Shards of a Broken Crown

by Raymond E. Feist

“what are your orders?”

  Dash said, “As Baron of the court and Sheriff of Krondor, I find I am the only functioning noble in the city. How many officers escaped the poisoning last night?”

  “Four, sir, of which I am senior.”

  “You are now an acting Captain, Yardley. How many men have we?”

  Yardley spoke without hesitation, “We have five hundred members of the Prince’s Household Guards, and fifteen hundred members of the city garrison, spread out around the city. I don’t know the current number of your constables, sir.”

  “Slightly better than two hundred. What about guards who came with the nobles last night?”

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  personal retinues,” replied the newly made Captain.

  “Very well, have them support your men on the palace walls. Have whoever’s in charge of the city garrison find me here and report.”

  Yardley ran off, and a short time later a grey-haired old sergeant appeared. “I’m Sergeant Mackey, sir. Lieutenant Yardley said to report to you.”

  “Where’s your officer?” asked Dash.

  “Dead, sir,” replied the stocky old man. “He was dining with the Prince last night.”

  Dash shook his head. “Well, Sergeant,” said Dash dryly, “for the next few days, you’re going to play the part of Knight-Marshal of Krondor.”

  The old man smiled and came to attention. With a glint in his eye, he said, “I had hoped for a promotion before I retired, sir!” He then lost his smile. “If I may be so bold, who then are you to be?”

  “Me?” said Dash with a bitter laugh. “I get to play the part of the Prince of Krondor until Patrick’s strong enough to stand.”

  “Well, then, Highness,” said the Sergeant in a semi-mocking tone, “I respectfully submit we better quit larking about and get ready to defend this city.”

  He pointed to the advancing column in the distance.

  “That lot doesn’t appear very tender to me.”

  “Right you are,” said Dash with a tired smile. “I want you to deploy three men in four on the walls. I want the remaining men held in reserve.”

  “Sir!” said Mackey with a salute. As Mackey ran off, Gustaf and the constables ran down High Street toward the main gate. Dash yelled down, “How did the raids go last night?”

  Gustaf shouted, “We netted another score of the bastards, but I know there are more out there.”

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  “Here’s the duty: call martial law and tell everyone to remain in their houses. Then I want the constables to check all the places we’ve talked about.”

  Gustaf knew exactly what Dash meant: those places within the city vulnerable to attack from within.

  “Then sweep the city and arrest anyone on the streets. Then report back to the jail and wait.”

  “Wait for what, Sheriff?”

  “Wait for word the Keshians are breaching the defenses, then come fast.”

  Gustaf saluted. He turned and gave orders to groups of constables, who ran off in different directions, shouting, “Martial law! Get inside! Get off the streets!”

  Dash turned and watched as the sun continued to rise in the east, and the enemy continued their advance.

  Erik leaned over, perspiration dripping off his brow, as the enemy retreated once more. He stood at the point of the center diamond, the dead piled outside the shield wall to chest height. He turned when someone touched his shoulder and saw Jadow behind him, his face a mask of red from the splat-tered blood. “We held,” said the Lieutenant. “We did it.”

  The attack had been unrelenting; a wave of soldiers who had simply pushed themselves upon the waiting defenses of the Kingdom. Erik had been able to repulse them without having to rely on horses which he no longer had. The left diamond had threatened to collapse at one point, but a reserve company had been thrown in and the enemy pushed back.

  Archers had continued a slaughter between the dia-

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  monds and two flying companies had been able to respond to threatened flanking attacks from either side. On the whole, it had been a masterful defense.

  Erik said to Jadow, “I’m worried about arrows.

  Get scavengers out there picking up as many as can be salvaged.”

  Jadow hurried off and Erik waved over another soldier, named Wilks. “Run to the command tent and inform Earl Richard I’ll be along presently, and ask him if any supply trains have caught up with us.

  Then come back here and report.”

  Erik was handed a waterskin by a commissary and he drank greedily. He then poured water over his face and wiped off whatever blood and dirt he could.

  Around him men were pushing bodies outside the diamonds. The enemy showed no interest in removing their dead, and Erik was worried: beyond the obvious problems of the stink and the danger of dis-ease, there was the added burden of his men having to clear the positions so they could be defended.

  Erik directed the cleanup, and Jadow returned saying that the scavengers were hard at work recovering any arrows that could be used again. Even some that were damaged would be repaired by a trio of fletchers hard at work at the rear of their position.

  But Erik was nearly out of supplies and was concerned, because a baggage train due to arrive the previous day was overdue. He had dispatched a patrol to the south to find them and hurry them along. While a smith’s apprentice, Erik had tended mules and don-keys and knew they were even more fractious and difficult at times than horses, but now he was concerned that something beyond a difficult team or two was slowing down the supplies.

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  Jadow said, “Man, that was some fight.”

  “Not much in it, save stand and slaughter.”

  “Nightmare Ridge all over again.”

  Erik hiked his thumb at the enemy. “They’re not very smart, but they are fearless.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Jadow. “We know that those we faced before were under some spell or another, a demon or what have you, according to the rumors, and that’s why they fell apart after the battle at the ridge, but they don’t seem to have learned anything over the winter.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Erik. “From everything we know about Fadawah, I’d expect something different. He must have discovered by now that we’re not going to chase him.” Erik rubbed his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the fatigue.

  Wilks returned and said, “Captain, Earl Richmond awaits your report and told me to tell you the baggage train has arrived.”

  “Good,” said Erik, “I was beginning to worry.” To Jadow, he said, “Relieve the men in the diamonds and get something to eat.”

  “Sir,” said Jadow with a casual salute.

  Erik left the diamond and paused to inspect the three positions for a minute. The shields were damaged, as he expected, and he had ample replacements, but the spears were almost used up. He turned to a soldier. “Johnson, get a squad and move south to the woods near the road. Start felling trees that we can use to make long spears.” The soldier saluted, and Erik could tell from his expression he had no wish to be doing anything but eating and sleeping, but during war few got to do what they wished for.

  Erik knew they’d not have spearpoints, but sharp-

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  ened, fire-hardened stakes would serve to keep enemy horse at bay. And other weapons would be in the baggage, machine parts for constructing catapults, oil for burning out underground tunnels and firing wooden defensive positions. Erik began to feel optimistic about being able to h
old the position. He had no thought at this moment about advancing, not with his entire detachment of horse soldiers dashing toward Krondor.

  He reached the command tent and found the Earl sitting at his command table. “How is the arm, sir?”

  “Fine,” said Richard. He smiled. “Do you want to know why our baggage is late?”

  “I was wondering,” admitted Erik as he poured himself a mug of ale from a pitcher on the table.

  “Leland forced them off the road,” said Richard,

  “so he could get down to Krondor. Some of the wagons got stuck in the mud and it took a half-day to get them out.”

  “Well,” said Erik with a laugh, “I’d have rather had them here yesterday, but as long as they’re going to be late, I’ll settle for that reason; I was afraid they’d been ambushed.”

  Hot wet towels were provided and Erik washed up. A servant went to his tent and returned with a fresh tunic, and Erik sat with the Earl, the teeth-grit-ting pressure of the day beginning to slip away slightly as the ale relaxed him.

  Food was provided, and while plain camp fare, it was hot and filling, and the bread was fresh baked.

  Erik bit off a large hunk of the hot flavorful bread, and after he had swallowed, said, “One good thing about holding a defensive position is our commissary has time to set up their ovens.”

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  Earl Richard laughed. “Well, there you have it; I was wondering if there was even a hint of good in all this, and you found it.”

  Erik said, “Unfortunately, that may be about all the good there is to wring out of this situation. I would trade all the hot bread in the world to be outside the gates of Ylith, ready to storm the city with our army.”

  “Someone once said that you can make all the plans you wish, but they all go to naught as soon as the first elements in your army encounter the enemy.”

  “My experience is that is true.”

  “The truly great field commanders can improvise”—Richard looked at Erik—“as you do.”

  “Thank you, but I’m far from being anyone’s notion of a great general.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Erik.”

  “I wanted to be a smith.”

  “Truth?”

  “Truth. I was apprenticed to a drunk who failed to register my name with the guild, and had he, I would probably have been moved from Darkmoor before I killed my half-brother.” He went on and outlined the story of how he had become a soldier, from murdering Stefan while in a rage over Stefan’s rape of Rosalyn, the girl who had been like a sister to Erik, and being tried and convicted of murder. He told him of being pulled from prison by Bobby de Loungville, Lord James, and Calis, and the journeys to Novindus.

  When he was done, Lord Richard said, “A remarkable story, Erik. We had heard things in the East of some of those things Lord James did, but 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 529

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  only rumors and conjecture.” Lord Richard said,

  “My son will follow me in my office, and perhaps rise even higher as a result of this service, but you stand poised for greatness should you choose to take advantage, Erik. With Greylock dead, it is but a short step for you to take command of the Armies of the West.”

  Erik said, “I am unsuited for it; there is so much I don’t know about strategy, long-range planning, the political consequences of things.”

  “The fact you know those issues exist places you ahead of most of us who might be selected for the position on the basis of who our fathers were, Erik.

  Don’t underestimate yourself.”

  Erik shrugged. “I don’t think I am, Richard. I’m Captain of the Crimson Eagles, and a Court Baron as a result. That’s far more than I wished to be. I thought I had everything I wanted when I was named Sergeant. I only want to serve as a soldier.”

  “Sometimes we have no choice,” said Richard. “I wanted to grow roses. I love my gardens. I don’t think I’m happier than when I’m showing guests through them. I amuse my wife and annoy our groundskeeper no end by puttering around out there, on my hands and knees, pulling weeds.”

  Erik smiled at the image of the old man out there in the dirt. “Yet you do it.”

  “It makes me happy. Find what makes you happy, Erik, and hold to it.”

  “My wife, doing a good job, the company of friends,” said Erik. “I can’t think of much more.”

  “You’ll do, Erik von Darkmoor. You’ll do very well, should fate tap you for greatness.”

  They talked late into the night.

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  Nakor pointed. “That way.”

  The Captain said, “I can’t see anything in this fog. Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am,” said Nakor. “The fog’s an illusion. I know where we’re going.”

  “I’ll remember you said that, sir.” The Captain appeared dubious.

  Nakor had tried a couple of “tricks” to contact Pug, but nothing seemed to work. He was almost certain new defenses had been erected around Sorcerer’s Isle, and upon entering the region of fog he was certain that was the case.

  Pug didn’t want to be bothered by casual travelers, it seemed. When Nakor had been in charge of the island, he had relied on the reputation of the place, coupled with a menacing-looking castle with blue light flickering in the tower windows.

  Now the defensive magic was stronger. Nakor had to correct the Captain’s course, because while in the fog the tillerman was letting the ship curve away from the island.

  In the distance he heard the sound of surf and said, “Get ready to lower sails, Captain. We’re almost there.”

  “How can you—”

  Suddenly they were out of the fog, in brilliant daylight. Members of the crew looked over their shoulders and saw a wall of fog which circled the island like a fortress.

  The castle still stood atop the cliffs, a looming black presence that seemed to cast a pall over the area. “Should we move farther down the coast?”

  asked the Captain.

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  “This is very good,” said Nakor. “They’ve added some new tricks.” He looked at the Captain.

  “Everything is fine. You just lower a boat, drop me on the beach, then you can go back to Krondor.”

  The relief was obvious on the man’s face. “How do we plot our course?”

  “Just sail through the fog, that way.” Nakor pointed. “If you’re turned around a little in the fog, that’s fine, because it will want to turn you away from the island anyway. You’ll come out more or less pointed east, and you can get your bearings off the sun or stars. You’ll be fine.”

  The Captain tried to look reassured, but failed.

  The sails were hauled in and a boat lowered, and within an hour Nakor stood on the beach of Sorcerer’s Island. He didn’t bother to watch the ship depart, as he knew the Captain would be raising sail even as the boat that had dropped Nakor off was rowing furiously back. Pug had done a wonderful job of casting a pall of woe and despair over anyone sitting off the coast.

  Nakor hiked the path up from the beach, and where it split toward the castle and down into the small valley, he chose the valley path. Nakor didn’t even bother using the energy needed to shift his perceptions, as he knew that when he reached the limit of the illusion he would pass from the seemingly wild woodlands into a lovely pasture, dominated by a rambling villa.

  When the illusion finally did shift, Nakor almost tripped in surprise. For while the landscape was as he had expected it to be, there was one feature that was totally unexpected. A golden dragon rested comfortably next to the house, apparently asleep.

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. FIEST

  Nakor hiked up his faded orange robe and hurried on spindly shanks until he was before the dragon.

  “Ryana!” he shouted.

  The dragon opened one eye and said, “Hello, Nakor. Is there a reason you’re waking me?”

  “Why don’t you change and come inside?”

  “Because it’s more comfortable sleeping like this,” said the dragon, her voice revealing her mood as less than pleased.

  “Late night?”

  “Flying all night. Tomas asked me to bring him.”

  “Tomas is here! That is wonderful news.”

  “You may be the only one in Midkemia to think so,” rejoined the dragon.

  “No, I don’t mean the reason he’s here, I mean the fact he’s here. That means I don’t have to explain things to Pug.”

  “Probably for the best,” said the dragon as a nimbus of golden light surrounded her. Her form shim-mered, the edges blurring, and the light seemed to shrink until she was human size. Then she resolved into the form of a striking woman with reddish blond hair, enormous blue eyes, and a deep tan of gold.

  “Put some clothing on,” said Nakor. “I can’t concentrate when you run around naked.”

  With a slight movement, Ryana created a long blue gown, which accentuated her coloring. “How you can be the age you are and still act like such an adolescent at times is beyond me, Nakor.”

  “It’s part of my charm,” said Nakor with a grin.

  Ryana slipped her arm in his and said, “No, I don’t think that’s it. Let’s go inside.”

  They walked into the house and headed toward Pug’s study. When they got there, they heard voices 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 533

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  inside, and when Nakor knocked, Pug’s voice said,

  “Come in.”

  Ryana entered first, and Nakor came in behind her. Pug’s study was large, with a broad windowseat upon which Miranda sat. Tomas sat uncomfortably in a chair that was obviously a little too small for him, while Pug sat facing the two of them. If either Tomas or Pug were surprised to see Nakor, neither showed it. Miranda grinned. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”