The streets twisted and turned, intercepting others at random intervals. ‘This city seems without plan,’ said Locklear.
Arutha shook his head. ‘It is a city with great plan, a clear purpose. Straight streets benefit merchants and are easy to build, if the terrain is flat or easily worked. You see twisting streets only where it is too difficult to cut straight ones, such as in Rillanon, which is situated upon rocky hills, or near the palace in Krondor. This city is built upon a plateau, which means these meandering streets are intentional. Martin, what do you think?’
‘I think that should the walls be breached, you could place an ambush every fifty feet from here to the other end of the city.’ He pointed upward. ‘Notice every building is of equal height. I warrant the roofs are flat and accessible from within. A perfect place for archers. Look at the lower floor.’
Jimmy and Locklear looked and saw what the Duke of Crydee meant. Each building had only a single door on the ground floor, heavy wood with iron bands, and there were no windows. Martin said, ‘This is a city designed for defence.’
Dwyne turned and said, ‘You are perceptive.’ He then returned his attention to their passage through the city. Citizens watched for a moment while the strangers rode by, then went back to their business.
They emerged from the press of buildings into a market. Everywhere they looked, booths were placed and people moved about them, buying and selling. Arutha said, ‘Look,’ as he pointed toward a citadel. It seemed to grow from the very face of a gigantic cliff, against which the city was nestled. It rose up a full thirty stories high. Another wall, thirty feet in height, circled the citadel, and around the wall another moat. Jimmy looked and said, ‘They must expect some bad company.’
‘Their neighbours tend to be an irksome lot,’ commented Roald.
At that a few of the guards who understood the Kingdom language laughed openly, nodding agreement. Arutha said, ‘If the booths come down, we ride across another bailey, giving those on the walls an open field of fire. Taking this city would cost a fortune in lives.’
Dwyne said, ‘As it was meant to.’
They entered the citadel and were ordered to dismount, and their horses were led away. They followed Dwyne down to a dungeon, though it seemed clean and fairly spacious. They were shown to a large common cell, illuminated by a brass lantern. Dwyne motioned they should enter. He said, ‘You shall wait here. If you hear an alarm, come to the common court above and you will be told what to do. Otherwise, wait here until the Protector sends for you. I will have food sent down.’ With that he left.
Jimmy looked about and said, ‘They don’t lock the door or take our weapons?’
Baru sat down. ‘Why bother?’
Laurie heaved himself across an old blanket placed upon straw. ‘We certainly can’t go anywhere. We can’t pretend to be native to this city, and we couldn’t hide. And I’m not about to fight my way out of here.’
Jimmy sat down next to Laurie. ‘You’re right. So what do we do now?’
Arutha removed his sword. ‘We wait.’
For hours they waited. Food was brought and they ate. When the meal was finished, Dwyne returned. ‘The Protector approaches. I would know your names and your purpose.’
All eyes turned to Arutha, who said, ‘I think we gain nothing by hiding the truth, and may gain something if we are forthright.’ He said to Dwyne, ‘I am Arutha, Prince of Krondor.’
Dwyne said, ‘That is a title?’
‘Yes,’ Arutha said.
‘We remember little of the Kingdom, we of Armengar, nor do we have such titles. It is important?’
Roald nearly burst. ‘Damn it, man, he’s brother to the King, as is Duke Martin here. He’s the second most powerful lord in the Kingdom.’
Dwyne seemed unimpressed. He was given the others’ names, then he asked, ‘Your purpose?’
Arutha said, ‘I think we shall wait to speak of this with your Protector.’ Dwyne seemed not in the least offended by the answer and left.
Another hour went by, and then the door flew open. Dwyne entered, a blond man a step behind. Arutha looked up expectantly, for perhaps this was the Protector. This was the first man they had seen not attired in brown armour. He was dressed in a long coat of chain over a red, knee-length gambeson. A chain coif had been thrown back, leaving his head uncovered. He wore his hair cut short and was clean-shaven. His face was one that would have been counted open and friendly by most, but there was a hardness around the eyes as he regarded the captives. He said nothing, simply looking from face to face. He studied Martin, as if noting something familiar in him. Then he looked at Arutha. For a long minute he stared at the Prince, his eyes betraying no reaction. With a single nod to Dwyne he turned and left.
Martin said, ‘There’s something about that one.’
Arutha said, ‘What?’
‘I don’t know how, but I could swear I’ve seen him before. And he wore a blazon upon his breast, though I couldn’t make it out through the chain.’
A short time later the door opened again. Whoever stood before it remained outside, only his silhouette visible. Then a familiar, ear-shattering bellow of a laugh erupted and the man stepped forward. ‘I’ll be the son of a saint! It is true,’ he said, a broad grin splitting his grey-shot beard.
Arutha, Martin, and Jimmy all sat staring up in disbelief. Arutha rose slowly, not able to trust his senses. Before him stood the last man he had expected to see entering this cell. Jimmy jumped up and said, ‘Amos!’
Amos Trask, onetime pirate, and companion to Arutha and Martin during the Riftwar, stepped into the cell. The burly sea captain engulfed Arutha in a bear hug, then did the same for Martin and Jimmy. He was quickly introduced to the others. Arutha said, ‘How did you get here?’
‘That’s a tale, son, one with great sagas, but not for now. The Protector is expecting the pleasure of your company, and he’s not given to be kept waiting gracefully. We can exchange histories after. For the moment you and Martin must come with me. The others are to wait here.’
Martin and Arutha followed Amos down the hall and up the stairs to the courtyard. He quickly crossed into the citadel’s main building and began to hurry. ‘I can’t tell you much, except we must hurry,’ he said as he reached an odd platform in some sort of tower. He motioned them to stand beside him. He pulled on a rope and suddenly the platform was rising.
‘What’s this?’ inquired Martin.
‘A hoisting platform, a lift. We need to carry heavy missiles to the catapults on the roof. It’s powered by some horses on a winch below. It also keeps a fat former sea captain from having to dash up twenty-seven courses of stairs. My wind’s not what it once was, lads.’ His tone turned serious. ‘Now, listen. I know you’ve a hundred questions, but they must go begging for the moment. I’ll explain everything after you speak to One-eye.’
‘The Protector?’ asked Arutha.
‘That’s him. Now, I don’t know how to tell you, but you’re in for a shock. I want you to keep your temper in check until you and I can sit and talk. Martin, keep a close line on the lad.’ He put his hand upon Arutha’s shoulder and leaned close. ‘Shipmate, remember, here you are not a prince. You’re a stranger, and with these people that usually means crowbait. Strangers are rare and seldom welcomed in Armengar.’
The lift halted and they got off. Amos hurried down a long corridor. Along the left wall was a series of vaulted windows, providing an unobstructed view of the city and the plain beyond. Martin and Arutha could only afford a quick glance at the vista but it was impressive. They hurried as Amos turned and motioned for them to keep up. The blond man was waiting for them before a door. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he asked Amos in a harsh whisper.
Jerking his thumb toward the door, Amos said, ‘He wanted a full report from you. You know how he can be. Nothing personal until business is finished. He doesn’t show it, but he’s taking it hard.’
The blond man nodded, his face a grim mask. ‘I can scarcely believe
it. Gwynnath dead. It’s a heavy blow to us all.’ He had removed the chain mail coat. Upon his gambeson, over his heart, was a small red and gold device, but he turned away and passed through the door before Arutha could comprehend the particulars of that crest. Amos said, ‘The Protector’s patrol was ambushed and some people died. He’s in a rare foul mood, for he blames himself, so tread lightly. Come, he’ll have my ears if we wait any longer.’
Amos pushed open the door and motioned for the brothers to enter. They were in a conference chamber of some sort, a large round table dominating the room. Against the far wall a massive fireplace sent forth warmth and light. Many maps covered the walls, save the left wall, which had more of the large windows, and overhead a circular candle holder provided more light.
Before the fireplace stood the blond man speaking with another, who wore all black, from tunic to trousers to the chain he still hadn’t removed. His clothing was covered in dust and his face was dominated by a large black patch over his left eye. His hair was grey and black in equal proportion, but his carriage showed nothing of age. For an instant Arutha was struck by a certain resemblance. He glanced at Martin, who returned the look. He saw it as well. More in bearing and manner than in physical appearance, this man resembled their father.
Then the man stepped forward, and Arutha could see clearly the blazon upon his tabard. A golden eagle spread his wings upon a sable field. Arutha knew the cause of the discomfort he had felt at glimpsing the flag atop the gate. Only one man in the world wore that crest. He was once counted the finest general in the Kingdom, then branded traitor by the King as being responsible for the death of Anita’s father. Here was their own father’s most hated enemy. The man called Protector by the men of Armengar waved toward a pair of seats. His voice was deep and commanding, though his words were spoken softly. ‘Won’t you be seated … cousins?’ asked Guy du Bas-Tyra.
Arutha’s hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword an instant, but he said nothing as he and Martin sat. His mind reeled as a hundred questions crashed together. Finally he said, ‘How –?’
Guy interrupted him as he took a chair. ‘It is a long story; I’ll leave it to Amos to tell you. I have other concerns for the moment.’ A strange, pained look was briefly revealed. He turned away for an instant, then back to the brothers. He studied Martin. ‘You look a little like Borric did when young, do you know that?’
Martin nodded.
Guy said to Arutha, ‘You favour him somewhat, but you also look like … your mother. The shape of the eyes … if not the colour.’ He said the last softly. Then his tone shifted as a soldier brought in mugs and ale. ‘We have no wine in Armengar, the making of it is a lost art here, as the climate is ill suited for grape arbours. But they do make stout ale, and I’m thirsty. Join me if you wish.’ He poured himself a mug and let Arutha and Martin serve themselves. Guy drained his mug, and for a moment his mask fell again and he said, ‘Gods, I’m tired.’ Then he looked at the brothers. ‘Well then, when Armand reported who Dwyne had fetched in, I could scarcely believe my ears. Now my eyes bear witness.’
Arutha’s gaze flicked to where the tall blond man hovered by the fire. ‘Armand?’ He studied the blazon, a shield bend dexter, with a crouching red dragon chief on field gold, and an upraised lion’s claw in gold upon a field red.
Martin said, ‘Armand de Sevigny!’ The man inclined his head toward the Duke.
‘Baron of Gyldenholt? Marshal of the Knights of St Gunther?’ wondered Arutha.
Martin swore. ‘I’m an idiot. I knew I had seen him. He was at the palace in Rillanon in the days before you joined us, Arutha. But he was not there the day of the coronation, the day you arrived.’
The blond man smiled slightly. ‘At your service, Highness.’
‘Not, as I recall. You were not among those who swore fealty to Lyam.’
The blond man shook his head. ‘True.’ His expression seemed almost one of regret.
Guy said, ‘Again, part of the story of how we came here. For the moment, I need concern myself with why you are here, and if that reason poses any threat to this city. Why did you come north?’
Arutha sat silently, his arms crossed before him, studying du Bas-Tyra through narrowed eyes. He was off balance from finding Guy du Bas-Tyra in control of this city. He hesitated in answering the question. The importance of finding Murmandamus might in some way run counter to what Guy saw as his best interests. And, Arutha was suspicious of anything involving Guy. Guy had most openly plotted to seize the throne for himself, almost precipitating a civil war. Anita’s father had died by his order. Du Bas-Tyra was everything Arutha had been taught to dislike and mistrust by his father. He was a true eastern lord, shrewd, cunning, and well practised in the subtleties of intrigue and treachery. Of de Sevigny Arutha knew little, save he had been numbered among the most capable rulers in the East, but he was Guy’s vassal and always had been. And while the Prince liked and trusted Amos, Trask had been a pirate and was not above lawbreaking. No, there was ample reason for caution.
Martin watched Arutha, waiting for an answer. The Prince’s manner was truculent to all outward appearances, but that was only what the others in the room saw. Martin knew that his brother was wrestling with the unanticipated shock of the moment and the desire that nothing interfere with his mission to find and kill Murmandamus. Martin glanced around the room and could see that Amos and Armand both seemed concerned at the lack of a quick response from Arutha.
When no answer was forthcoming, Guy slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Play not with my patience, Arutha.’ He pointed his finger. ‘You are not a prince in this city. In Armengar only one voice commands, and that voice is mine!’ He sat back, his face flushed behind the black eye patch. Softening his voice, he said, ‘I … mean no rudeness. I have my mind on other things.’ He lapsed into thoughtful silence while he stared at them for a long time. At last he said, ‘I have no idea what you are doing here, Arutha, but something of the oddest nature is dictating your choices, or you didn’t learn a damn thing from your father. The Prince of Krondor and two of the most powerful dukes in the Kingdom, Salador and Crydee, riding into the Northlands with a mercenary, a Hadati hillman, and two boys? Either you’re totally without wit or you’re clever far beyond my understanding.’
Arutha remained silent, but Martin said, ‘There have been changes since you were last in the Kingdom, Guy.’
Guy again lapsed into silence. ‘I think there is a story here I need to know. I cannot promise you aid, but I think our purposes may prove compatible.’ He said to Amos, ‘Find them better quarters and feed them,’ and to Arutha, ‘I’ll give you until the morning. But when we speak next, do not again tempt my patience. I must know what brought you here. It is vital. You may seek me out before tomorrow if you decide to speak.’ His voice again became heavy with some emotion. ‘I should be here most of the night.’
With a wave he indicated that Amos was to lead them away. Arutha and Martin followed the seaman out of the hall, and Amos halted once the door was closed. He looked at Arutha and Martin for a long moment. ‘For a couple of bright lads, you both did right well in showing how to be stupid.’
Amos wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He belched and then stuffed another slice of bread and cheese into his mouth. ‘Then what?’
‘Then,’ answered Martin, ‘when we got back, Anita had Arutha’s pledge within an hour and Carline and Laurie were betrothed not long after.’
‘Ha! Remember that first night out of Krondor aboard the Sea Swift? You told me your brother was a hooked fish – never stood a chance.’
Arutha smiled at the remark. They were all sitting around a large basket of food and a hogshead of ale, in a spacious room in a suite given over to their use. There were no servants – food had been brought by soldiers – and they served themselves. Baru scratched absently at Blutark’s ear while the dog chewed on a joint of beef. No one had seemed concerned about the Beasthound’s staying with the Hadati. Then Arutha said, ‘Amos
, we’ve been chatting for a half hour. Will you tell us what’s going on? How in the world did you get here?’
Amos looked about. ‘What’s going on is you’re prisoners, of sorts, and so you’ll stay until One-eye changes things. Now, I’ve seen my share of cells, and this is the nicest I’ve ever seen.’ With a sweep of his hand he indicated the large and spacious room. ‘No, if you’ve a mind to be in prison, this here’s a good one.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But don’t lose sight it is a prison, laddie. Look, Arutha. I spent enough years with you and Martin here to know something about you. I don’t remember you being such a suspicious lot, so I expect some things over the last two years have caused you to trim sails that way. But here you’ve got to live, breathe, and eat trust, or you’re dead. Do you understand me?’
‘No,’ answered the Prince. ‘Just what do you mean?’
Amos thought a long moment, then said, ‘This is a city of people surrounded by nothing but enemies. Trust of your neighbour is a way of life if you want to keep breathing.’ He paused and considered. ‘Look, I’ll tell you how we came here and then maybe you’ll understand.’
Amos settled back, poured himself another mug of ale and began his story. ‘Well, the last I saw you two was as I was sailing out of the harbour aboard your brother’s ship.’ Martin and Arutha both smiled in remembrance. ‘Now, if you’ll recall, you had everyone in the city out looking for Guy. You didn’t find him, because he was hiding somewhere no one thought to look.’
Martin’s eyes opened in wonder, one of the few unguarded reactions any of those in the room had ever seen in him. ‘On the King’s ship!’
The Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn and A Darkness at Sethanon Page 150
