landreth and you’re my servant.”

  “Dog robber,” said Malar.

  “What?”

  “The term is ‘dog robber.’ To feed his master, a mercenary’s servant will steal scraps from a dog if necessary.” The slender man smiled. “I have served as such. You, though, will be obviously false to any Valeman who might happen to be here.”

  “You think that likely?”

  “It would be better should you be a young man from the East of the Kingdom, who lately served in the Vale. Claim no company. Say you worked for my departed master. I do not know what you expected to find in Krondor, young sir, but in the backwashes of war many things happen. We are seeing that ahead.”

  Jimmy was forced to admit that was true. Where he had seen nothing but frost-covered stones and a few fires just weeks before, now he saw dozens of huts and tents, a veritable community springing up almost overnight. As they walked down the road, Malar leading Jimmy’s horse, Jimmy drank in the sights and sounds.

  Evening was upon them and fires dotted the land-

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  scape. Hawkers shouted from ahead, offering food, drink, the company of a woman. Hard-looking men lounged near fires, watching guardedly as Jimmy and Malar moved past.

  A man hurried over holding a steaming pot, and said, “Hot food! Fresh rabbit stew! I have carrots and turnips mixed in!”

  From the expressions on the faces of those nearby, Jimmy surmised two things: the “rabbit” was probably a less wholesome dinner item than adver-tised, and most of the people nearby were hungry.

  But some sort of order had been imposed, and armed men who seemed near to the point of killing for food merely watched with fixed expressions as the man passed holding out the meal. “How much?”

  asked Jimmy, not pausing.

  “What have you?” asked the peddler.

  Malar elbowed Jimmy to one side. “Begone, O

  stewer of cats! My master has no use for such foul-smelling garbage,” he shouted.

  Instantly the two men were almost nose to nose, screaming insults at one another, and almost equally abruptly a deal had been struck. Malar gave the man a copper coin, a ball of yarn he had been carrying in his pocket, and a very old rusty dagger.

  The man gave over the pot and hurried back to his campfire where a woman offered him another crock of the hot stew. He set out to find another customer.

  Malar motioned for Jimmy to move to the side of the road and squatted, holding the crockery. He held it out and spoke softly, “Eat first and give me what’s left.”

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  of diminutive stature, and even the carrots and turnips had a strange taste. Jimmy decided it best not to consider how long they had sat in some abandoned root cellar before that enterprising peddler had found them.

  He ate half the contents of the bowl and gave the rest over to Malar. While, his newfound servant ate, Jimmy looked around. He had seen enough military camps to recognize he had blundered into one.

  Warriors, camp followers, peddlers and thieves, all resting until they had a reason to move on.

  Jimmy wondered about the reason for the gathering, and the reason that would make them move on.

  Many of the warriors were from the invading army that had ravaged the Western Realm the year before, but he saw enough Keshians and a few Quegans mixed in to decide that these were deserters, oppor-tunists, weapons runners, and the dregs washed up in any backwater of a war.

  Putting aside the bowl, Malar looked at Jimmy.

  “Young sir?”

  “Let’s head into the city,” said Jimmy.

  “And do what?” inquired the Valeman.

  “Look for my brother.”

  “I thought he was to go back east,” said Malar.

  “That’s what he should do, but he won’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s . . . Dash.”

  They moved through the tent village and headed toward the city gate.

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  Three

  Confrontations

  PUG FROWNED.

  The Keshian Ambassador’s smile was forced, almost painful, as he finished his latest message from his government.

  “My Lord Gadesh,” said the Kingdom’s represen-tative, Baron Marcel d’Greu, his own smile just as false. “That’s impossible.”

  Pug glanced at Nakor, who sat to his right. The latest round of negotiations between the Kingdom and the Empire of Great Kesh was proving to be a simple restatement of the last round.

  Nakor shook his head and said, “Why don’t we take a small recess, my lords, and give ourselves time to ponder these requests?”

  Kalari, a Tsurani Black Robe who was representing his government, the Empire of Tsuranuanni, as a neutral observer, said, “Excellent idea, my friend.”

  The two ambassadors retired to the quarters that had been provided to them, and Pug led Nakor and Kalari to another room, where Miranda waited next to Kalied, the leader of the most powerful of the three factions of magicians in Stardock.

  63

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  Kalied appeared to be older than Pug, despite the fact Pug was nearly twenty years his senior. Pug appeared to be a man in his mid-twenties, his reju-venation courtesy of the freed life energies that had been trapped in the Life-stone.

  Miranda, looking like a woman in her mid-twenties, smiled at her husband. “Any joy?”

  “None,” said Pug, taking a mug of ale offered by a student who was acting as servant to those representing the interests of Stardock in the negotiations between the Kingdom and the Empire of Great Kesh.

  “I must confess,” observed Kalari, “these negotiations seem far more ritualistic than I anticipated.”

  He sipped at a hot cup of coffee and nodded in appreciation at the flavor of the brew. He was a bald-headed man of middle age, still slender and fit and possessing a penetrating pair of blue eyes. “Is it my unfamiliarity with the nuances of the King’s Tongue, or some lack of insight into the Keshian culture, or is this simply a restating of previous claims and demands?”

  “No,” said Nakor, “there is nothing wrong with your appreciation of this situation.”

  “Then what is the point?” asked Kalari. “My own Empire’s traditions include negotiations, but usually it’s between Tsurani Lords. I’m afraid your notion of diplomacy is a little foreign to me.”

  Kalari had been sent by the Assembly of Magicians on Kelewan, to insure that whatever interests Tsuranuanni had in Stardock were represented.

  Trading between the former enemies, the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Tsuranuanni, had been cyclical over the years. For nearly fifty years a major upheaval in Tsurani society had resulted from the 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 65

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  rise to prominence of House Acoma and their inno-vative lea
der, the Lady Mara, the Servant of the Empire. Her son, Justin, had ruled the Empire despite several political plots to return the Empire to the older traditions Mara had set aside. Turmoil had resulted from many of the changes, at various times limiting trade between the two worlds to a trickle, but currently a stable period had endured almost ten years, and the Empire wished to see nothing disrupt their commerce with Midkemia.

  Pug said, “Well, if you consider us to be Thuril, but with more swords, you might consider the needs we face.”

  Kalari nodded. Thuril had been the only nation to resist his empire on the homeworld, and had forced the Empire to a guarded peace. “Well, since the Servant of the Empire overturned so many of the Assembly’s prerogatives, we’ve had to constantly relearn things. I think endless babble around a table to no point, though, may be a difficult process to master.”

  Nakor laughed. “Actually, it’s really easy. That’s why diplomats do it so much.”

  Kalari regarded the strange fellow. Nakor had been given his seat at the negotiations by Pug.

  Known as Milamber on the Tsurani homeworld, Pug was a figure of legend, almost as awe-inspiring as the Lady Mara. That fact alone had blunted some of the Tsurani Great One’s astonishment at Nakor being included in these sessions. To all outward appearances, the self-styled “High Priest” of some unknown order was nothing more than a ragged vagabond, perhaps a confidence trickster who played the fool. Yet there was something about the odd little 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 66

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  man that made Kalari cautious of judging him too quickly. Behind his constant irreverent humor an intellect of great scope was at work, and every fiber of Kalari’s being told him a man of great magical ability also wore the guise of a common gambler recently turned man of religion. He might claim powers that came from the Gods, or merely “tricks”

  as he often commented, but Kalari sensed this was a being of power second only to Pug’s at the table.

  Kalari put aside his nagging suspicions about Nakor. Whatever else, he did find the man from the nation of Isalan in Great Kesh amusing and amiable.