Shards of a Broken Crown

by Raymond E. Feist

  SHARDS OF A BROKEN CROWN

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  against the aggressors at Land’s End, and the garrison at Shamata would be forced to hold a defensive position to prevent a strike past them at Landreth. If Kesh held Krondor, Greylock would lose all support by land from the south, as well as any chance of retreat. He would be caught between two hostile armies. And if the Armies of the West were lost . . .

  Jimmy said, “I’ll have them on the road within the hour.”

  Duko said, “Good, for if Krondor falls, the West is indeed lost.”

  If that observation from one of the men attempting to overthrow the West just a year prior struck Jimmy as ironic, he was too busy to register it. He hurried back inside the headquarters and shouted to the nearest orderly, “Get all my things together, and get my horse out of the stable!” He grabbed a parchment and leaned over the writing desk. He almost pushed the scribe out of his seat.

  Jimmy couldn’t very well order the Knight-Marshal of Krondor to do anything, nor could Lord Duko, but he could make a suggestion. A strongly worded suggestion.

  He wrote:

  Reports indicate a strong likelihood of a major offensive against Krondor by Kesh, striking along old Dorgin mine road. Urge you detach whatever units can be spared and send them south by fastest means.

  James, Earl of Vencar.

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  He grabbed a stick of sealing wax, heated it, and affixed his ring seal to it. He folded the parchment and inserted it into a message pouch.

  The scribe whom he had displaced was sitting in his chair, watching the entire thing. Jimmy turned and said, “What’s your name?”

  “Herbert, sir. Herbert of Rutherwood.”

  “Come with me.”

  The scribe glanced around the room at the other orderlies and scribes, but all returned only astonished or blank expressions.

  He hurried past Duko, who was still watching over the unfolding spectacle of his entire command, save the resident garrison, getting ready to mobilize.

  Jimmy led the scribe down to the docks and hurried to the far end, where a Kingdom cutter lay at anchor.

  He hurried up the gangplank, and when be reached the top shouted, “Captain!”

  From the quarterdeck, a voice replied, “Here, sir!”

  “Orders!” shouted Jimmy. “Take this man north.”

  The scribe stood on the plank behind Jimmy.

  Jimmy reached around and grabbed him by the front of his tunic, hauling him forward and depositing him on the deck. Jimmy said, “Herbert, take this pouch.

  Sail north, find our army, and give this to Lord Greylock or Captain von Darkmoor. Do you understand?”

  The scribe’s eyes were round and he couldn’t speak, but he nodded.

  “Captain, get this man to Lord Greylock. He’s somewhere south of Questor’s View!”

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  “Sir!” replied the Captain, who turned and shouted, “Make ready to get underway!”

  Jimmy left the stunned Herbert standing on the deck and ran from the docks back through the town of Port Vykor toward where he hoped his gear was ready. He was impatient to leave, and impatient to reach Krondor. His only brother was still in Krondor, and unless Greylock could get units south faster than Jimmy could go north, all that stood between Dash and destruction was a few palace guards, the city militia, and a barely repaired city wall.

  * * *

  Erik shouted, “Get into that breach!” Catapults on both sides of the line fired rocks and bundles of burning hay. Large ballista bolts flew overhead and men lay screaming and dying.

  The fighting had been underway since dawn the previous day, and night turned the scene hellish. The enemy had dug a series of trenches backed by a high wall, upon which platforms held war engines.

  Thousands had died building these fortifications, and the dead had been left outside the wall, unburied.

  The stench could be smelled miles before the first trench could be seen. The trenches had been filled with water, atop which oil had been floated. The oil had been fired and was sending a black blanket of smoke across the ground.

  Earl Richard had reviewed the defensive position and had been forced to agree that the only approach was a direct one. Erik had supervised the construction of a set of massive wooden bridges, set up to roll over logs cut from the nearby woods. The first set of trenches had been difficult, because of the bow-fire 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 2:37 PM Page 480

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  from the wall above, but once he got his men underway, the trenches were quickly bridged. Soldiers frantically shoveled dirt across the top of the oil, banking the fires as the bridges were run across.

  Fortunately for the Kingdom forces, when they reached the wall, they found a wooden stockade. It was brilliantly fashioned, and as stout as could be imagined, but being wood it could be cut. Men had died wielding axes at key locations, and when finally their work was done, chains with large iron bars had been thrown through the gaps. The iron bars snapped sideways when pulled back and the chains were tied to draft horses.

  They had pulled down a twelve-foot-wide section of the wall, and the Kingdom forces were now pouring through. Erik waited for the huge gates across the highway to be opened so he could lead his cavalry through.

  The gates suddenly shuddered, then swung open, and Erik ordered the advance. He kicked his horse, and the large chestnut gelding leaped forward and was up to a comfortable canter immediately.

  Erik’s eyes watered from smoke and the stench of blood and death, but he could clearly see what lay on the other side of the gates. He frantically shouted for a halt.

  Moving slowly forward, he saw his footmen were upon the battlements and locked in hand-to-hand fighting. “Dismount!” he shouted to his men.

  They did, and Erik said, “Follow me!”

  He ran through the gate and the men behind him saw what had made him stop the advance. Just behind the gate lay a pit ten feet deep, with sharp-ened wooden stakes. The gate was only six feet 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 2:37 PM Page 481

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  wider than the pit, three on each side, so men could move around the pit, but a horse could not pass.

  Erik urged his men through the smoke and blinked tears from his eyes. “Where is all that smoke coming from?” he shouted.

  “Over there,” came the familiar voice of Jadow Shati.

  Erik looked where his old friend pointed, and said, “Damn.”

  “Yes, man, damn and damn again.”

  Four hundred yards up the highway, thousands of men were lined up in ranks, with officers and cavalry mounted to the flanks and rear. More catapults, mangonels, and ballistae were apparent. This was not a defensive position. This army was making ready to attack.

  Suddenly Erik saw what was about to happen. He glanced at the wall through which he had fought and realized that if it were knocked down from behind it provided a massive bridge over the trenches on either side of the pit.

  “Back!” shouted Erik, and the order was passed.

  “Get back and get ready!” shouted Jadow.

  Erik raced back to where his horse was waiting, and he leaped into the saddle. The sound of horns and the shout of men up the highway told him that at last he was going to join battle in the field with General Fadawah. And Erik’s only thought now wasn’t on victory, but rather on survival.

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  Twenty-Two

  Realization

  MEN STALKED THE woods.

  Subai moved quietly but with purpose, following the river. Most of his men were dead, though two might have gotten over the ridge to make their way along the eastern face of the mountains down to Darkmoor. He prayed it was so.

  He had made it through a murderous jou
rney lasting weeks. His Pathfinders had skills unmatched by any on Midkemia, save the elves and the Rangers of Natal. But Fadawah’s defenses were bolstered by something far more terrible than mere human ability: they were aided by dark magic Subai did not understand.

  It became noticeable when they passed the first of the true southern defenses. Besides the death and destruction, there had been a feeling of despair everywhere, as if a miasma of pain and hopelessness hung in the air. The farther north they traveled, the worse the feeling became.

  They saw little of the coastal defenses for a while, as they moved north while the road to Questor’s View turned northwest. When they reached the road 482

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  from Questor’s View to Hawk’s Hollow, they encountered more indications of dark powers.

  Not only had the northern ridge above that road been fortified, the southern ridge had been decorated with a grisly set of corpses. Wooden Xs had been erected along the ridgeline, with a human prisoner nailed to each. All had expressions of horror on their faces, showing they died from wounds, rather than exposure and crucifixion. Most had their throats cut, but a few had their hearts removed, their chests showing gaping wounds.

  And the dead were not just men. Women and children had also been murdered for this hideous display.

  Two of his men had died an hour later, as terrible-looking men wearing scars upon their cheeks and seemingly possessed of inhuman strength and determination had chanced upon Subai’s camp. From what intelligence Subai had read on the Emerald Queen’s army, he knew these men were most likely Immortals. Originally the honor guard of the Priest-King of Lanada, they were ordinary soldiers turned into murderous fiends by black rites and a diet of drugs. The Emerald Queen had further degenerated them, using one a night in death rites to continue her eternal youth.

  It had been thought they had fallen out of favor with Fadawah, but they seemed very evident on the approaches to Yabon.

  For the next week they had been hunted, and two more men had died, leaving it to Subai to order to his two remaining companions to turn east and find their way to Loriel, which was still held by the Kingdom.

  He hoped they would lead away the pursuing warriors.

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  Subai had effectively isolated himself in the hope that one man might slip by where two would be noticed.

  For a week he had journeyed past patrols and encampments, and each time he saw another enemy band, his confidence in the Kingdom’s chances of regaining Yabon was eroded. The theory that only a core of twenty or twenty-five thousand soldiers remained under Fadawah’s command was in error.

  Given the numbers he knew to be deployed down near Sarth and estimates of what it would have taken to overrun LaMut, Subai was now convinced Fadawah had at least thirty-five thousand soldiers under his command.

  Subai knew that if it were true, and if Kesh continued to probe the southern border, freezing soldiers along the frontier, Greylock did not have enough men to dislodge Fadawah. It might be possible to retake Ylith, but the price would be grim.

  Subai had failed to reach Yabon. The city was besieged and there was no way he could get close enough to attempt to sneak in. He had considered trying for Tyr-Sog, but found himself behind the enemy’s lines and realized his best bet was to strike for the Lake of the Sky; and around the northern tip of the Grey Towers and down into the elven forests.

  Subai had no illusions. He had been chased for two days, since almost reaching the Lake of the Sky.

  He didn’t know if the men who were behind him were fanatics of Fadawah’s or renegades, but either way he knew he needed to find a place to rest and something to eat.

  He had had no provisions since a week after leaving the vicinity of Yabon City. He had foraged and 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 485

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  found nuts and berries, as well as snaring a rabbit, but he hadn’t eaten in the last two days, since being spotted by his pursuers. He was losing weight and energy, and was in no condition to fight more than one or two men. If five or six were after him, to be caught was to die.

  He was following the southern bank of the River Crydee, which began at the Lake of the Sky. He knew that soon he would be opposite woods that were claimed by the elves, and that to enter them he would need permission. He also knew that it was his only chance of safety. There was no way he could continue to follow the rift down to the castle at Crydee, or risk moving south through the Green Heart to the Jonril garrison.

  Subai stopped and looked back. Cresting some rocks a mile back, he saw dark figures moving. He looked ahead and saw a ford.

  It was never going to be a better time, he told himself.

  Subai entered the water and found it rose to his knees. At the height of summer the water level was lowest, and he knew that at thaw, or after fall thun-dershowers, he could not cross here.

  He was halfway across when he heard shouts behind and knew his pursuers had sighted him. That renewed his determination and he forced himself to move faster.

  He was ashore when the men following him reached the ford. He didn’t look back, but dodged into the woods, wishing he still had a bow. He had watched it fall into a rocky crevasse when he was still in the mountains, two weeks before. With a bow he could have stopped those after him.

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  He ran on.

  The light was falling and Subai was disoriented, but he knew he was moving generally toward the west. Suddenly a voice from ahead challenged him.

  “What do you seek in Elvandar, human?”

  Subai halted. “I seek refuge and I bring messages,” he said, leaning over with his hands on his knees as fatigue swept up over him.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Captain Subai of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders, and I bring messages from Owen Greylock, Knight-Marshal of Krondor.”

  “Enter, Subai,” said an elf, who seemed to step out of nowhere.

  “There are men following me,” said Subai,

  “agents of the invader, and I fear they will be upon us in minutes.”

  The elf shook his head. “None may enter Elvandar unbidden. Already they are being led away from us, and should they finally escape the woods, they will be miles from here. Else they may wander until they starve.”

  Subai said, “Thank you for inviting me in.”

  The elf smiled and said, “I am called Adelin. I will guide you.”

  “Thanks,” replied Subai. “I am almost done.”

  The elf reached into his belt pouch; removed a piece of food, and said, “Eat this. It will restore you.”

  Subai took the offering, a square piece of what looked to be a thick, hard bread. He bit into it and his mouth filled with flavors: nuts, berries, grains, and honey. He chewed it greedily.

  Adelin said, “We still have far to go.” He led the Pathfinder to the west, toward Elvandar.

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  Erik washed the blood from his face and hands, while outside the tent trumpets blew and horses rode by. Richard, Earl of Makurlic, looked at the map and said, “We’re holding.”

  Erik said, “We’re losing.”

  The counteroffensive had rolled the Kingdom army back in confusion, until Erik could order up reserves to blunt the assault. Now they were five miles south of the original point of contact, and night was falling. Leland, Richard’s son, entered the tent and said, “We’re routing them.” He was a likable young man, nineteen years old, with a shock of blondish brown hair and wide-set blue eyes.

  Erik said, “Hardly. They’re withdrawing to their own lines until morning. They’ll hit us again.”


  The young soldier was eager, and Erik had been pleased to discover he kept his wits about him in the midst of battle. He officially was a junior officer attached to a company of soldiers from Deep Taunton, left to bolster the Army of the West when the Army of the East withdrew. But with his father in command of the army, he was acting in an unofficial capacity as Lord Richard’s adjutant and had picked up the responsibility of relaying orders to outlying units.

  “What do we do next?” asked Richard.

  Erik wiped his face with a towel and came over to look down at the map. “We dig in. Jadow!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  A moment later, Jadow Shati appeared and said,

  “Erik?” Seeing the Earl sitting there, he changed that to “Captain? Hello, m’lord.”

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  in, here, here, and here,” he said, pointing to three points across the front. Jadow didn’t wait for further explanation, turning and leaving without even bothering to salute.

  “Diamonds?” asked Leland.

  Richard looked on in curiosity, too. Erik explained, “It’s an old Keshian formation. We build up three breastworks, each with two hundred men inside, but rather than try and build a huge one across the road, which we wouldn’t be able to finish by sunrise, we build three small, diamond-shaped ones across the front. Inside we place pikemen and build up the berm with shields and let them form defensive positions. The enemy’s horsemen can’t overrun them easily, and the tendency will be for men to move around the points of the diamond.”

  Richard said, “That funnels their men into these two constricted areas between the center and the sides.”

  “Yes,” said Erik. “With luck they get jammed up in those constriction points and our archers here”—he drew a line with his finger across the map behind the diamonds—“can wither any of the enemy who get trapped there. We’ll put a wall of swordsmen with shields in front of them in case the enemy gets past the diamonds in quantity.”