“Yes,” Roo said softly to himself as he drove his wagon back to his boyhood home. Things were certainly taking a turn for the better.
Jimmy said, “If it gets much worse, we’re going to lose everything.”
Duke Duko nodded. “Here we’re locked up at Land’s End.” He pointed to the map. “It’s as if they don’t want to take the place, but they’re reluctant to leave.”
They occupied the largest room of the biggest inn in Port Vykor, a town that didn’t exist five years before. Upon seeing the settlement, Jimmy was of the opinion that had the first Prince of Krondor wandered a little farther south those many years ago, this would be the site for the capital of the Western Realm, not Krondor.
The harbor was commodious, opening into a calm bay that was relatively safe for shipping during the worst weather in the Bitter Sea. The docks could be extended as needed, for miles if necessary, and a 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 409
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broad highway to the northeast provided easy access from land. Already traders were making their way to the military encampment and businesses were springing up around the wooden stockade erected around the port. In a dozen years, there would be a city here, thought Jimmy.
He had ridden to the town as fast as he could drive his horse, and had gotten to Duko with his dispatches two days prior. He had rested for an entire day, sleeping most of the time.
Duko had dispatched more patrols and now messengers were returning with the latest intelligence.
Jimmy had a very sore left shoulder, with a huge purple and blue bruise that was now turning green and yellow as it started to fade. Several small cuts had been dressed, and while feeling worse for the wear, he was on the mend and knew that in a few days he’d be fit once more.
He had come to appreciate the former enemy General. Lord Duko was a thoughtful man who, had he been born in the Kingdom to a noble family, would have risen high, perhaps as high as to the very office in which a capricious fate had placed him.
Somehow that reassured Jimmy, knowing that a very important position in the Kingdom was being occupied by a man of talent and intelligence.
Jimmy had not asked Duko what had been contained in the orders sent by Prince Patrick. He knew the Duke would inform him of what Jimmy needed to know, and nothing more.
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was.
“I have no servants,” said Duko. “The ease with which your Keshian insinuated himself into the palace at Krondor makes me dubious of anyone here I do not know. I’m afraid that has not endeared me to those officers who previously held posts here. Those that weren’t called north, I’ve moved to posts at the harbor or down in Land’s End.”
Jimmy nodded. “Not very politic, but very smart.”
The old General smiled. “Thank you.”
“M’lord,” said Jimmy, “I am at your disposal.
Prince Patrick wishes me to serve you here in any capacity you see fit as well as serve as a liaison between Your Grace and the crown.”
“So you’re to be Patrick’s spy in my court?”
Jimmy laughed. “Well, you can appreciate his being somewhat dubious and a little cautious in dealing with as prodigious a former enemy as yourself, my lord.”
“I understand, even if I’m not terribly happy.”
“I think you’ll find me useful, sir. You are going to discover yourself subject to some scrutiny for the foreseeable future, and not all of it from the crown; many eastern nobles have sons and brothers whom they will wish to insert into vacant offices here in the West. Several will no doubt show up here unannounced. Some will be honest volunteers, younger brothers or sons looking to gain glory fighting Kesh, as did their ancestors. Others, however, will be seeking anything that can be used to discredit you, or another lord who is a rival to their lord, or simply to find such information to sell to interested parties.
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and complex. I can be of service in deflecting a great deal of such nonsense.”
“I believe you,” said Duko. “I am first a soldier, but you don’t become one of the top generals in my homeland without some facility at dealing with princes and rulers. They are in the main more concerned with their own vanity than in truly finding solutions to problems, and as often as not I had to guard against those who would work against my own interests within the court of my employer. We may not be all that unlike, after all.”
“Well, anyone who looks at the history of the Kingdom, Your Grace, and thinks that for every victor there wasn’t a vanquished, or that all the lands of the West embraced the Kingdom with open arms, is a fool. It was the King’s scribes who wrote history, and should you wish a slightly different perspective of our annexation of the West, I could recommend one or two histories published in the Free Cities that don’t cast too kind a light on our rulers.”
“History is written by victors,” said Duko. “But I have little use for history. It is the future with which I am concerned.”
“Probably a wise attitude given the present circumstances.”
“Right now I am very concerned about that Keshian officer and what his escape may portend.”
Jimmy nodded. “Malar was showing him the documents when we found them. He may have just been beginning to explain the significance of your orders.
If it’s nothing more than ‘Krondor is vulnerable,’ and the Keshians think we’ll reinforce due to the discovery of the spy, we may avoid any problems up there.
If he has any of the details of those messages mem-
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orized, he’ll be able to tell his masters we can’t reinforce Krondor.”
Duko said, “If I could chase the Keshians out of Land’s End, that would help.”
Jimmy said, “Yes, it would, but without additional soldiers I can’t see how you can accomplish that.
Enduring a siege is one thing, but mounting an effective counteroffensive . . .?” He shrugged.
“With all that desert at their rear, I’m impressed how well the Keshians are resupplying the army facing Land’s End,” admitted Duko. “If we could get part of the fleet down to intercept their shipping out of Durbin, we might shake them loose, but short of that I have no idea how we’re going to dig them out.
I’ve asked the Prince for permission to dispatch Reeves and a squadron to raid off of Durbin . . .” He shrugged. “The Prince seems reluctant.”
“Compared to previous wars with Kesh, this is still a ‘misunderstanding.’ Patrick is understandably reluctant to expand it,” Jimmy said. “I’m fresh out of ideas, my lord.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to take a walk and clear my head a bit. Otherwise, I might find myself asleep at your table.”
“Sleep heals,” said Duko. “If you feel the need of a nap, you’ll not hear me say no. I’ve seen those marks the Keshian left on you.”
“If I still feel the need after my walk, my lord, I’ll sleep a bit before supper.”
Duko waved his permission to withdraw, and Jimmy left. The inn converted to headquarters was busy, with many clerks supporting the demands of a headquarters command. Jimmy was amused at how the clerks and functionaries were rapidly over-
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whelming the far more casual approach traditional to the mercenaries from across the sea. At most a Captain from Novindus had to worry about organization and logistics on the sa
me level as a baron, a few hundred men at most. A general such as Duko rarely had more than a few thousand men under his command. Now, suddenly, these disorganized swords-for-hire were being forced into acting like a tradition-bound, massively organized army. Jimmy suspected more than one clerk would earn a black eye or broken head from a frustrated soldier from Novindus before this campaign was through.
If this campaign was ever through, thought Jimmy as he left the building to get a good look at Port Vykor.
The crack of whips echoed through the evening air. Subai recognized the sound, even at a distance.
He had heard it often enough as a child, living in the hills outside of Durbin.
His grandfather had been a member of the nearly legendary Imperial Keshian Guides, the finest scouts and trackers in the Empire. He had taught his grandson every trick and skill he could, and when the slavers raided the villages for boys and girls to take to the slave blocks, Subai had used those skills to hide.
Then one time, after a raid, he had returned to find his entire family dead, his father and grandfather’s bodies hacked to pieces, his mother and sister missing. Only eleven years of age, he had taken his few possessions and set out after the men who had done this.
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Subai had killed three men. He had never found those who had taken his mother and sister, and Durbin was, if anything, more lethal an environment than the hills nearby. He stowed away on a ship bound for Krondor, and had stayed hidden for the entire voyage.
Knowing nothing else, he had found his way to a village outside the city, where he worked as a servant for a family who fed him and clothed him in exchange for work. At sixteen, he returned to Krondor and enlisted in the Prince’s army.
By the time he was twenty-five, Subai was the leader of the Pathfinders. But now, ten years later, he still remembered the sound of the slaver’s whip as it cracked through the air.
There were still five Pathfinders with him as they reached the area east of Questor’s View. Two had been dispatched south already, carrying back intelligence to Marshal Greylock. There had been no fortifications like the one halfway between Sarth and Questor’s View. There had been two observation towers, with relay riders ready to carry word when the Kingdom forces reached a certain point in their journey north. Subai had drawn detailed maps showing them, and Erik’s best avenue of approach was to take them out before they could send warning north.
Subai had faith in von Darkmoor, and knew his Crimson Eagles would take those positions quickly.
Subai had left four of his Pathfinders high in the hills above where he and his companion worked their way down steep hillsides to oversee the sounds coming from the highway. Their horses were far enough above them now that they didn’t worry about being discovered unless the two men blundered into 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 415
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a sentry.
Given the treacherous footing on the hills as they made their way down toward the coast, Subai doubted there even was a guard up here. Each step was made slowly, so as not to dislodge stones and send a man rolling down the mountain to his death.
The trees were thick enough there were ample handholds, but the going was difficult.
When they reached the edge of a high ridge, with a veritable cliff below them to another steep slope fifty feet below, Subai knew the effort had been worth it. Without speaking he withdrew a roll of fine parchment from within his tunic and removed a tiny box, along with some writing sticks. With economy, he sketched what he saw before him and added a few notes. At the bottom he wrote a short commentary, then he put away his writing implements. To his companion he said, “Study what you see below.”
They remained for a full hour, watching as slave gangs of Kingdom citizens dug deep trenches along the route Greylock’s army would have to take. Walls were being built, but unlike the earthen barricade down south, these were huge constructions of stone and iron. A forge had been constructed near the front, and its hellish glow cast a reddish light over hundreds of poor wretches laboring for the invaders.
Guards walked along, many carrying whips which they used to keep the miserable workers hard at their labor.
The sound of sawing also reached them, and they saw a lumber mill had also been constructed near the coast. Riders came down the road and wagons pulled by oxen slowly made their way toward the construction.
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As night fell, Subai said, “We must be back up the hill, else we’re stuck here through the night.”
He stood and, as he took a step, heard his companion say, “Captain, look!”
Subai looked where the man pointed and swore.
Along the road, as far as the eye could trace, in the evening gloom, other lights burned brightly; more forges and torches and tantalizing hints that told Subai one cold fact. The Kingdom could not win this war fighting the way it was. He started up the hill, knowing that he would have to wait until first light, then begin a long report to Greylock. Then he would have to race north and reach Yabon before it fell.
With LaMut, Z?n, and Ylith in enemy hands, Subai realized the King and Prince of Krondor did not realize how close they were to losing Yabon Province forever.
And should Yabon be lost, it would only be a matter of time before the invaders turned south again and attempted to retake Krondor and the West.
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Nineteen
Decisions
WIND SWEPT THE beach.
Pug walked hand in hand with Miranda as the sun rose in the east. They had been walking and talking all night and were close to agreement about several critical issues facing them.
“But I don’t see why you have to do anything now, ” said Miranda. “I thought after relaxing in Elvandar for those weeks and getting rid of all that anger you had directed at the Prince, well, I thought you could just ignore Patrick’s stupidity.”
Pug grinned. “Ignoring stupidity in a merchant or servant is one thing; ignoring it in a Prince is quite a different thing. It’s not the simple question of the Saaur. That’s merely a symptom. It’s the entire issue of who is, at the end, responsible for my power, me or the crown?”
“I understand,” she said, “but why rush this decision? Why not wait until it’s clear that you’re being told to act against your conscience?”
“Because I want to avoid a situation where I’m faced with two evils, and must act to prevent the greater evil by embracing the lesser.”
417
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Miranda said, “Well, I still think you may be rushing things.”
“I’m not about to fly to Krondor and explain my stance to Patrick until I’ve taken care of a few other things,” Pug said.
They climbed over some rocks and picked their way among some tidal pools. Pug said, “When I was a boy in Crydee, I used to beg Tomas’s father to let me go to the pools south of town, where I looked for rockclaws and crabs; he made the best shellfish stew.”
Miranda said, “Seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?”
Pug turned, a youthful grin on his face, and said,
“Sometimes it seems like ages, but other times it’s as fresh in my mind as yesterday.”
“What about the Saaur?” asked Miranda. “That problem won’t go away by dwelling in the past.”
“For several nights, my love, I have been spending some time with one of the oldest toys in my collection.”
“That crystal you inherited from Kulgan?”
“The very one. Fashioned by Athalfain of Carse.
I’ve been scouring the globe and think I may have found a place to which we can move the Saaur.”
> “Care to show me?”
Pug extended his hand and said, “I need to practice that transport spell, anyway. Put a protective shell around us, please.”
Miranda did so, and suddenly a bluish, transpar-ent globe surrounded them. “Don’t materialize us inside a mountain again and we won’t need this.”
Pug said, “I’m trying.” He put his arm around her waist, and said, “Let’s try this.”
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Instantly the scene around them swirled, resolving itself into a vast grassy plain.
“Where are we?” asked Miranda.
“The Ethel-du-ath, in the local tongue,” said Pug.
The blue globe vanished, and they were struck by a hot summer wind. “That sounds like Lower Delkian,” said Miranda.
“The Duathian Plain,” said Pug. “Come here.”
He walked her a few hundred yards south and suddenly they were peering down the face of a towering cliff. Pug said, “Sometime ages ago, this part of the continent rose up while that down there fell.
There’s no portion of this cliff face less than six hundred feet high. There are two or three places you might climb, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Miranda stepped off into the air and continued walking. She turned and looked down. “That’s quite a drop.”
“Show-off,” said Pug. “The lower portion of the continent was settled by refugees from Triagia, during the purging of the Ishapian Temple of the Heretics of Al-maral.”
“That’s the same bunch that settled down in Novindus,” said Miranda, walking back to solid ground. “No people up here?”
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