“So the thieves still control the sewers of Krondor?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘control’ as much as that there are some places Duko and his men haven’t found yet, and they have a couple of safe ways in and out of the city.”
Erik took a drink of wine and said, “That would have been a blessing if we were going to assault the city.”
“You think he’s sincere about wanting to change sides?”
“I don’t know,” answered Erik. “Your brother seemed to think so, and he convinced Greylock, and if I know your father, they’ll all convince the Prince.”
Dash shook his head. “That creates a problem for the Mockers.”
“What?”
“I promised them some sort of amnesty or pardon if they helped get us into the city during the coming attack.”
Erik rubbed his chin. “With Krondor in ruins it does seem a little trivial being worried over a man’s past before the war. I mean, should we hang someone for cutting purses two years ago while we pardon a man who burned down parts of the city last year?”
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“Politics,” said Dash. “Fortunately for you and me, we don’t have to make that decision.”
Erik’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t discount your own counsel too much, Dash. I’m sure your father and the Prince will want your opinion on the matter.”
Dash sat back, swallowed another mouthful, and said, “I have one idea. Just pardon everyone inside the walls and get on with it.” He motioned with a fork over his shoulder. “I have no illusions about those mother-killers back there, and even fewer about the Mockers, despite my grandfather’s wonderful stories. Most of those invaders would be rioting within weeks if they were forced to play garrison soldiers, and the thieves will be cutting purses or throats within a day of being pardoned.” Speaking around a mouthful of food, Dash shook his head.
“No, the only difference between having the Mockers help us to get into the city or having Duko open the gates is me keeping a promise.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“Only if the Mockers decide I forswore my promise and put a death mark on me.”
Erik nodded. “Let me know if I can help.”
Dash said, “I will. Though I suspect Father and Jimmy have persuaded Patrick to do whatever it is that Patrick is going to do.”
“Well, do you want to wait here and see if they’re heading our way? I could send word you’re alive. Or do you want to ride on to Darkmoor?”
Dash yawned. “Right now I just want to sleep on something softer than a pile of straw on a stone floor.”
Erik gave him a rueful look. “Then you might do well to ride on tonight. We don’t have a lot of down-
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stuffed mattresses in camp.”
“I know,” said Dash, pushing himself back from the table. “I was just expressing a desire. I’ll take a soldier’s pallet if that’s what fate provides. I’ve slept on the ground with this tattered cloak wrapped around me for the last three nights.”
“Well, we’ll get you some better clothing,” said Erik. “We have spares, though you’ll be back in uniform.”
Dash shrugged. “As long as they’re free of lice and fleas, I won’t complain about fashion.”
Erik laughed. “You can always hang your rags over the campfire.”
“A dog soldier’s washing,” said Dash. “Yes, I’ve heard of that approach; then your clothing stinks of woodsmoke for days. I’ll settle for a uniform and you can burn these.”
Erik laughed. “You can have the extra bedroll over there and bunk in with me tonight. I’ll try not to wake you when I turn in later.” He moved toward the tent flap. “I have to check on some things before . .
.” He turned and saw that Dash was already on the pallet and asleep. Moving outside, Erik turned his mind to the tasks at hand, though for a brief moment he considered how odd the situation before him was becoming.
Well, he decided, he’d leave it to the Prince and Duke to decide if Duko was being straightforward or not, and then, as always was the case, he would follow his orders the best way he knew how.
Pug reined in and the leader of his escort shouted the order to halt. The patrol heading toward them was decked out in the black of Krondor’s Crimson 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 183
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Eagles, the special unit founded by Calis, Erik von Darkmoor’s predecessor, and at their head was a familiar face from the last winter at Darkmoor.
“Nakor! Magician!” shouted Jadow Shati, Lieutenant of the company. “What brings you this way?” He signaled behind him and his patrol also halted.
“We’re up to see Captain Subai and then on to see if we can sort out this mess with the Saaur,” said Pug.
Jadow’s brilliant smile suddenly fled. “Man, ask Nakor. We’ve faced them Saaur, down across the sea.
Tough and fast. Takes three of us for each one of them unless we’re heavily armored. What do you think the chances are of the Prince sending the Royal Lancers this way, magician?”
“I’m hoping that I can convince the Saaur that fighting us is a waste on both sides.”
“Well, that would be novel. From what I’ve seen of them, peaceful isn’t the first word that springs to mind when thinking of them.” He glanced over his shoulder, then said, “Ride on another hour and you’ll hit our main camp. I’m out for a couple of days, so perhaps I’ll see you on your way back.” He looked at Nakor. “How’s your new religion going?”
Nakor sighed theatrically. “Being good is difficult, Jadow.”
The good-natured former Sergeant laughed. “You state the obvious, my little friend.” He waved his patrol after him. “Let’s ride.” As he passed the leader of the patrol from Krondor, he accepted their sergeant’s salute with a wave and nod.
Pug said, “Let’s go see the Captain.”
Nakor said, “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”
Pug laughed. “You’re always hungry, my friend.”
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“You know,” said Nakor as they rode along, “I had this odd notion—”
“Really,” said Pug, interrupting. “You’ll have to tell me of it some other time.”
Nakor laughed. “No, I mean really odd.”
“Definitely some other time,” said Pug.
“Very well,” Nakor responded.
They rode in silence as they approached Captain Subai’s camp. It was set up in a clearing near the base of some foothills rising steeply to the west. Pug could see the road rose sharply beyond the camp, and judged this to be the northern boundary of the area considered secured from invaders. To further reinforce that impression, he could see a heavy breastwork had been constructed across the road on the northern side of the camp. Glancing around, Pug could see why this location had been picked for the headquarters camp. There was ample room to the south for the area to be quickly reinforced, but to the north the terrain rose sharply on the west; to the east of the road, the bank was almost a cliff face, and below it any soldiers coming down along the base of the hills would be trapped in a narrowing defile. A pair of archers could hold off anyone coming along that way.
Soldiers hurried along to take Pug and Nakor’s horses. The men were dressed in both the garb of the Royal Pathfinders and the Crimson Eagles. Pug and Nakor dismounted, and Pug asked one of the soldiers where Captain Subai’s tent was located. The soldier indicated a large tent in the very center of the camp, and Pug gave his thanks.
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your men back in the morning. We’ll be fine here.”
The Sergeant saluted. He turned and gave the order to dismount, and asked the second soldier where his men could care for their mounts. As the soldier directed the Sergeant, Pug and Nakor walked toward the command tent.
There was a single soldier sitting in a camp chair outside the tent. As they drew near, Pug saw that it wasn’t a lazy sentry, but rather the Pathfinder Commander himself. He was hard at work oiling up a leather harness. Pug had heard that Pathfinders tended their own equipment and didn’t relegate anything to the army’s usual cadre of blacksmiths, tanners, and armorers. Erik had once commented to Pug that they took very good care of their horses, an area in which Erik was an expert. He glanced up and recognized the magician.
“Duke Pug,” he said slowly as he stood and saluted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Pug said, “To Prince Patrick’s instructions, I’m afraid.”
The Captain, a gaunt man with prematurely grey hair and a face and hands the color of tanned leather, stood. “What orders?”
“I’m to venture down to the flatland to the east of here, then strike up into the Thunderhell Steppes, find the Saaur, and convince them not to attack our forces again.”
The Captain raised an eyebrow in his most expressive reaction since Pug had first encountered him in Krondor. “Good luck to you, m’lord.” He put down the harness and said, “Will you be needing anything from me or my men?”
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for an escort. The Prince thought it necessary.”
The Captain smiled. “From what I’ve heard of you, I find that difficult to believe. Still, if the Prince commands, we obey. I’ll have a patrol ready to accompany you at first light. Until then you’ll have to make do with a rough camp. I’ll have a couple of my men double up in a tent, so you and your friend here can share one.”
“Thanks,” said Pug. He glanced at Nakor. “You’ll sleep alone tonight, my friend, as I plan on staying another night with my wife.”
“Going to flit back down to Darkmoor?”
“No, Miranda’s at Sorcerer’s Isle, and I want to see her again.”
Nakor grinned. “I remember what it was like to be in love,” He sighed. “That was a while back, though.”
Pug took out a Tsurani transportation orb and said, “This is the last one. I’m going to have Miranda teach me the trick of getting around without one of these things.” He started looking around the landscape. To attempt to use the orb to go to a destination not well known to the user’s mind was almost certain death. “Let me take a few minutes and get the location of this camp fixed in my mind so I can find my way back here in the morning.”
“By all means,” said Nakor. “But don’t break it,”
he added with a laugh. “It’s going to take her a while to teach you, and somehow I don’t imagine you’re going to start learning tonight!” Pug ignored Nakor and wandered off, looking intently at the surrounding landmarks. Nakor turned to Subai. “Things quiet around here, Captain?”
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of the northern passes, but they’re not trying to cross the ridge of the mountains. Our patrols can get within a few hundred yards of their positions before they come swarming out, but they only chase us a little way. They seem content to stay where they are.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Nakor. “They’re fortifying defenses before every avenue of attack.”
Subai nodded.
“I suppose you’ve found a few ways over the mountains they haven’t found out yet.”
“A few. Mostly goat trails and footpaths. There are a couple of places we might infiltrate a squad or two, potentially put men at their back as we drive north, but no place we could stage on the other side for a major offensive.” The Captain glanced westward, as if seeing through the mountains to where the enemy was on the other side. “Over there, just a week’s ride if it were a straight path, lies Sarth. If we could somehow get inside there, seize the old abbey above the town, and stage there, we could launch a flank attack in support of any forces coming from the south and clear out the invaders in a few days, rather than the weeks it’s going to take.”
Nakor said, “Maybe there’s a way.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked the Captain.
“I’m trying to remember a story Duke James told me a long time ago.” He was silent a while, then said,
“I need to send a message to Duke Arutha. Do you have something I can write with?”
“In my tent,” said Subai.
“Good,” said Nakor, heading inside.
Subai looked up to see where Pug was now, and saw that the magician had vanished.
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Miranda looked up and saw Pug standing there.
She jumped up, hurried to him, and threw her arms around him. “I missed you.”
Pug echoed the sentiment. They hadn’t been apart since the end of fighting almost six months earlier, and it had taken him almost a week to reach Subai’s camp in the mountains.
“How are things around here?” Pug asked after their embrace.
Miranda said, “Much as we left it. Gathis conducts the daily business of the island in an exempla-ry fashion and it seems Robert d’Lyes has become something of an organizer around here. He’s taken to reestablishing the class schedule that lapsed with your last departure.”
Pug smiled. “Good. I’ll have to speak to him before I leave in the morning.”
She kissed him. “But not until after dinner. I want you to myself for the next few hours.”
He smiled and said, “Not until then.”
They spent the next two hours alone, then sent word to have supper brought to their quarters. After dining, Gathis appeared outside the door as servants were removing the dinner trays.
“Master Pug,” he said in greeting. The tall goblinlike creature was always formal when addressing anyone, from Pug to the most menial of servants.
Though, even the most menial of servants on this island was a student of magic, from one end of Midkemia to the other, and from distant worlds.
“Gathis,” Pug acknowledged. “How is everything?”
“That is why I wished to speak to you. I fear something is amiss.”
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“What is that?”
“It would be better if you and Mistress Miranda were to accompany me.”
Pug and Miranda exchanged glances, but said nothing, nodding to Gathis, who turned and led them out the door and along the long hallway which separated Pug’s personal quarters from the rest of the large central house that dominated Villa Beata—the Beautiful House as it was known in the ancient language of Queg.
He led them outside and across a meadow, and instantly Pug knew where he was leading them. As before, when he reached a grassy hillside, Gathis waved his hand and a cave materialized. They entered and again Pug saw the small altar upon which rested the statue of Sarig, the lost God of Magic. Miranda gasped. The first time they had seen the statue, the features upon it resembled those of her father, Macros the Black. “The face is blank!”
“Yes, mistress,” said Gathis. “I came here a few days ago and saw what you see now.”
“What does it mean?” asked Miranda.
Pug said, “The gods are waiting.”
“For what?” she asked, touching the statue.
Pug’s voice was soft. “For Sarig’s new avatar, his new human agent on this world.”
Miranda said, “Does this mean you?”
“No,” said Pug. “When I lay
near death in the healing glade of Elvandar, when Lims-Kragma spoke to me, I was given three choices. Death was the first.” He looked at Miranda. “I could not leave you.”
She smiled.
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was becoming Sarig’s next avatar. I would have replaced your father.”
“I don’t think I would have cared much for that.”
Then she looked at Pug. “What was the third choice?”
Pug said, “Nothing I care to talk about.”
Anger flared up in Miranda’s voice as she said,
“Tell me!”
“I will die someday.”
She moved around to stand directly before him, between Pug and the statue. “You’re not telling me something. What?”
“Only that at the end of my life I will know . . .
hardship.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “What have we known already?”
“That was how I looked at it. If we can get through what we’ve already survived, what more should I worry about.”
Coolly, she said, “Are you telling me everything?”
Pug shrugged. “I’m probably forgetting something.” With a light tone he said, “Remember, I was almost dead at the time I had this conversation.”
Gathis said, “The future is not fixed, though it can be difficult to change if events gain enough momentum.”
Pug nodded, and Miranda said, “I have no idea what that means. What are you hiding?”
Pug said, “Only that in exchange for a very long life and a great deal of power I will have to eventually pay a high price.”
Miranda said, “There’s no ‘only’ about that.”
Gathis said, “We all have prices to pay.”
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Pug changed the subject. “You’ve been the keeper of this shrine for ages, Gathis. What do you think this means?”
“I think a time of change is upon us, Master Pug, and soon someone will present himself to fill the void left by Macros’s death.”
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