It was protocol for the Squire to introduce himself to the Duke, and Duval was taken completely off guard. He stood there, unsure of whether to take the Duke’s proffered hand or bow, so he gave a rapid and awkward bow, and reached out to take the Duke’s hand just as it was being withdrawn. Jimmy almost hurt himself trying not to laugh.
“Ah . . . Your Grace,” said the flustered squire from Bas-Tyra. “I’ve come to place my sword at your disposal.” He saw Jimmy standing off to one side, and said, “James?”
“Marcel,” Jimmy said with a slight bow.
“I didn’t know you were here, Squire.”
“It’s Earl, now; actually,” said Duko.
Marcel’s eyes widened, which heightened his comic appearance. For while he was dressed exactly like his men, he had elected to wear a larger helm, with stylized wings on each side. He had a round face, with a large waxed mustache that stuck out on either side.
“Congratulations,” said Marcel.
Jimmy couldn’t resist. “I received the office upon my father’s death,” he said seriously.
Marcel Duval had the decency to blush a furious red color, stammer and appear close to tears over the gaffe. “I’m so sorry . . . m’lord,” he said with a tone so apologetic it bordered on the comical.
Jimmy swallowed a laugh and said, “Glad to see you, Marcel.”
Duval ignored the remark, totally defeated social-
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ly. He turned to Duko and, mustering as military a manner as he could, said, “I have fifty lancers at your disposal, m’lord!”
Duko said, “I’ll have my sergeant get your men billeted, Squire. As long as you’re in my command, you’ll carry the rank of lieutenant. Join us for supper.” Duko shouted, “Matak!”
The old soldier who opened the door, said,
“Yes?”
“Show this officer and his men a place they can pitch their tents.”
“Yes, m’lord,” said the old soldier, holding open the door to allow Duval to flee.
When he was gone, Jimmy laughed, and Duko said, “I take it you didn’t get along with him before?”
“Oh, Marcel is harmless, if a bore,” said Jimmy.
“When we were boys in Rillanon, he was always trying to intrude into social situations to which he had not been invited. I think he was trying to get on Patrick’s good side.” Jimmy sighed. “It was Patrick who couldn’t stand him, actually. Francie, Dash, and I got along well enough with him.”
“Francie?” asked Duko.
Jimmy’s expression clouded over, as memory of her suddenly inserted itself in his consciousness.
“The Duke of Silden’s daughter,” Jimmy supplied.
“Well, he has fifty men. We’ll get them into shape, and if nothing else, they’ll be very obvious on patrol, so the Keshians will know they’re around.”
“They’ll be hard to miss in those scarlet tunics,”
said Jimmy.
A knock came at the door and it opened, and a messenger hurried in. Handing a packet to Jimmy, he 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 433
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said, “Messages from Land’s End, m’lords.”
Jimmy took them, opened the packet, and Duko waved the messenger outside. Jimmy quickly sorted out those messages that were urgent and other communiqués that could wait, then opened the first.
“Damn,” he said as he skimmed the letter. The Duke was learning to read the King’s tongue, but it was more efficient to let Jimmy read and sum up for him.
“Another raid and this time two villages south of Land’s End were sacked. Captain Kuvak is withdrawing from patrolling there, as the villagers have fled and they no longer require the Earl’s protection.”
Duko shook his head. “Some protection. Had he been protecting those villages, they wouldn’t be sacked!”
Jimmy knew the static front was wearing on everyone’s nerves, especially the Duke’s. Kuvak had been one of Duko’s most trusted officers, which is why he had been selected to oversee the defense of the castle at Land’s End. Jimmy jumped to the end of the report. “They still give the castle wide berth, and he’s routed two other raids in the area.”
Duko walked back to the window and looked out at his rapidly growing town. “I know Kuvak’s doing the best he can down there. It’s not his fault.” He looked at the map. “When will they come?”
“The Keshians?”
“They’re not going to do this forever. There’s a reason behind the raids and the probes. They will eventually show us what their intent is, but it may be too late.”
Jimmy was silent. While ambassadors were negotiating at Stardock, men from both nations were dying. Jimmy knew that the strike would come if and 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 434
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when the Keshians decided they could strengthen their negotiating position by doing so.
A strike at the Vale of Dreams, an attempt to seize the western coast from Land’s End to Port Vykor, or a strike directly at Krondor, all were possible. And they were only able to defend two of those three locations, so they had a one in three chance of being wrong, tragically wrong. And lingering in the back of his mind was that escaped Keshian officer, and what he knew.
“Up here,” said Dash.
Turning and looking up, Trina smiled, and Dash was again struck with how attractive she could be should she ever decide to play up her looks. “You’re getting better, Sheriff Puppy.”
Dash leaped down from the roof beam upon which he had rested, landing lightly on his feet. “I found out who Nolan and Riggs worked for,” said Dash.
“And?”
“So I know whoever killed them is neither friend to the crown nor the Mockers.”
“So the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
Dash grinned. “I wouldn’t go that far. Let’s say that it suits our mutual interest to cooperate in discovering who else is using the sewers as a highway, besides the thieves.”
Trina leaned back against the wall and looked Dash up and down in an appraising fashion. “When we were told you were to be in charge of the city’s security, we thought it a bit of a joke. I guess not.
You’re more like your grandfather than not.”
“You knew my grandfather?” asked Dash.
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“Only by reputation. Our old friend held your grandfather in awe.”
Dash laughed. “I have always understood how special my grandfather was, but I never thought of him that way.”
“Think on it, Sheriff Puppy. A thief who became the most powerful noble in the Kingdom. That’s a tale.”
“I guess,” said Dash. “But to me he was always Grandfather, and those stories were always just wonderful stories.”
“What do you propose?” asked Trina, changing the topic.
“I need to know if you catch sight of any of these strangers in the sewer, especially if you discover where they’re hiding.”
Trina said, “You know who they are?”
“I have my suspicions,” said Dash.
“Care to share them?”
“Would you in my place?”
She laughed. “No, I wouldn’t. What is in it for the Mockers?”
Dash said, “I should think you’d just want them gone if they’re causing you problems.”
“They are causing us no problems whatsoever.
Nolan and Riggs we knew because they’ve bought information from us before, and they’ve set up a few deals. We always suspected they were working for some businessmen in the city, like Avery and his bunch, who didn’t wish to conduct business in the usual fashion, or a noble who wasn’t entirely above-board in paying taxes. That sort of thing.”
Dash realized she was fishing for information.
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to the war, they were my men when they got their throats cut. I don’t care if it was over some old grudge or because they happened to wander into the wrong place at the wrong time. I cannot afford to have people running around this city thinking they can kill my constables. It’s that simple.”
“If you say so, Sheriff Puppy. But there’s still the matter of price.”
Dash had no illusions. It was a waste of his time to make any sort of offer. “Ask the old man what he wants, but I won’t compromise the city’s security or look the other way about a capital crime. I’ll get what I want without your help.”
“I’ll ask him,” said Trina. She started to leave.
“Trina,” said Dash.
She stopped and smiled. “You want something else?”
Dash ignored the double entendre. “How is he?”
Trina lost her smile. “Not well.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Her smile returned, this time a small one without any hint of mockery. “No, I don’t think so, but it’s good of you to ask.”
Dash said, “Well, he is family.”
Trina was silent for a long minute, then she reached out and touched Dash’s cheek. “Yes, more than I thought.” Then, with a sudden turn, she was out the door and down the street into the darkness.
Dash waited a few minutes, then ducked out the back of the old building. He felt an odd sensation inside. He didn’t know how much of it was concern for the old man’s health, worry over the possible infiltration of Keshian agents into the city, or the woman’s touch on his cheek. Muttering to himself, 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 437
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Dash said, “If only she wasn’t so damned attractive.”
Putting aside the distractions of a beautiful woman, he turned his mind back to the problems of protecting the city of Krondor.
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Twenty
Clash
MEN SHOUTED.
Erik motioned the third element of the infantry forward and they marched out into the killing zone.
The heavy ram had breached the door, and the first and second waves had swarmed the gates and were now inside the barricade. Resistance had been heavier this time, but as with the first two barricades they had encountered, the defense was more for show than for real resistance.
The messages from Subai had Erik and Greylock worried, for his picture of the defenses ahead had Erik concerned that they simply were not equal to the task of breaking through in time to rescue Yabon.
The summer was nearly half over, with the Festival of Banapis only a week away. If there were heavy fall rains, or an early winter snow, they could lose Yabon Province for good. And if they lost Yabon this year, it was possible they would lose Krondor again the next.
If not sooner.
Erik could not escape the feeling that Krondor lay naked and ready for the taking if Kesh should simply 438
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realize that fact. He hoped the negotiations at Stardock were proceeding well.
He pushed aside his worry and looked at Owen.
The Knight-Marshal of Krondor nodded, and Erik spurred his own horse forward. For whatever reasons, Owen had ordered Erik to remain behind at the headquarters tent, rather than lead the first assault as was Erik’s desire.
The fighting was fierce for an hour, then suddenly the defense collapsed. Erik moved his horse through the gate and realized that, once again, they were facing an enemy that lacked the resources for a sustained defense.
Erik rode around, and saw that everything was now under control. As before, he dispatched light cavalry to ride up the road, seeking those fleeing northward, preventing any from reaching their own lines.
Greylock appeared at the gate of the barricade, and Erik rode toward him. “This is pointless,” he said. “If what Subai says is true, we should have sat outside the wall and starved them out.”
Owen shrugged. “The Prince’s orders didn’t give us leave to tarry.” He looked about the scene unfolding around them, and said, “Though if you put a dagger to my throat, I’d be forced to agree with you.” He stood up in his stirrups. “My backside longs for a comfortable chair by the fire at the Inn of the Pintail, a jack of ale in my hand, and your mother’s stew in front of me.”
Erik grinned. “I’ll mention that to Mother when next I see her. She’ll be flattered.”
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horse and landing hard on his back. His horse sprang forward.
Erik looked in all directions, and all he could see were mercenaries throwing down their swords, putting their hands in the air, and being herded to rear positions. A few signs of struggle could still be seen, and there was sporadic combat in the distance, but whoever shot the crossbow bolt that had felled Greylock was nowhere to be seen.
“Damn!” Erik leaped from his horse, and raced to where Greylock lay. Before Erik’s knee touched the ground next to his old friend, he knew the dreadful truth. A crossbow bolt protruded from above the breastplate Owen wore, and it had smashed the upper portion of his chest and lower throat to pulp.
Blood flowed everywhere and Owen’s eyes stared lifelessly at the sky above.
Erik felt a cold stab of anger and hopelessness.
He felt like screaming, but resisted the impulse.
Owen had always been a friend, even before Erik had become a soldier, and they had shared a love for horses, an appreciation of the great wines from the Darkmoor region, and the fruits of honest labor.
Looking down at the lifeless form of his old friend, Erik’s mind was awash with images, laughter over jokes, losses endured together, and the approval of an old teacher who was generous in his praise and frugal in his criticism.
Erik turned and his eyes sought out Owen’s killer.
A short distance away, he spied two Kingdom soldiers arguing. One held a crossbow and the other pointed in his direction. Erik leaped to his feet and ran to face them. “What happened?”
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had appeared before them. One of them looked as if he was ready to vomit. Perspiration appeared on his brow as he said, “Captain . . . I was . . .”
“What?” demanded Erik.
The man appeared close to tears as he said, “I was about to shoot when the order to hold was called out.
I put the crossbow over my shoulder, and it went off.”
“It’s true!” said the other man. “He fired it backward. It was an accident.”
Erik closed his eyes. He felt a shaking in his body start at his feet and run up his legs to his groin and up through his chest. Of all the jokes he had endured in his short life, this was the most cruel. Owen had died at the hands of one of his own men, by accident, because the man had been lazy and sloppy.
With a hard swallow, Erik forced back his frustration and rage. He knew there were other officers in the army who would hang this man for not unloading his crossbow and costing the Kingdom the life of their commander in the West. He looked at the two men involved in the accidental shooting, and said,
“Go away.”
They didn’t hesitate, but ran as if wishing to be as far away from the giant young Captain as possible when his rage finally erupted. Erik stood motionless a moment, then turned back to see soldiers gathered around the body of Owen Greylock, Knight-Marshal of Krondor. Erik calmly moved through them, gently but firmly pushing them aside
until he was once again beside his old friend.
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was well in hand, and Erik felt a need, a duty, to carry his old friend back to his command pavilion; he would not trust the task to another. Slowly, he walked back down the road, holding his dear friend.
The officers had assembled and the silence was awkward. Erik stood beside Owen’s empty chair of command. He glanced around the room. There were a dozen captains senior to him, but none holding the unique position of Captain of the Prince’s Crimson Eagles. The nobility in the tent was also senior to him, but none of them were part of Patrick’s command structure.
Erik self-consciously cleared his throat, then said,
“My lords, we are faced with a dilemma. The Knight-Marshal has fallen and we are in need of a commander. Until Prince Patrick appoints one, we need to be united in our duty.” He looked around the tent. Many eyes regarded him suspiciously. “If Captain Subai were here, I would easily accept him as leader, given his years of service to the Principality. Or if Captain Calis, my predecessor, were here, he also would easily ascend to the office of commander. But we have a situation both dangerous and awkward.”
Erik looked at one old soldier, the Earl of Makurlic, and said, “My Lord Richard.”
“Captain?”
“Of those here you are senior in service and age.
I would be honored to follow your command.”
The minor Earl, from a small corner of the Kingdom located outside Deep Taunton, appeared both surprised and pleased. He glanced around the tent, and when no one seemed to object, he said, “I 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 443
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will serve as interim commander until the Prince names another, Captain.”
There seemed an almost palpable sigh of relief in the tent as the conflict between the Prince’s handpicked Captain and the more traditional nobles was avoided for the time being. The Earl of Makurlic said, “Let us get the Knight-Marshal on his way back to Krondor, then I want a meeting of all senior staff immediately after.”
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