Книга - Silverthorn

Silverthorn
Raymond E. Feist


The whole of the magnificent Riftwar Cycle by bestselling author Raymond E. Feist, master of magic and adventure, now available in ebookFor nearly a year peace reigned in the enchanted kingdom of Rillanon. But new challenges awaited Arutha, the Prince of Krondor, when Jimmy the Hand – the youngest thief in the Guild of Mockers – came upon a sinister Nighthawk poised to assassinate him.What evil power raises the dead and makes corpses do battle with the living at the behest of the Guild of Death? And what high magic can defeat it? Meanwhile, a life-or-death quest must be undertaken to find an antidote to a poison that fells a beautiful princess on her wedding day…Silverthorn is the second book in the Riftwar Saga. The trilogy concludes with book three, A Darkness at Sethanon.









RAYMOND E. FEIST

Silverthorn

















Copyright


HarperVoyager

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Previously published in paperback by Grafton Books 1986

And by HarperCollins Science Fiction & Fantasy 1995

Reprinted ten times

And by Voyager 1997

Reprinted thirty-two times

And by HarperVoyager 2006, 2009

Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 1986

First Published in Great Britain By Grafton Books 1986

Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013. Cover photograph © Nik Keevil

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007229420

Ebook Edition © January 2013 ISBN: 9780007370221

Version: 2017-09-07


This book is dedicated to my nephews and niece,

Benjamin Adam Feist

Ethan Aaron Feist,

Alicia Jeanne Lareau,

Little magicians, all




BOOK III

Arutha and Jimmy


Their rising all at once was as the sound

Of thunder heard remote.

– MILTON, Paradise Lost, BOOK II, 1. 476


Table of Contents

Title Page (#u7d658fdb-ad22-5cf0-9b22-5235e445802f)

Copyright (#u31412999-b837-599f-92bd-53aa3b1ca6ed)

Dedication (#ub2b6b9c0-d117-5162-96d9-34e1e2bc916e)

Epigraph (#u7ead3954-ca1a-5c10-b192-7b1dd2219d87)

Maps (#ub5a812f6-19c0-58de-a4c1-fff2f479c4fa)

Synopsis: Our Story So Far … (#ub899f22e-6dc8-50e7-8535-1262c5596d53)

Prologue: Twilight (#u76dc65e6-38c7-5f8b-a2fb-20abf7e3a86e)

Chapter One: Reunion (#uae231eb6-6066-5334-8e55-f5dab466ad9e)

Chapter Two: Krondor (#ude04477a-2471-5fa4-965e-24ca02b8eb15)

Chapter Three: Plots (#u25cc4c83-deb3-5c78-9382-f1593474d973)

Chapter Four: Revelations (#u74fc3213-472c-5daf-bc84-5ca1e0b1f6c6)

Chapter Five: Obliteration (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six: Reception (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven: Wedding (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight: Vow (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine: Forest (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten: Sarth (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven: Clash (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve: Northward (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen: Stardock (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen: Elvandar (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen: Return (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen: Moraelin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen: Warlord (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen: Vengeance (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen: Continuation (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue: Retreat (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
















• SYNOPSIS •

Our Story So Far …


UPON THE WORLD OF MIDKEMIA, THE MIGHTY KINGDOM OF THE Isles arose, beside the vast Empire of Great Kesh to the south. The Kingdom was then nearing an era of greatness; the nation spanned a continent, from the Kingdom Sea to the Endless Sea.

In the twelfth year of the reign of Rodric the Fourth, in the westernmost province of the Kingdom, the Duchy of Crydee, an orphan kitchen boy named Pug was made apprentice to the magician Kulgan. An indifferent student of magic, he rose to high station, for he saved the daughter of Duke Borric conDoin, Princess Carline, from a dire fate and became a squire of the Duke’s court. Pug then found himself the object of Carline’s girlish infatuation and, as a result, rival to young Squire Roland, a member of the court.

With his best friend, Tomas, Pug discovered the wreckage of an alien vessel and a dying man of unknown nationality. The Duke’s priest, Father Tully, used his magic to learn that the dying man was from another world, Kelewan, dominated by a mighty empire of warriors, the Tsurani. They had reached Midkemia by a magic gate, a rift in space, and might be preparing the way for invasion. Duke Borric took council with the Elf Queen, Aglaranna, who agreed that some strange menace was approaching the Far Coast of the Kingdom; the elves had seen strange warriors mapping the West, men who vanished mysteriously.

Fearing this a prelude to invasion, Lord Borric and his younger son, Arutha, led a company of men to warn King Rodric of the possible attack, leaving Crydee to the care of his elder son, Lyam, and Swordmaster Fannon. The company numbered Kulgan the magician, Pug and Tomas, Sergeant Gardan, and fifty soldiers of Crydee. In the forest called the Green Heart the Duke’s party was attacked by the dreaded moredhel, the dark elves known as the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. After a long, bloody fight, the Duke and the other survivors were saved by Dolgan, a dwarven chief, and his companions.

Dolgan led them through the mines of Mac Mordain Cadal, where a wraith attacked, separating Tomas from the others in the company. Tomas fled deep into the ancient mine, while Dolgan led the others to safety.

Dolgan returned into the mine to find Tomas, discovering that the boy had been given refuge by one of the last of the mighty golden dragons, ancient and near death. The dragon, Rhuagh, told of his life, of his encounter with the strange sorcerer Macros the Black, and of other wonders. Rhuagh vanished in a wondrous final moment of glory, a boon of Macros, and left Tomas with a special gift, magic golden armour.

Duke Borric’s company reached the city of Bordon, where they took ship for Krondor, capital of the Western Realm of the Kingdom. They were driven by a storm to Sorcerer’s Isle, home of the legendary Macros the Black. There Pug met a mysterious hermit, discovered later to be Macros. He hints they shall meet again, but warns them not to seek him out.

In Krondor, Prince Erland, the King’s uncle and heir apparent, instructed the Duke to continue on to Rillanon, capital of the Kingdom, to see the King. While in Krondor, Pug met Princess Anita, Erland’s only child, and learned she was expected to marry Prince Arutha when she grew up.

In Rillanon, Duke Borric discovered the King to be a man of vision, also a man of doubtful sanity, given to outbursts of temper and rambling discourse. Duke Caldric of Rillanon, Borric’s uncle by marriage, warned that the burden of repelling the Tsurani, should they come, would fall to the western lords. The King distrusted the Prince of Krondor, dreaming of plots against the crown, and was even leery of Borric, who followed after Erland in the succession. He refused to allow the Armies of the East to leave the Eastern Realm. Then came the Tsurani invasion, and Rodric put aside his suspicions, giving Borric command of the Armies of the West. Borric and his companions rushed westward as the Riftwar began.

During the early part of the war, a raid into Tsurani-held territory was mounted, and Pug was captured.

Tomas was with Dolgan’s force of dwarves, among the first to resist the invaders. Something alien had manifested itself in Tomas’s armour, and while wearing it he became a warrior of awesome power. Haunted by strange visions, he was slowly changing in appearance. In a frantic battle in the dwarven mines, the Tsurani forced Tomas and Dolgan’s company to flee into the forests. Having no safe haven, the dwarves struck out for Elvandar, home of the elves, seeking to ally themselves with the elves. Reaching the court of the Elf Queen, they were made welcome. Something in Tomas’s appearance caused the old elven Spellweavers to be fearful, though they would not speak of it.

Lyam left Crydee to join his father, and Swordmaster Fannon assumed command of the castle, with Arutha his second-in-command. Carline grieved over Pug’s loss and turned to Roland for comfort. The Tsurani raided Crydee, using a captured ship; during the battle, Arutha rescued Amos Trask, the ship’s captain, a former pirate.

The Tsurani besieged Crydee and were repulsed many times. During a battle, Swordmaster Fannon was wounded and Arutha assumed command. After a terrible underground battle between Arutha’s men and Tsurani sappers, Arutha ordered the garrisons surrounding Crydee to coordinate for a final battle against the Tsurani. But before that battle could commence, the Tsurani commander, Kasumi of the Shinzawai, received orders to return home with his command.

Four years passed, and Pug was working as a slave in a swamp camp on Kelewan, the Tsurani homeworld, with a newcomer, Laurie of Tyr-Sog, a minstrel. After trouble with the camp overseer they were taken by Hokanu, younger son of the Shinzawai, to his father’s estate. They were ordered to train Kasumi in every aspect of Kingdom culture and language. There Pug also met a slave girl, Katala, with whom he fell in love. The brother of the Lord of the Shinzawai, Kamatsu, was one of the Great Ones, magicians of power, beings who were a law unto themselves. One night the Great One, Fumita, learned Pug had been apprenticed as a magician on Midkemia. He claimed Pug for the Assembly, the brotherhood of magicians, and they vanished from the Shinzawai estate.

Tomas by then had grown to a figure of stunning power, made so by his ancient armour, once worn by a Valheru – a Dragon Lord – one of the legendary first people of Midkemia, masters of all. Little was known about them save that they were cruel and powerful and had kept the elves and moredhel as slaves. Aglaranna, her son, Calin, and Tathar, her senior adviser, feared that Tomas was being consumed by the power of Ashen-Shugar, the ancient Dragon Lord whose armour he wore. They feared an attempt at a return of Valheru domination. Aglaranna was doubly troubled, for besides fearing Tomas, she was falling in love with him. The Tsurani invaded Elvandar and were driven back by Tomas and Dolgan’s forces, aided by the mysterious Macros the Black. After the battle, Aglaranna admitted her feelings to Tomas and took him as her lover, thereby losing her power to command him.

Pug was cleansed of his memory by the teachers of the Assembly and after four years of training became a magician. He learned he was a gifted follower of the Greater Path, a magic nonexistent upon Midkemia. Kulgan was a Lesser Path magician, so he had been unable to teach Pug. Pug was given the name Milamber when he became a Great One. His teacher, Shimone, watched as Milamber passed the final test, standing upon a thin spire at the height of a storm while the history of the Empire of Tsuranuanni was revealed to him. There he was steeped in the first duty of a Great One, to serve the Empire. Pug met his first friend in the Assembly. Hochopepa, a shrewd magician who instructed Pug in the pitfalls of Tsurani politics.

By the ninth year of the war, Arutha feared they were losing the struggle, then learned from a captive slave that new troops were arriving from Kelewan. With Martin Longbow, his father’s Huntmaster, and Amos Trask, Arutha travelled to Krondor to seek additional aid from Prince Erland. During the journey, Amos discovered Martin’s secret, that he was Lord Borric’s bastard. Martin made Amos swear never to reveal the secret until Martin allowed it. In Krondor, Arutha discovered the city under the control of Guy, Duke of Bas-Tyra, an avowed enemy of Lord Borric. Guy was clearly embarked on some plan to gain the crown for himself. Arutha then ran afoul of Jocko Radburn, Guy’s henchman and head of the secret police, who chased Arutha, Martin, and Amos into the arms of the Mockers, the thieves of Krondor. There they met Jimmy the Hand, a boy thief; Trevor Hull, a former pirate turned smuggler; and his first mate, Aaron Cook. The Mockers were hiding Princess Anita, who had fled the palace. Jocko Radburn was furiously trying to recapture Anita before Guy du Bas-Tyra returned from a border skirmish with the neighbouring Empire of Great Kesh. With the Mockers’ help, Arutha, his companions, and Anita fled the city. During a sea chase, Amos lured Radburn’s ship onto the rocks and the head of the secret police drowned. Upon returning to Crydee, Arutha learned that Squire Roland had been killed in a skirmish. By then Arutha was in love with Anita, though he would not admit as much to himself, counting her too young.

Pug, now Milamber, returned to the Shinzawai estate to claim Katala, and discovered he was a father. His son, William, had been born during his absence. He also learned that the Shinzawai were involved in a plot with the Emperor to force peace upon the Tsurani High Council, which was dominated by the Warlord. Laurie was to guide Kasumi, who had by then mastered the language and customs of the Kingdom, to the King, bearing the Emperor’s offer of peace. Pug wished them well and took his wife and child to his home.

Tomas underwent a great change, bringing the forces of the Valheru and the human into balance, but only after almost killing Martin Longbow. In a titanic inner battle, the human was nearly overcome, but at the end he mastered the raging thing that once was a Dragon Lord and at last discovered peace within his soul.

Kasumi and Laurie came through the rift and made their way to Rillanon, where they discovered that the King had become thoroughly mad. He accused them of being spies, and they fled with the aid of Duke Caldric. The Duke advised them to seek out Lord Borric, for it seemed civil war would surely come. Reaching Borric’s camp, Laurie and Kasumi met Lyam, who informed them Borric was close to death from a wound.

Milamber, as Pug was known, attended the Imperial Games, given by the Warlord to commemorate his smashing victory over Lord Borric. Milamber became enraged at the wanton cruelty, especially the treatment of Midkemian prisoners. In a fit of rage he destroyed the arena, shaming the Warlord, thereby throwing the politics of the Empire into shambles. Milamber then fled with Katala and William back to Midkemia, a Tsurani Great One no longer, but once again Pug of Crydee.

Pug returned in time to be at Lord Borric’s side when he died. The Duke’s last act was to legitimize Martin. The King then arrived, angered by his commanders’ inability to end the long war. He led a mad charge against the Tsurani and, against all odds, broke their front, driving them back into the valley where they held their rift machine, their means of travel between the worlds. The King was mortally wounded and, in a rare lucid moment, named Lyam, the eldest conDoin male, his heir.

Lyam sent word to the Tsurani he would accept the peace offer Rodric had spurned, and the date for the truce talks was set. Macros then went to Elvandar, warning Tomas to expect deception at the peace meeting. Tomas agreed to bring his warriors, as would the dwarves.

At the peace meeting, Macros created an illusion, bringing chaos and battle where peace was the intent. Macros arrived, and he and Pug destroyed the rift, stranding four thousand Tsurani under Kasumi’s command on Midkemia. He surrendered them to Lyam, who granted them freedom if they swore fealty.

All returned to Rillanon for Lyam’s coronation, save Arutha, Pug, and Kulgan, who visited Macros’s isle. There they discovered Gathis, a goblin-like servant of the sorcerer, who gave them a message. Macros, it appeared, had died in the destruction of the rift. He left his vast library to Pug and Kulgan, who planned to start an academy for magicians. He explained his treachery by saying that a being known only as the Enemy, a vast and terrible power known to the Tsurani in ancient times, could find Midkemia by means of the rift. That was why he had forced a situation where the rift had to be destroyed.

Arutha, Pug and Kulgan went on to Rillanon, where Arutha discovered the truth about Martin. Since he was the eldest of Borric’s sons, Martin’s birth clouded Lyam’s inheritance, but the former Huntmaster renounced any claim to the throne, and Lyam became King. Arutha was made Prince of Krondor, as Anita’s father had died. Guy du Bas-Tyra was in hiding and in his absence was banished as a traitor. Laurie made the acquaintance of Princess Carline, who seemed to return his interest.

Lyam, Martin, who became Duke of Crydee, and Arutha left for a tour of the Eastern Realm, while Pug and his family, along with Kulgan, travelled to the island of Stardock, to begin the construction of the academy. For nearly a year, peace reigned in the Kingdom …




• PROLOGUE •

Twilight


THE SUN DROPPED BEHIND THE PEAKS.

The last rays of warmth touched the earth and only the rosy afterglow of the day remained. From the east, indigo darkness approached rapidly. The wind cut through the hills like a sharp-edged blade, as if spring were only a faintly remembered dream. Winter’s ice still clung to shadow-protected pockets, ice that cracked loudly under the heels of heavy boots. Out of the evening’s darkness three figures entered the firelight.

The old witch looked up, her dark eyes widening slightly at the sight of the three. She knew the figure on the left, the broad, mute warrior with the shaved head and single long scalp lock. He had come once before, seeking magic signs for strange rites. Though he was a powerful chieftain, she had sent him away, for his nature was evil, and while issues of good and evil seldom held any significance for the witch, there were limits even for her. Besides, she had little love for any moredhel, especially one who had cut out his own tongue as a sign of devotion to dark powers.

The mute warrior regarded her with blue eyes, unusual for one of his race. He was broader of shoulder than most, even for one of the mountain clans, who tended to be more powerful of arm and shoulder than their forest-dwelling cousins. The mute wore golden circle rings in his large, upswept ears, painful to affix, as the moredhel had no lobes. Upon each cheek were three scars, mystic symbols whose meaning was not lost upon the witch.

The mute made a sign to his companions, and the one to the far right seemed to nod. It was difficult to judge, for he was clothed in an all-concealing robe, with a deep hood revealing no features. Both hands were hidden in voluminous sleeves that were kept together. As if speaking from a great distance, the cloaked figure said, ‘We seek a reading of signs.’ His voice was sibilant, almost a hiss, and there was a note of something alien in it. One hand appeared and the witch pulled away, for it was misshapen and scaled, as if the owner possessed talons covered with snakeskin. She then knew the creature for what it was: a priest of the Pantathian serpent people. Compared to the serpent people, the moredhel were held in high regard by the witch.

She turned her attention from the end figures and studied the one in the centre. He stood a full head taller than the mute and was even more impressive in bulk. He slowly removed a bearskin robe, the bear’s skull providing a helm for his own head, and cast it aside. The old witch gasped, for he was the most striking moredhel she had seen in her long life. He wore the heavy trousers, jerkin, and knee-high boots of the hill clans, and his chest was bare. His powerfully muscled body gleamed in the firelight, and he leaned forward to study the witch. His face was almost frightening in its near-perfect beauty. But what had caused her to gasp, more than his awesome appearance, was the sign upon his chest.

‘Do you know me?’ he asked the witch.

She nodded. ‘I know who you appear to be.’

He leaned even farther forward, until his face was lit from below by the fire, revealing something in his nature. ‘I am who I appear to be,’ he whispered with a smile. She felt fear, for behind his handsome features, behind the benign smile, she saw the visage of evil, evil so pure it defied endurance. ‘We seek a reading of signs,’ he repeated, his voice the sound of ice-clear madness.

She chuckled. ‘Even one so mighty has limits?’

The handsome moredhel’s smile slowly vanished. ‘One may not foretell one’s own future.’

Resigned to her own likely lot, she said, ‘I require silver.’

The moredhel nodded. The mute dug a coin from out of his belt pouch and tossed it upon the floor before the witch. Without touching it, she prepared some ingredients in a stone cup. When the concoction was ready, she poured it upon the silver. A hissing came, both from the coin and from the serpent man. A green-scaled claw began to make signs, and the witch snapped, ‘None of that nonsense, snake. Your hot-land magic will only cant my reading.’

The serpent man was restrained by a gentle touch and smile from the centre figure, who nodded at the witch.

In croaking tones, her throat dry with fear, the witch said, ‘Say you then truly: What would you know?’ She studied the hissing silver coin, covered now in bubbling green slime.

‘Is it time? Shall I do now that which was ordained?’

A bright green flame sprang from the coin and danced. The witch followed its movement closely, her eyes seeing something within the flame none but she could divine. After a while she said, ‘The Bloodstones form the Cross of Fire. That which you are, you are. That which you are born to do … do!’ The last word was a half-gasp.

Something in the witch’s expression was unexpected, for the moredhel said, ‘What else, crone?’

‘You stand not unopposed, for there is one who is your bane. You stand not alone, for behind you … I do not understand.’ Her voice was weak, faint.

‘What?’ The moredhel showed no smile this time.

‘Something … something vast, something distant, something evil.’

The moredhel paused to consider; turning to the serpent man, he spoke softly yet commandingly. ‘Go then, Cathos. Employ your arcane skills and discover where this seat of weakness lies. Give a name to our enemy. Find him.’

The serpent man bowed awkwardly and shambled out of the cave. The moredhel turned to his mute companion and said, ‘Raise the standards, my general, and gather the loyal clans upon the plains of Isbandia, beneath the towers of Sar-Sargoth. Raise highest that standard I have chosen for my own, and let all know we begin that which was ordained. You shall be my battlemaster, Murad, and all shall know you stand highest among my servants. Glory and greatness now await.

‘Then, when the mad snake has identified our quarry, lead forth the Black Slayers. Let those whose souls are mine serve us by seeking out our enemy. Find him! Destroy him! Go!’

The mute nodded once and left the cave. The moredhel with the sign on his chest faced the witch. ‘Then, human refuse, do you know what dark powers move?’

‘Aye, messenger of destruction, I know. By the Dark Lady, I know.’

He laughed, a cold humourless sound. ‘I wear the sign,’ he said, pointing to the purple birthmark upon his chest, which seemed to glow angrily in the firelight. It was clear that his was no simple disfigurement but some sort of magic talisman, for it formed a perfect silhouette of a dragon in flight. He raised his finger, pointing upwards. ‘I have the power.’ He made a circular motion with his upraised finger. ‘I am the foreordained. I am destiny.’

The witch nodded, knowing death raced to embrace her. She suddenly mouthed a complex incantation, her hands moving furiously through the air. A gathering of power manifested itself in the cave and a strange keening filled the night. The warrior before her simply shook his head. She cast a spell at him, one that should have withered him where he stood. He remained, grinning at her evilly. ‘You seek to test me with your puny arts, seer?’

Seeing no effect, she slowly closed her eyes and sat erect, awaiting her fate. The moredhel pointed his finger at her and a silver shaft of light came forth, striking the witch. She shrieked in agony, then exploded into white-hot fire. For an instant her dark form writhed within the inferno, then the flames vanished.

The moredhel cast a quick glance at the ashes upon the floor, forming the outline of a body. With a deep laugh he gathered up his robe and left the cave.

Outside, his companions waited, holding his horse. Far below he could see the camp of his band, still small but destined to grow. He mounted and said, ‘To Sar-Sargoth!’ With a jerk on the reins he spun his horse and led the mute and the serpent priest down the hillside.




• CHAPTER ONE •

Reunion


THE SHIP SPED HOME.

The wind changed quarter and the captain’s voice rang out; aloft, his crew scrambled to answer the demands of a freshening breeze and a captain anxious to get safely to port. He was a seasoned sailingmaster, nearly thirty years in the King’s navy, and seventeen years commanding his own ship. And the Royal Eagle was the best ship in the King’s fleet, but still the captain wished for just a little more wind, just a little more speed, since he would not rest until his passengers were safely ashore.

Standing upon the foredeck were the reasons for the captain’s concern, three tall men. Two, one blond and one dark, were standing at the rail, sharing a joke, for they both laughed. Each stood a full four inches over six feet, and each carried himself with the sure step of a fighting man or hunter. Lyam, King of the Kingdom of the Isles, and Martin, his elder brother and Duke of Crydee, spoke of many things, of hunting and feasting, of travel and politics, of war and discord, and occasionally they spoke of their father, Duke Borric.

The third man, not as tall or as broad of shoulder as the other two, leaned against the rail a short way off, lost in his own thoughts. Arutha, Prince of Krondor and youngest of the three brothers, also dwelt upon the past, but his vision was not of the father killed during the war with the Tsurani, in what was now being called the Riftwar. Instead he watched the bow wake of the ship as it sliced through emerald-green waters, and in that green he saw two sparkling green eyes.

The captain cast a glance aloft, then ordered the sails trimmed. Again he took note of the three men upon the foredeck and again he gave a silent prayer to Kilian, Goddess of Sailors, and wished Rillanon’s tall spires were in sight. For those three were the three most powerful and important men in the Kingdom, and the sailingmaster refused to think of the chaos that would befall the Kingdom should any ill chance visit his ship.

Arutha vaguely heard the captain’s shouts and the replies of his mates and crew. He was fatigued by the events of the last year, so he paid little attention to what was occurring about him. He could keep his thoughts only upon one thing: he was returning to Rillanon, and to Anita.

Arutha smiled to himself. His life had seemed unremarkable for the first eighteen years. Then the Tsurani invasion had come and the world had been forever changed. He had come to be counted one of the finest commanders in the Kingdom, had discovered an unsuspected eldest brother in Martin, and had seen a thousand horrors and miracles. But the most miraculous thing that had happened to Arutha had been Anita.

They had been parted after Lyam’s coronation. For nearly a year Lyam had been displaying the royal banner to both eastern lords and neighbouring kings, and now they were returning home.

Lyam’s voice cut through Arutha’s reverie. ‘What see you in the wave’s sparkle, little brother?’

Martin smiled as Arutha looked up, and the former Huntmaster of Crydee, once called Martin Longbow, nodded towards his youngest brother. ‘I wager a year’s taxes he sees a pair of green eyes and a pert smile in the waves.’

Lyam said, ‘No wager, Martin. Since we departed Rillanon I’ve had three messages from Anita on some matter or other of state business. All conspire to keep her in Rillanon while her mother returned to their estates a month after my coronation. Arutha, by rough estimate, has averaged better than two messages a week from her the entire time. One might draw a conclusion or two from that.’

‘I’d be more than anxious to return if I had someone of her mettle waiting for me,’ agreed Martin.

Arutha was a private person, ill humoured when it came to revealing deep feelings, and he was doubly sensitive to any question involving Anita. He was impossibly in love with the slender young woman, intoxicated with the way she moved, the way she sounded, the way she looked at him. And while these were possibly the only two men on all Midkemia to whom he felt close enough to share his feelings, he had never, even as a boy, shown good grace when he felt he was the butt of a jest.

As Arutha’s expression darkened, Lyam said, ‘Put away your black looks, little storm cloud. Not only am I your King, I’m still your older brother and I can box your ears if the need arises.’

The use of the pet name their mother had given him and the improbable image of the King boxing the ears of the Prince of Krondor made Arutha smile slightly. He was silent a moment, then said, ‘I worry I misread her in this. Her letters, while warm, are formal and at times distant. And there are many young courtiers in your palace.’

Martin said, ‘From the moment we escaped from Krondor, your fate was sealed, Arutha. She’s had you in her bow mark from the first, like a hunter drawing down on a deer. Even before we reached Crydee, when we were hiding out, she’d look at you in a certain way. No, she’s waiting for you, have no doubt.’

‘Besides,’ added Lyam, ‘you’ve told her how you feel.’

‘Well, not in so many words. But I have stated my fondest affection.’

Lyam and Martin exchanged glances. ‘Arutha,’ said Lyam, ‘you write with all the passion of a scribe doing year-end tax tallies.’

All three laughed. The months of travel had allowed a redefinition of their relationship. Martin had been both tutor and friend to the other two as boys, teaching hunting and woodcraft. But he had also been a commoner, though as Huntmaster he stood as a highly placed member of Duke Borric’s staff. With the revelation that he was their father’s bastard, an elder half brother, all three had passed through a time of adjustment. Since then they had endured the false camaraderie of those seeking advantage, the hollow promises of friendship and loyalty from those seeking gain, and during this time they had discovered something more. In the others, each had found two men who could be trusted, who could be confided in, who understood what this sudden rise to preeminence meant, and who shared the pressures of newly inflicted responsibilities. In the other two, each had found friends.

Arutha shook his head, laughing at himself. ‘I guess I have known from the first as well, though I had doubts. She’s so young.’

Lyam said, ‘About our mother’s age when she wed Father, you mean?’

Arutha fixed Lyam with a sceptical look. ‘Do you have an answer for everything?’

Martin clapped Lyam on the back. ‘Of course,’ he said. Then softly he added, ‘That’s why he’s the King.’ As Lyam turned a mock frown upon Martin, the eldest brother continued. ‘So when we return, ask her to wed, dear brother. Then we can wake old Father Tully from before his fireplace and we can all be off to Krondor and have a merry wedding. And I can stop all this bloody travel and return to Crydee.’

A voice from above cried out, ‘Land ho!’

‘Where away?’ shouted the captain.

‘Dead ahead.’

Gazing into the distance, Martin’s practised hunter’s eye was the first to perceive the distant shores. Quietly he placed his hands upon his brothers’ shoulders. After a time all three could see the distant outline of tall towers against an azure sky.

Softly Arutha said, ‘Rillanon.’

The sounds of the light tapping of footfalls and the rustle of a full skirt held above hurrying feet accompanied the sight of a slender figure marching purposefully down a long hallway. The lovely features of the lady rightly acknowledged the reigning beauty of the court were set in an expression of less than pleasant aspect. The guards posted along the hall stood face front, but eyes followed her passage. More than one guard considered the likely target of the lady’s well-known temper and smiled inwardly. The singer was in for a rude awakening, literally.

In a most unladylike fashion, Princess Carline, sister to the King, swept past a startled servant who tried to jump aside and bow to her at the same time, a feat that landed him on his backside as Carline vanished into the guest wing of the palace.

Coming to a door, she paused. Patting her loose dark hair into place, she raised her hand to knock, then halted. Her blue eyes narrowed as she became irritated by the thought of waiting for the door to open, so she simply pushed it open without announcing herself.

The chamber was dark, as the night curtains were still drawn. The large bed was occupied by a large lump beneath the blankets that groaned as Carline slammed the door behind her. Picking her way across the clothing-strewn floor, she yanked aside the curtains, admitting the brilliant midmorning light. Another groan emitted from the lump as a head with two red-rimmed eyes peeked out over the bedcovers. ‘Carline,’ came the dry croak, ‘are you trying to wither me to death?’

Coming to stand over the bed, she snapped, ‘If you hadn’t been carousing all night, and had been to breakfast as expected, you might have heard that my brothers’ ship had been sighted. They’ll be at the dock within two hours.’

Laurie of Tyr-Sog, troubadour, traveller, former hero of the Riftwar, and lately court minstrel and constant companion to the Princess, sat up, rubbing at tired eyes. ‘I was not carousing. The Earl of Dolth insisted on hearing every song in my repertoire. I sang until near dawn.’ He blinked and smiled up at Carline. Scratching at his neatly trimmed blond beard, he said, ‘The man has inexhaustible endurance, but also excellent taste in music.’

Carline sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and kissed him briefly. She deftly disengaged herself from arms that sought to entangle her. Holding him at bay with her hand upon his chest, she said, ‘Listen, you amorous nightingale, Lyam, Martin, and Arutha will be here soon, and the minute Lyam holds court and gets all the formalities done with, I’m talking to him about our marriage.’

Laurie looked around as if seeking a corner in which to disappear. Over the last year their relationship had developed in depth and passion, but Laurie had a near-reflexive avoidance of the topic of marriage. ‘Now, Carline –’ he began.

‘ “Now, Carline,” indeed!’ she interrupted with a jab of her finger into his bare chest. ‘You buffoon, I’ve had eastern princes, sons of half the dukes in the Kingdom, and who knows how many others simply begging for permission to pay court to me. And I’ve always ignored them. And for what? So some witless musician can trifle with my affections? Well, we shall have an accounting.’

Laurie grinned, pushing his tousled blond hair back. He sat up and, before she could move, kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, he said, ‘Carline, love of my being, please. We’ve covered this ground.’

Her eyes, which had been half-closed during the kiss, instantly widened. ‘Oh! We’ve covered this ground before?’ she said, infuriated. ‘We will be married. That is final.’ She stood up to avoid his embrace again. ‘It has become the scandal of the court, the Princess and her minstrel lover. It’s not even an original tale. I am becoming a laughing-stock. Damn it all, Laurie, I’m nearly twenty-six. Most women my age are eight, nine years married. Would you have me die a spinster?’

‘Never that, my love,’ he answered, still amused. Besides the fact of her beauty, and the slim chance of anyone’s calling her an old maid, she was ten years his junior and he regarded her as young, a perception constantly furthered by her outbursts of childish temper. He sat up fully and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness as he stifled his mirth. ‘I am what I am, darling, no more or less. I’ve been here longer than I’ve been anywhere when I was a free man. I’ll admit, though, this is a far more pleasant captivity than the last.’ He was speaking of the years he had been a slave on Kelewan, the Tsurani homeworld. ‘But you’ll never know when I’ll want to roam once more.’ He could see her temper rising as he spoke, and was forced to admit to himself that he was often what brought out the worst in her nature. He rapidly changed tack. ‘Besides, I don’t know if I’d make a good … whatever the husband of the King’s sister is called.’

‘Well, you’d better get used to it. Now get up and get dressed.’

Laurie grabbed the trousers she tossed to him and quickly put them on. When he was finished dressing he stood before her and put his arms around her waist. ‘Since the day we met I have been your adoring subject, Carline. I have never loved, nor will I love, anyone as I love you, but –’

‘I know. I have had months of the same excuses.’ She jabbed him in the chest again. ‘You’ve always been a traveller,’ she mocked. ‘You’ve always been free. You don’t know how you would fare being tied to one spot – though I’ve noticed you’ve managed to endure settling down here in the King’s palace.’

Laurie cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘This is true enough.’

‘Well, lover mine, those excuses may serve you as you bid farewell to some poor tavern keeper’s daughter, but they’ll do you little good here. We shall see what Lyam thinks of all this. I should imagine there is some old law or other in the archives dealing with commoners becoming involved with nobles.’

Laurie chuckled. ‘There is. My father is entitled to a golden sovereign, a pair of mules, and a farm for your having taken advantage of me.’

Suddenly Carline giggled, tried to smother it, then laughed aloud. ‘You bastard.’ Tightly hugging him, she rested her head upon his shoulder and sighed. ‘I can never stay angry with you.’

He cradled her gently in the circle of his arms. ‘I do give you reason upon occasion,’ he said softly.

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Well, not all that often.’

‘Look you well, boyo,’ she said. ‘My brothers are nearing the harbour as we speak, and you stand here arguing. You may dare make free with my person, but the King may take a dim view of things as they stand.’

‘So I have feared,’ Laurie said, with obvious concern in his voice.

Suddenly Carline’s mood softened. Her expression changed to one of reassurance. ‘Lyam will do whatever I ask. He’s never been able to say no to anything I’ve truly wished for since I was tiny. This is not Crydee. He knows things are different here, and that I’m no longer a child.’

‘So I have noticed.’

‘Rogue. Look, Laurie. You’re no simple farmer or cobbler. You speak more languages than any “educated” noble I have known. You read and write. You have travelled widely, even to the Tsurani world. You have wits and talents. You are much more able to govern than many who are born to it. Besides, if I can have an older brother who was a hunter before becoming a duke, why not a husband who was a singer?’

‘Your logic is impeccable. I simply don’t have a good answer. I love you without stint, but the rest –’

‘Your problem is you have the ability to govern, but you just don’t want the responsibility. You’re lazy.’

He laughed. ‘That’s why my father tossed me out of the house when I was thirteen. Said I’d never make a decent farmer.’

She pushed away from him gently, her voice taking on a serious note. ‘Things change, Laurie. I’ve given this much consideration. I thought I was in love before, twice, but you’re the only man who could get me to forget who I am and act this shamelessly. When I’m with you, nothing makes sense, but that’s all right, because then I don’t care if the way I feel makes sense. But now I must care. You’d better make a choice, and make it soon. I’ll bet my jewels Arutha and Anita will announce they are betrothed before my brothers are in the palace a day. Which means we’ll all be off to Krondor for their wedding.

‘When they are wed, I’ll return here with Lyam. It will be up to you to decide if you will be coming back with us, Laurie.’ She locked gazes with him. ‘I have had a wonderful time with you. I’ve feelings I couldn’t imagine possible when I dreamed my girl’s dreams of Pug and then Roland. But you must get ready to choose. You are my first lover, and will always be my dearest love, but when I return here you will be either my husband or a memory.’

Before he could answer, she walked to the door. ‘In all ways I love you, rogue. But time is short.’ She paused. ‘Now come along and help me greet the King.’

He came to her side and opened the door for her. They hurried to where carriages were waiting to take the reception committee to the docks. Laurie of Tyr-Sog, troubadour, traveller, and hero of the Riftwar, was acutely aware of the presence of this woman at his side and wondered how it would feel to be denied that presence for good and all. He felt decidedly unhappy at the prospect.

Rillanon, capital of the Kingdom of the Isles, waited to welcome home her King. The buildings were bedecked in festive bunting and hothouse flowers. Brave pennants flew from the rooftops and bold banners of every colour were strung between the buildings over the streets the King would travel. Called Jewel of the Kingdom, Rillanon rested upon the slopes of many hills, a marvellous place of graceful spires, airy arches, and delicate spans. The late King, Rodric, had embarked upon a restoration of the city, adding lovely marble and quartz stone facing to most of the buildings before the palace, rendering the city a sparkling wonderland in the afternoon sunlight.

The Royal Eagle approached the King’s dock, where the welcoming party waited. In the distance, upon those buildings and hillside streets affording a clear view of the dock, throngs of citizens were cheering the return of their young King. For many years Rillanon had abided under the black cloud of King Rodric’s madness, and though Lyam was still a stranger to most of the city’s populace, he was adored, for he was young and handsome, his bravery in the Riftwar was widely known, and his generosity had been great. He had lowered taxes.

With a master’s ease, the harbour pilot guided the King’s ship into its appointed place. It was quickly made secure and the gangway run out.

Arutha watched as Lyam was the first to descend. As tradition dictated, he dropped to his knees and kissed the soil of his homeland. Arutha’s eyes scanned the crowd, seeking Anita, but in the press of nobles moving forward to greet Lyam he saw no sign of her. A momentary cold stab of doubt struck him.

Martin nudged Arutha, who, protocol dictated, was expected to be the second to disembark. Arutha hurried down the gangway, with Martin a step behind. Arutha’s attention was caught by the sight of his sister leaving the side of the singer, Laurie, to rush forward and fiercely hug Lyam. While others in the reception committee were not as free with ritual as Carline, there was a spontaneous cheer from the courtiers and guards awaiting the King’s pleasure. Then Arutha had Carline’s arms about his neck as she bestowed a kiss and hug on him. ‘Oh, I’ve missed your sour looks,’ she said happily.

Arutha had been wearing the dour expression he exhibited when lost in thought. He said, ‘What sour looks?’

Carline looked up into Arutha’s eyes and, with an innocent smile, said, ‘You look as if you’d swallowed something and it moved.’

Martin laughed aloud at that, then Carline was hugging him in turn. He stiffened at first, for he was still less comfortable with a sister than with two brothers, then he relaxed and hugged her back. Carline said, ‘I’ve grown bored without you three around.’

Seeing Laurie a short distance off, Martin shook his head. ‘Not too bored, it seems.’

Carline playfully said, ‘There’s no law that says only men can indulge themselves. Besides, he’s the best man I’ve met who’s not my brother.’ Martin could only smile at that while Arutha continued looking for Anita.

Lord Caldric, Duke of Rillanon, First Adviser to the King, and Lyam’s great-uncle, smiled broadly as the King’s huge hand engulfed his own in a vigorous shake. Lyam nearly had to shout over the cheers from those nearby. ‘Uncle, how stands our Kingdom?’

‘Well, my King, now that you’ve returned.’

As Arutha’s expression grew more distressful, Carline said, ‘Put away that long face, Arutha. She’s in the eastern garden, waiting for you.’

Arutha kissed Carline’s cheek, hurried away from her and a laughing Martin, and as he dashed past Lyam, shouted, ‘With Your Majesty’s permission.’

Lyam’s expression ran quickly from surprise to mirth, while Caldric and the other courtiers were amazed at the Prince of Krondor’s behaviour. Lyam leaned close to Caldric and said, ‘Anita.’

Caldric’s old face beamed with a sunny smile as he chuckled in understanding. ‘Then you’ll soon be off again, this time for Krondor and your brother’s wedding?’

‘We’d sooner hold it here, but tradition dictates the Prince weds in his own city, and we must bow before tradition. But that won’t be for a few weeks yet. These things take time, and we have a kingdom to govern in the meantime, though it seems you’ve done well enough in our absence.’

‘Perhaps, Your Majesty, but now that there is a King again in Rillanon, many matters held in abeyance this last year will be unloosed for your consideration. Those petitions and other documents forwarded to you during your travels were but a tenth part of what you will see.’

Lyam gave a mock groan. ‘We think we shall have the captain put to sea again at once.’

Caldric smiled. ‘Come, Majesty. Your city wishes to see its King.’

The eastern garden was empty save for one figure. She moved quietly between well-tended planters of flowers not quite ready to send forth blooms. A few heartier varieties were already beginning to take on the bright green of spring and many of the bordering hedges were evergreen, but the garden still seemed more the barren symbol of winter than the fresh promise of spring, which would manifest itself within a few weeks.

Anita looked across the vista of Rillanon below. The palace sat atop a hill, once the site of a large keep that still served as its heart. Seven high-arched bridges spanned the river that surrounded the palace with the loops of its meandering course. The afternoon wind was chill, and Anita drew a shawl of fine silken material close about her shoulders.

Anita smiled in remembrance. Her green eyes misted over slightly as she thought of her late father, Prince Erland, and of all that had occurred in the last year and more: how Guy du Bas-Tyra had arrived in Krondor and attempted to force her into a marriage of state, and how Arutha had come to Krondor incognito. They had hidden together under the protection of the Mockers – the thieves of Krondor – for over a month until their escape to Crydee. At the end of the Riftwar she had travelled to Rillanon to see Lyam crowned. During all those months she had also fallen deeply in love with the King’s younger brother. And now Arutha was returning to Rillanon.

The tread of boots upon flagstone caused her to turn. Anita expected to see a servant or guard, come to tell of the King’s arrival in the harbour. Instead a weary-looking man in fine but rumpled traveller’s clothing approached across the garden. His dark brown hair was tousled by the breeze and his brown eyes were ringed with dark circles. His near-gaunt face was set in the half-frown which he assumed when he was dwelling upon something serious, and which she found so dear. As he neared, she silently marvelled at the way he walked, lithe, almost catlike in his quickness and economy of movement. As he came up to her, he smiled, tentatively, even shyly. Before she could muster years of court-taught poise, Anita found tears coming to her eyes. Suddenly she was in his arms, clinging tightly to him. ‘Arutha’ was all she said.

For a time they stood saying nothing, holding each other tight. Then he slowly tilted her head back and kissed her. Without words he spoke of his devotion and longing and without words she answered. He looked down at eyes as green as the sea and a nose delightfully dusted by a small scattering of freckles, a pleasing imperfection upon her otherwise fair skin. With a tired grin he said, ‘I’ve returned.’

Then he was laughing at the obvious remark. She laughed as well. He felt buoyant to be holding this slender young woman in his arms, smelling the faint scent of her dark red hair, which was caught up in some complex fashion popular at court this season. He rejoiced to be with her again.

She stepped away but held tightly to his hand. ‘It has been so very long,’ she said softly. ‘It was only to be for a month … then another, then more. You’ve been gone over half a year. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the dock. I knew I’d cry at sight of you.’ Her cheeks were wet from tears. She smiled and wiped them away.

Arutha squeezed her hand. ‘Lyam kept finding more nobles to visit. The business of the Kingdom,’ he said with a wry note of deprecation. From the day he had met Anita, Arutha had been unable to articulate his feelings for the girl. Strongly attracted to her from the first, he had wrestled with his emotions constantly after their escape from Krondor. He was powerfully drawn to her and yet saw her as little more than a child, only about to come of age. But she had been a calming influence on him, reading his moods like no one else, sensing how to ease his worry, stem his anger, and draw him from his dark introspection. And he had come to love her soft ways.

He had remained silent until the night before he had departed with Lyam. They had walked in this garden, speaking late into the night, and while little of consequence had been said, Arutha had left feeling as if an understanding had been reached. The light, and occasionally somewhat formal, tone of her letters had caused him worry, fear that he had misread her that night, but now, looking down at her, he knew he had not. Without preamble he said, ‘I have done little but think of you since we left.’

He saw tears come again to her eyes, and she said, ‘And I of you.’

‘I love you, Anita. I would have you always at my side. Will you consent to marry me?’

She squeezed his hand as she said, ‘Yes,’ then embraced him again. Arutha’s mind reeled under the sheer weight of happiness he felt. Holding her close, he whispered, ‘You are my joy. You are my heart.’

They stood there for a time, the tall, rangy Prince and the slender Princess, whose head barely reached his chin. They spoke softly and nothing seemed of importance except the other’s presence. Then the self-conscious sound of someone clearing his throat brought them both out of their reverie. They turned to find a palace guardsman standing at the entrance to the garden. He said, ‘His Majesty approaches, Your Highnesses. He will be entering the great hall within a few minutes.’

Arutha said, ‘We shall go there at once.’ He led Anita by the hand past the guard, who fell in behind them. Had Arutha and Anita looked over their shoulders, they would have seen the experienced palace guardsman fighting hard to overcome a broad grin.

Arutha gave Anita’s hand a final squeeze, then stationed himself next to the door as Lyam entered the grand throne room of the palace. As the King moved towards the dais upon which his throne rested, courtiers bowed to him, and the Court Master of Ceremonies struck the floor with the iron-shod butt of his ceremonial staff. A herald shouted, ‘Hearken to me! Hearken to me! Let the word go forth: Lyam, first of that name and by the grace of the gods rightwise ruler, is returned to us and again sits upon his throne. Long live the King!’

‘Long live the King!’ came the response of those gathered in the great hall.

When he was seated, his simple gold circlet of office upon his brow and his purple mantle upon his shoulders, Lyam said, ‘We are pleased to be home.’

The Master of Ceremonies struck the floor again and the herald shouted out Arutha’s name. Arutha entered the hall, Carline and Anita behind him, and Martin behind them, as protocol dictated. Each was announced in order. When all were in place at Lyam’s side, the King motioned to Arutha.

Arutha came to his side and leaned over. ‘Did you ask her?’ said the king.

With a lopsided smile Arutha responded. ‘Ask her what?’

Lyam grinned. ‘To marry, jackanapes. Of course you did, and from that sloppy smile, she said yes,’ he whispered. ‘Go get back in place and I’ll make the announcement in a moment.’ Arutha went back to Anita’s side and Lyam motioned Duke Caldric over. ‘We are weary, my lord Chancellor. We would be pleased to keep the day’s business brief.’

‘There are two matters I judge require Your Majesty’s attention this day. The balance may wait.’

Lyam indicated that Caldric should proceed. ‘First, from the Border Barons and Duke Vandros of Yabon, we have reports of unusual goblin activity in the Western Realm.’

Arutha’s attention was drawn from Anita at this. The Western Realm was his to govern. Lyam looked over towards him, then Martin, indicating they should attend.

Martin said, ‘What of Crydee, my lord?’

Caldric said, ‘No word from the Far Coast, Your Grace. At this time we’ve only reports from the area between Highcastle to the east and the Lake of the Sky to the west – steady sightings of goblin bands moving northward, and occasional raids as they pass villages.’

‘Northward?’ Martin glanced at Arutha.

Arutha said, ‘With Your Majesty’s permission?’ Lyam nodded. ‘Martin, do you think the goblins move to join the Brotherhood of the Dark Path?’

Martin considered. ‘I would not dismiss such a possibility. The goblins have long served the moredhel. Though I would have thought it more likely the Dark Brothers would be moving south, returning to their homes in the Grey Tower Mountains.’ The dark cousins to the elves had been driven northward from the Grey Towers by the Tsurani invasion during the Riftwar. Martin said to Caldric, ‘My lord, have there been reportings of the Dark Brotherhood?’

Caldric shook his head. ‘There have been the usual sightings along the foothills of the Teeth of the World, Duke Martin, but nothing extraordinary. Lords Northwarden, Ironpass, and Highcastle send their usual reports, nothing more, regarding the Brotherhood.’

Lyam said, ‘Arutha, we shall leave it to you and Martin to review these reports and determine what may be required in the West.’ He looked at Caldric. ‘What else, my lord?’

‘A message from the Empress of Great Kesh, Your Majesty.’

‘And what has Kesh to say to Isles?’

‘The Empress has ordered her ambassador, one Abdur Rachman Memo Hazara-Khan, to Isles for the purpose of discussing ending whatever contention may exist between Kesh and Isles.’

Lyam said, ‘That news pleases us, my lord. Overlong has the issue of the Vale of Dreams prevented our Kingdom and Great Kesh from treating fairly with one another in other matters. It would prove doubly beneficial to our two nations if we could settle this matter for all time.’ Lyam stood. ‘But send word that His Excellency will have to attend us in Krondor, for we have a wedding to celebrate.

‘My lords and ladies of the court, it is with profound pleasure that we announce the forthcoming wedding of our brother Arutha to the Princess Anita.’ The King turned to Arutha and Anita, taking them each by the hand and presenting them to the assembled court, who applauded the announcement.

From where she stood next to her brothers, Carline threw Laurie a dark frown, and went to kiss Anita’s cheek. While good cheer reigned in the hall, Lyam said, ‘This day’s business is at an end.’




• CHAPTER TWO •

Krondor


THE CITY SLUMBERED.

A mantle of heavy fog had rolled in off the Bitter Sea, enshrouding Krondor in dense whiteness. The capital of the Western Realm of the Kingdom never rested, but normal night sounds were muffled by the nearly impenetrable haze cloaking the movements of those still travelling the streets. Everything seemed more subdued, less strident than usual, almost as if the city were at peace with itself.

For one inhabitant of the city the night’s conditions were nearly ideal. The fog had turned every street into a narrow, dark passageway, each block of buildings into an isolated island. The unending gloom was punctuated slightly by streetlamps at the corners, small way stations of warmth and brightness for passersby before they once more plunged into the damp and murky night. But between those small havens of illumination one given to working in darkness was granted additional protection, as small noises were deadened and movements were masked from chance observation. Jimmy the Hand went about his business.

About fifteen years of age, Jimmy was already counted among the most gifted members of the Mockers, the Guild of Thieves. Jimmy had been a thief nearly all his short life, a street boy who had graduated from stealing fruit from peddlers’ carts to full membership in the Mockers. Jimmy’s father was unknown to him, and his mother had been a prostitute in the Poor Quarter until her death at the hands of a drunken sailor. Since then the boy had been a Mocker, and his rise had been rapid. The most astonishing thing about Jimmy’s rise was not his age, for the Mockers were of the opinion that as soon as a boy was ready to try thieving, he should be turned loose. Failure had its own rewards. A poor thief was quickly a dead thief. As long as another Mocker was not put at risk, there was little loss in the death of a thief of limited talents. No, the most astonishing fact of Jimmy’s rapid rise was that he was nearly as good as he thought he was.

With stealth bordering on the preternatural he moved about the room. The night’s quiet was broken only by the deep snores of his unsuspecting host and hostess. The faint glow from a distant street-lamp, entering the open window, was his only illumination. Jimmy peered around, his other senses aiding his search. A sudden change in the sound of the floorboards under Jimmy’s light tread, and the thief found what he was looking for. He laughed inwardly at the merchant’s lack of originality in hoarding his wealth. With economical movement the boy thief had the false floorboard up and his hand into Trig the Fuller’s hideaway.

Trig snorted and rolled over, bringing a responding snore from his fat wife. Jimmy froze in place, barely breathing, until the two sleeping figures were quiescent for several minutes. He then extracted a heavy pouch and gently placed the booty in his tunic, secured by his wide belt. He put the board back and returned to the window. With luck it might be days before the theft was discovered.

He stepped through the window and, turning backwards, reached up to grip the eaves. A quick pull, and he was sitting on the roof. Overhanging the edge, he closed the window shutters with a gentle push and jiggled the hook and twine so the inside latch fell back into place. He quickly retrieved his twine, silently laughing at the perplexity sure to result when the fuller tried to figure out how the gold had been taken. Jimmy lay quietly for a moment, listening for sounds of waking inside. When none came, he relaxed.

He rose and began making his way along the Thieves’ Highway, as the rooftops of the city were known. He leapt from the roof of Trig’s house to the next, then sat down upon the tiles to inspect his haul. The pouch was evidence the fuller had been a thrifty man, holding back a fair share of his steady profits. It would keep Jimmy in comfort for months if he didn’t gamble it all away.

A slight noise caused Jimmy to drop to the roof, hugging the tiles in silence. He heard another sound, a scuffle of movement coming from the other side of a gable halfway down the roof from where he lay. The boy cursed his luck and ran a hand through his fog-damp curly brown hair. For another to be upon the rooftops nearby could only spell trouble. Jimmy was working without writ from the Nightmaster of Mockers, a habit of his that had earned him reprimands and beatings the few times he had been found out, but if he was now jeopardizing another Mocker’s nightwork, he was in line for more than harsh words or a cuffing around the room. Jimmy was treated as an adult by others in the guild, his position hard won by skill and wit. In turn he was expected to be a responsible member, his age being of no account. By his risking the life of another Mocker, his own could be forfeit.

The other alternative could prove as bad. If a freebooting thief was working the city without permission from the Mockers, it was Jimmy’s duty to identify and report him. That would somewhat mitigate Jimmy’s own breach of Mocker etiquette, especially if he gave the guild its normal two thirds of the fuller’s gold.

Jimmy slipped over the peak of the roof and crawled along until he was opposite the source of the noise. He need only glimpse the independent thief and report him. The Nightmaster would circulate the man’s description and sooner or later he would be paid a visit by some guild bashers who would educate him in the proper courtesies due the Mockers by visiting thieves. Jimmy edged upwards and peered over the rooftop. He saw nothing. Looking about, he glimpsed a faint movement from the corner of his eye and turned. Again he saw nothing. Jimmy the Hand settled down to wait. There was something here that provoked his sensitive curiosity.

That acute curiosity was one of Jimmy’s only weaknesses when it came to work – that and an occasional irritation with the need to divide his loot with the guild, which took a dim view of this reluctance. His upbringing by the Mockers had given him an appreciation of life – a scepticism bordering on cynicism – far beyond his years. He was uneducated but canny. One thing he knew: sound does not issue from thin air – except when magic is in play.

Jimmy settled down a moment to puzzle out what he didn’t see before him. Either some invisible spirit was squirming about uncomfortably on the roof tiles, which while possible was highly unlikely, or something more corporeal was hidden deep within the shadows of the other side of the gable.

Jimmy crawled along until he was opposite the gable and raised himself slightly to look over the peak of the roof. He peered into the darkness and when he heard another faint scuffling was rewarded with a glimpse of movement. Someone was deep within the gloom, wearing a dark cloak. Jimmy could locate him only when he moved. Jimmy inched along below the peak to gain a better angle to watch, until he was directly behind the figure. Again he reared up. The lurker moved, adjusting his cloak around his shoulders. The hair on the back of Jimmy’s neck stood up. The figure before him was dressed all in black and carried a heavy crossbow. This was no thief but a Nighthawk!

Jimmy lay rock still. To stumble across a member of the Guild of Death at work was not likely to enhance one’s prospects of old age. But there was a standing order among the Mockers that any news of the brotherhood of assassins was to be reported at once, and the order had come down from the Upright Man himself, the highest authority in the Mockers. Jimmy chose to wait, trusting in his skills should he be discovered. He might not possess the nearly legendary attributes of a Nighthawk, but he had the supreme confidence of a fifteen-year-old boy who had become the youngest Master Thief in the history of the Mockers. If he was discovered, it would not be his first chase across the Thieves’ Highway.

Time passed and Jimmy waited, with a discipline unusual for one his age. A thief who cannot remain still for hours if needs be does not remain a living thief long. Occasionally Jimmy heard and glimpsed the assassin moving about. Jimmy’s awe of the legendary Nighthawks steadily lessened, for this one displayed little skill in staying motionless. Jimmy had long before mastered the trick of quietly tensing and relaxing muscles to prevent cramping and stiffening. Then, he considered, most legends tend to be overstated, and in the Nighthawks’ line of work it was only to their advantage to keep people in awe of them.

Abruptly the assassin moved, letting his cloak fall away completely as he raised his crossbow. Jimmy could hear hoofbeats approaching. Riders passed below, and the assassin slowly lowered the weapon. Obviously those below had not included his intended prey.

Jimmy elbowed himself a little higher to gain a better view of the man, now that his cloak didn’t mask him. The assassin turned slightly, retrieving his cloak, exposing his face to Jimmy. The thief gathered his legs under him, ready to spring away should the need arise, and studied the man. Jimmy could make out little, except that the man had dark hair and was light-complexioned. Then the assassin seemed to be looking directly at the boy.

Jimmy’s heart pounded loudly in his ears and he wondered how the assassin could fail to hear such a racket. But the man turned back to his vigil, and Jimmy dropped silently below the roof peak. He breathed slowly, fighting back a sudden giddy urge to giggle. After it passed, he relaxed slightly and chanced another look.

Again the assassin waited. Jimmy settled in. He wondered at the Nighthawk’s weapon. The heavy crossbow was a poor choice for a marksman, being less accurate than any good bow. It would do for someone with little training, for it delivered a bolt with thundering force – a wound less than fatal from an arrow could kill if from a bolt, because of the added shock of the blow. Jimmy had once seen a steel cuirass on display in a tavern. The metal breastplate had a hole in it the size of Jimmy’s fist, punched through by a bolt from a heavy crossbow. It had been hung up not because of the size of the hole, which was usual for the weapon, but because the wearer had somehow survived. But the weapon had its disadvantages. Besides being inaccurate past a dozen yards, it had a short range.

Jimmy craned his neck to watch the Nighthawk and felt a tic in his right arm. He shifted his weight slightly to his left. Suddenly a tile gave way beneath his hand and with a loud crack it broke. It fell away, clattering over the roof to crash down on the cobbles below. To Jimmy it was a thunder peal sounding his doom.

Moving with inhuman speed, the assassin turned and fired. Jimmy’s slipping saved his life, for he could not have dodged fast enough to avoid the bolt, but gravity had provided the necessary speed. He struck the roof and heard the quarrel pass over his head. For a brief instant he imagined his head exploding like a ripe pumpkin and silently thanked Banath, patron god of thieves.

Jimmy’s reflexes saved him next, for rather than standing, he rolled to his right. Where he had lain a moment before, a sword came crashing down. Knowing he couldn’t gain enough of a lead to outrun the assassin, Jimmy leapt up into a crouch, pulling his dirk from his right boot top in a single motion. He had little love for fighting, but he had realized early in his career that his life might depend upon his use of the blade. He had practised diligently whenever the opportunity had presented itself. Jimmy only wished his rooftop foray had not precluded his bringing along his rapier.

The assassin turned to face the boy, and Jimmy saw him teeter for a brief instant. The Nighthawk might have quick reflexes, but he was not used to the precarious footing the rooftops offered. Jimmy grinned, as much to hide his fear as from any amusement at the assassin’s unease.

In a hissing whisper the assassin said, ‘Pray to whatever gods brought you here, boy.’

Jimmy thought such a remark odd, considering it distracted only the speaker. The assassin lashed out, the blade slicing the air where Jimmy had been, and the boy thief was off.

He dashed along the roof and leapt back to the building wherein lived Trig the Fuller. A moment later he could hear the assassin landing also. Jimmy ran nimbly until he was confronted by a yawning gap. In his hurry he had forgotten there was a wide alley at this end of the building and the next building was impossibly distant. He spun about.

The assassin was slowly approaching, his sword point levelled at Jimmy. Jimmy was struck by a thought and suddenly began a mad stomping dance upon the roof. In a moment the noise was answered by an angry voice from below. ‘Thief! I am undone!’ Jimmy could picture Trig the Fuller leaning out of his window, rousing the city watch, and hoped the assassin had the same picture in mind. The racket below would surely have the building surrounded in short order. He prayed the assassin would flee rather than punish the author of his failure.

The assassin ignored the fuller’s cries and advanced upon Jimmy. Again he slashed and Jimmy ducked, bringing himself inside the assassin’s reach. Jimmy stabbed with his dirk and felt the point dig into the Nighthawk’s sword arm. The assassin’s blade went clattering to the street below. A howl of pain echoed through the night, silencing the fuller’s shouts. Jimmy heard the shutters slam closed and wondered what poor Trig must be thinking, hearing that shriek right over his head.

The assassin dodged another thrust by Jimmy and pulled a dagger from his belt. He advanced again, not speaking, his weapon held in his left hand. Jimmy heard shouts from the street below and resisted the urge to cry for aid. He felt little confidence about besting the Nighthawk, even if the assassin was fighting with his off hand, but he was also reluctant to explain his presence upon the fuller’s roof. Besides, even should he shout for aid, by the time the watch arrived, gained entrance to the house, and reached the roof the issue would be decided.

Jimmy backed to the end of the roof, until his heels hung in space. The assassin closed, saying, ‘You have nowhere left to run, boy.’

Jimmy waited, preparing a desperate gamble. The assassin tensed, the sign Jimmy had watched for. Jimmy crouched and stepped backwards all at once, letting himself fall. The assassin had begun a lunge, and when his blade did not meet the expected resistance, he overbalanced and fell forward. Jimmy caught the edge of the roof, nearly dislocating his shoulder sockets with the jolt. He felt more than saw the assassin fall past, silently speeding through the darkness to crash on the cobbles below.

Jimmy hung for a moment, his hands, arms, and shoulders afire with pain. It would be so simple just to let go and fall into soft darkness. Shaking off the fatigue and pain, he urged protesting muscles to pull himself back onto the roof. He lay gasping for a moment, then rolled over and looked down.

The assassin lay still on the cobbles, his crooked neck offering clear evidence he was no longer alive. Jimmy breathed deeply, the chill of fear finally acknowledged. He suppressed a shudder and ducked down as two men rushed into the alley below. They grabbed the corpse and rolled it over, then picked it up and hurried off. Jimmy considered. For the assassin to have confederates about was a certain sign this had been a Guild of Death undertaking. But who was expected down this street at this hour of the night? Casting about for a moment, he weighed the risk of staying a little longer to satisfy his curiosity against the certain arrival of the city watch within a few more minutes. Curiosity won.

The sound of hoofbeats echoed through the fog, and soon two riders came into the light that burned from the lantern before Trig’s home. It was at this moment that Trig decided to open his shutters again and resume his hue and cry. Jimmy’s eyes widened as the riders looked up towards the fuller’s window. Jimmy had not seen one of the men in over a year, but he was well known to the thief. Shaking his head at the implications of what he saw, the boy thief judged it a good time to depart. But seeing that man below made it impossible for Jimmy to consider this night’s business at an end. It would most likely be a long night. He rose and began his trek along the Thieves’ Highway, back towards Mockers’ Rest.

Arutha reined in his horse and looked up to where a man in a nightshirt shouted from a window. ‘Laurie, what is that all about?’

‘From what I can make out between the wails and screams, I judge that burgher to have recently been the victim of some felony.’

Arutha laughed. ‘I guessed that much myself.’ He did not know Laurie well, but he enjoyed the singer’s wit and sense of fun. He knew there was now some trouble between Laurie and Carline, which was why Laurie had asked to accompany Arutha on his journey to Krondor. Carline would be arriving in a week with Anita and Lyam. But Arutha had long ago decided that what Carline didn’t confide in him wasn’t his business. Besides, Arutha was sympathetic to Laurie’s plight if he had fallen into her bad graces. After Anita, Carline was the last person Arutha would wish to be angry with him.

Arutha studied the area as a few sleepy souls in neighbouring buildings began shouting inquiries. ‘Well, there’s bound to be some investigation here soon. We’d best be along.’

As if his words had been prophecy, Arutha and Laurie were startled to hear a voice coming out of the fog. ‘Here now!’ Emerging from the murk were three men wearing the grey felt caps and yellow tabards of the city watch. The leftmost watchman, a beefy, heavy-browed fellow, carried a lantern in one hand and a large nightstick in the other. The centre man was of advancing years, close to retirement age from appearances, and the third was a young lad, but both had an air of street experience about them, evidenced in the way they casually had their hands resting on large belt knives. ‘What passes this night?’ the older watchman said, his voice a mixture of good-natured humour and authority.

‘Some disturbance in that house, watchman.’ Arutha pointed towards the fuller. ‘We were simply passing by.’

‘Were you now, sir? Well, I don’t suppose you’d object to remaining for a few moments longer until we discover what this is all about.’ He signalled to the young watchman to look around.

Arutha nodded, saying nothing. At that point a red-faced puffball of a man emerged from the house, waving his arms while he shouted, ‘Thieves! They stole into my room, my very room, and took my treasure! What’s to be done when a law-abiding citizen isn’t safe in his bed, his own bed, I ask you?’ Catching sight of Arutha and Laurie, he said, ‘Are these then the thieves, the vicious thieves?’ Mustering what dignity he could while wearing a voluminous nightshirt, he exclaimed, ‘What have you done with my gold, my precious gold?’

The beefy watchman jerked on the shouting man’s arm, nearly spinning the fuller completely around. ‘Here now, watch your shouting, churl.’

‘Churl!’ shouted Trig. ‘Just what, I ask, gives you the right to call a citizen, a law-abiding citizen, a –’ He stopped, and his expression changed to one of disbelief as a company of riders appeared out of the fog. At their head rode a tall, black-skinned man wearing the tabard of the captain of the Prince’s Royal Household Guard. Seeing the gathering in the streets, he signalled for his men to rein in.

With a shake of his head, Arutha said to Laurie, ‘So much for a quiet return to Krondor.’

The captain said, ‘Watchman, what is all this?’

The watchman saluted. ‘That is what I was just undertaking to discover this very minute, Captain. We apprehended these two …’ He indicated Arutha and Laurie.

The captain rode closer and laughed. The watchman looked sideways at this tall captain, not knowing what to say. Riding up to Arutha, Gardan, former sergeant of the garrison at Crydee, saluted. ‘Welcome to your city, Highness.’ At these words the other guards braced in their saddles, saluting their Prince.

Arutha returned the salute of the guardsmen, then shook hands with Gardan while the watchmen and the fuller stood speechless. ‘Singer,’ said Gardan, ‘it is good to see you again, as well.’ Laurie acknowledged the greeting with a smile and wave. He had known Gardan for only a brief while before Arutha had dispatched him to Krondor to assume command of the city and palace guards, but he liked the grey-haired soldier.

Arutha looked to where the watchmen and the fuller waited. The watchmen had their caps off and the seniormost said, ‘Beggin’ Your Highness’s pardon, old Bert didn’t know. Any offence was unintended, Sire.’

Arutha shook his head, amused despite the late hour and the cold weather. ‘No offence, Bert the Watchman. You were but doing your duty, and rightly so.’ He turned to Gardan. ‘Now, how in heaven’s name did you manage to find me?’

‘Duke Caldric sent a full itinerary along with the news that you were returning from Rillanon. You were due in tomorrow, but I said to Earl Volney you’d most likely try to slip in tonight. As you were riding from Salador, there was only one gate you’d enter’ – he pointed down the street towards the eastern gate, unseen in the fog-shrouded night – ‘and here we are. Your Highness arrived even earlier than I had expected. Where is the rest of your party?’

‘Half the guards are escorting the Princess Anita towards her mother’s estates. The rest are camped about six hours’ ride from the city. I couldn’t abide one more night on the road. Besides, there’s a great deal to be done.’ Gardan looked quizzically at the Prince, but all Arutha would say was ‘More when I speak to Volney. Now’ – he looked at the fuller – ‘who is this loud fellow?’

‘This is Trig the Fuller, Highness,’ answered the senior watchman. ‘He claims someone broke into his room and stole from him. He says he was awakened by the sounds of struggle on his roof.’

Trig interrupted. ‘They were fighting over my head, over my … very … head …’ His voice trailed off as he realized who he was speaking to. ‘… Your Highness,’ he finished, suddenly embarrassed.

The heavy-browed watchman threw him a stern look. ‘He says he heard some sort of scream and, like a turtle, pulled his head back in from the window.’

Trig nodded vigorously. ‘Like someone was doing murder, doing bloody murder, Your Highness. It was horrible.’ The beefy watchman visited Trig with an elbow to the ribs at the interruption.

The young watchman came from the side alley. ‘This was lying atop some rubbish on the street the other side of the house, Bert.’ He held out the assassin’s sword. ‘There was some blood on the grip, but none on the blade. There’s also a small pool of blood in the alley, but no body, anywhere.’

Arutha motioned for Gardan to take the sword. The young watchman, observing the guards and the obvious position of command assumed by the newcomers, handed up the sword, then doffed his own cap.

Arutha received the sword from Gardan, saw nothing significant in it, and returned it to the watchman. ‘Turn your guards around, Gardan. It is late and there’s little sleep left this night.’

‘But what of the theft?’ cried the fuller, shaken loose from his silence. ‘It was my savings, my life savings! I’m ruined! What shall I do?’

The Prince turned his horse and came alongside the watchmen. To Trig he said, ‘I offer my sympathies, good fuller, but rest assured the watch will do their utmost to retrieve your goods.’

‘Now,’ said Bert to Trig, ‘I suggest you turn in for what’s left of the night, sir. In the morning you may enter a complaint with the duty sergeant of the watch. He’ll want a description of what was taken.’

‘What was taken? Gold, man, that’s what they took! My hoard, my entire hoard!’

‘Gold, is it? Then,’ said Bert, with the voice of experience, ‘I suggest you turn in and tomorrow begin to rebuild your treasure, for as sure as there’s fog in Krondor, you’ll not see one coin again. But do not be too disconsolate, good sir. You are a man of means, and gold quickly accrues to those of your station, resources, and enterprise.’

Arutha stifled a laugh, for despite the man’s personal tragedy, he stood a comic figure in his nightshirt of linen, his nightcap tipping forward to almost touch his nose. ‘Good fuller, I will make amends.’ He pulled his dagger from his belt and handed it down to Bert the watchman. ‘This weapon bears my family crest. The only others like it are worn by my brothers, the King and the Duke of Crydee. Return it to the palace tomorrow and a bag of gold will be placed in its stead. I’ll have no unhappy fullers in Krondor on the day of my homecoming. Now I bid you all good night.’ Arutha spurred his horse and led his companions towards the palace.

When Arutha and his guards had vanished into the gloom, Bert turned to Trig. ‘Well then, sir, there’s a happy end to it,’ he said, passing the Prince’s dagger over to the fuller. ‘And you may take some added pleasure in knowing you are one of the few of common birth who may claim to have spoken with the Prince of Krondor, albeit under somewhat strange and difficult circumstances.’ To his men he said, ‘Let us back to our rounds. There’ll be more than this one little bit of fun in Krondor on a night like this.’ He signalled for his men to follow and led them off into the white murk.

Trig stood alone. After a moment his expression brightened and he shouted up to his wife and any others who still looked out of their windows, ‘I’ve spoken to the Prince! I, Trig the Fuller!’ Feeling emotions somewhat akin to elation, the fuller trudged back into the warmth of his home, clutching Arutha’s dagger.

Jimmy made his way through the narrowest of tunnels. The passage was part of the maze of sewers and other underground constructions common to that part of the city, and every foot of those underground passages was controlled by the Mockers. Jimmy passed a tofsman – one who made his living gathering up whatever of use could be found in the sewers. He used a stick to halt a jumble of debris carried along on the waters of the sewer. The floating mass was called a tof, that which tofleets, in a corruption of language. He picked at it, looking for a coin or anything else of value. He was in fact a sentry. Jimmy signalled to him, ducked under a low-hanging timber, apparently a fallen brace in an abandoned cellar, and entered a large hall carved out among the tunnels. Here was the heart of the guild of thieves, Mockers’ Rest.

Jimmy retrieved his rapier from the weapons locker. He sought out a quiet corner in which to sit, for he felt troubled by the conflict he faced. By rights he should own up to his unauthorized pilfering of the fuller’s house, split the gold, and take whatever punishment the Nightmaster meted out. By tomorrow afternoon the guild would know the fuller had been boosted, anyway. Once it was clear that no freebooting thief was at work, suspicion would fall upon Jimmy and the others known to occasionally go for a night’s foray without leave. Any punishment forthcoming then would be doubly harsh for his not having confessed now. Still, Jimmy couldn’t consider only his own interests, since he knew the assassin’s target had been none other than the Prince of Krondor himself. And Jimmy had spent enough time with Arutha when the Mockers had hidden the Prince and Princess Anita from du Bas-Tyra’s men to have developed a liking for the Prince. Arutha had given Jimmy the very rapier the boy thief wore at his side. No, Jimmy couldn’t ignore the assassin’s presence, but he was not clear where his best course lay.

After long moments of quiet consideration, Jimmy decided. He would first attempt to get warning to the Prince, then pass along the information about the assassin to Alvarny the Quick, the Daymaster. Alvarny was a friend and allowed Jimmy a little more latitude than Gaspar daVey, the Nightmaster. Alvarny would make no mention to the Upright Man of Jimmy’s tardiness in reporting, if the boy didn’t take too long to come forth. Which meant Jimmy would have to reach Arutha quickly, then return at once to speak with the Daymaster – before sundown tomorrow at the latest. Any later than that, and Jimmy would be compromised beyond even Alvarny’s ability to look the other way. Alvarny might be a generous man, now that he was in his twilight, but he was still a Mocker. Disloyalty to the guild was something he would not permit.

‘Jimmy!’

Jimmy looked up and saw Golden Dase approaching. While young, the dashing thief was already experienced in parting rich older women from their wealth. He relied more on his blond good looks and charm than on stealth. Dase made a display of the valuable clothing he wore. ‘What think you?’

Jimmy nodded in approval. ‘Taken to robbing tailors?’

Golden aimed a playful, halfhearted cuff at Jimmy, who ducked easily, then sat next to the boy. ‘No, you misbegotten son of an alley cat, I have not. My current “benefactor” is the widow of the famous Masterbrewer Fallon.’ Jimmy had heard of the man; his ales and beers had been so highly prized they had even graced the table of the late Prince Erland. ‘And given her late husband’s and now her far-reaching business concerns, she has received an invitation to the reception.’

‘Reception?’ Jimmy knew Golden had some tidbit of gossip he wished to unfold in his own good time.

‘Ah,’ said Golden, ‘did I fail to mention the fact of a wedding?’

Jimmy rolled his eyes upwards but played along. ‘What wedding, Golden?’

‘Why, the royal wedding of course. Though we shall be seated away from the King’s table, it will not be at the table most remote.’

Jimmy sat bolt upright. ‘The King? In Krondor!’

‘Of course.’

Jimmy gripped Golden by the arm. ‘Start at the beginning.’

Grinning, the handsome but not terribly perceptive confidence man said, ‘The widow Fallon was informed by no less a source than the purchasing agent at the palace, a man she has known for seventeen years, that extra stores were required within a month’s time for, and I quote, “the royal wedding”. One is safe in assuming a king would be in attendance at his own wedding.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘No, you simpleton, not the King’s. Anita and Arutha’s.’

Golden seemed ready to take umbrage at the remark, but then a sudden glimmer of interest showed in his eyes. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘The King weds in Rillanon. The Prince weds in Krondor.’ Golden nodded, indicating this made sense. ‘I hid out with Anita and Arutha; it was only a matter of time before they wed. That’s why he’s back.’ Seeing a reaction at that, Jimmy quickly added, ‘… Or will be back soon.’

Jimmy’s mind raced. Not only would Lyam be in Krondor for the wedding, but so would every noble of importance in the West, and no small number from the East. And if Dase knew of the wedding, then half of Krondor did as well and the other half would know of it before the next sundown.

Jimmy’s reverie was interrupted by the approach of Laughing Jack, the Nightwarden, senior lieutenant to the Nightmaster. The thin-lipped man came to stand before Jimmy and Dase and, with hands upon hips, said, ‘You look like you’ve something on your mind, boy?’

Jimmy had no affection for Jack. He was a dour, tight-jawed man given to violent tempers and unnecessary cruelty. The only reason for his high place in the guild was his ability at keeping the guild’s bashers and other hotheads in line. Jimmy’s dislike was returned in kind by Jack, for it had been Jimmy who had appended ‘Laughing’ to Jack’s name. In the years Jack had been in the guild, no one could remember hearing him laugh. ‘Nothing, really,’ said Jimmy.

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jimmy, then Dase, for a long minute. ‘I hear there was some fuss over near the east gate; you weren’t thereabouts this night, were you?’

Jimmy maintained an indifferent expression and regarded Dase, as if Jack had asked both the question. Golden shook his head in the negative. Jimmy wondered if Jack already knew about the Nighthawk. If he did, and if someone else had caught sight of Jimmy nearby, Jimmy could expect no mercy from Jack’s bashers. Still, Jimmy suspected that if Jack had proof, he would have come accusing, not questioning. Subtlety was not Jack’s hallmark. Jimmy feigned indifference as he said, ‘Another drunken argument? No, I was asleep most of the night.’

‘Good, then you’ll be fresh,’ said Jack. With a jerk of his head he indicated Dase should absent himself. Golden rose and left without comment and Jack placed his boot upon the bench next to Jimmy. ‘We’ve got a job this night.’

‘Tonight?’ said Jimmy, already counting the night half done. There were barely five hours left until sunrise.

‘It’s special. From himself,’ he said, meaning the Upright Man. ‘There’s a royal do on at the palace and the Keshian ambassador’s coming. A load of gifts arrived late tonight, gifts for a wedding. They’ll be straight off for the palace by midday next at latest, so tonight’s our only chance to boost them. It’s a rare chance.’ His tone left no doubt in Jimmy’s mind that his presence was not requested but required. Jimmy had hoped to get some sleep tonight before heading for the palace, but now there was no chance of that. With a note of resignation in his voice, he said, ‘When and where?’

‘An hour from now at the big warehouse one street over from the Fiddler Crab Inn, near dockside.’

Jimmy knew the place. He nodded and without another word left Laughing Jack. He headed up the stairs towards the street. The question of assassins and plots would have to wait a few hours more.

Fog still overwhelmed Krondor. The warehouse district near the docks was usually quiet in the early morning hours, but this night the scene was otherworldly. Jimmy wended his way among large bales of goods, of too little value to warrant the additional expense of storage inside, and therefore safe from the threat of thievery. Bulk cotton, animal fodder to be shipped, and stacked lumber created a maze of maddening complexity through which Jimmy moved quietly. He had spied several dock watchmen, but the night’s dampness and a generous bribe kept them close to their shed, where a fire burned brightly in a brazier, relieving the gloom. Nothing short of a riot would get them away from the warmth. The Mockers would be long removed from this area before those indifferent guardians stirred.

Reaching the designated meeting place, Jimmy looked about and, seeing no one in sight, settled in to wait. He was early, as was his habit, for he liked to compose his mind before the action began. Additionally, there was something in Laughing Jack’s orders to him that made him wary. A job this important was rarely a last-minute affair, and even rarer was the Upright Man’s allowing anything to tempt the Prince’s wrath – and purloining royal wedding gifts would bring Arutha’s wrath. But Jimmy was not placed highly enough in the guild to know if everything was on the up and up. He would simply have to remain alert.

The soft hint of someone approaching caused Jimmy to tense. Whoever was coming was moving cautiously, as was to be expected, but with the faint footfalls he had heard a strange sound. It was the slight clicking of metal on wood and, as soon as recognition registered, Jimmy leapt away. With a loud thud and an eruption of wood splinters, a crossbow bolt ripped through the side of a crate, where Jimmy had stood a moment before.

An instant later, two figures, dark silhouettes in the grey night, appeared from out of the gloom, running towards him.

Sword in hand, Laughing Jack rushed Jimmy without a word, while his companion furiously cranked up his crossbow for another shot. Jimmy drew weapons and executed a parry of an overhand slash by Jack, diverting the blade with his dirk, then lunging with his rapier in return. Jack skipped to one side, and the two figures squared off.

‘Now we’ll see how well you can use that toad sticker, you snotty little bastard,’ snarled Jack. ‘Watching you bleed just might give me something to laugh about.’

Jimmy said nothing, refusing to engage in distracting conversation. His only reply was a high-line attack that drove Jack back. He had no illusions about being a better swordsman than Jack; he simply wanted to keep alive long enough to gain a chance to flee.

Back and forth they moved, exchanging blows and parries, each looking for an opening to finish the contest. Jimmy tried for a counterthrust and misjudged his position, and suddenly fire erupted in his side. Jack had managed to cut Jimmy with the edge of his sword, a painful and potentially weakening wound, but not fatal, at least not yet. Jimmy looked for more room to move, feeling sick to his stomach from the pain, while Jack pressed his advantage. Jimmy backed off from a furious overhand slashing attack as Jack used the advantage of his heavier blade to beat down Jimmy’s guard.

A sudden shout telling Jack to get out of the way warned Jimmy the other man had reloaded his crossbow. Jimmy circled away from Jack, trying to keep moving and put Jack between himself and Jack’s accomplice. Jack slashed at Jimmy, turning him back rapidly, and then hacked downwards. The force of the blow dropped Jimmy to his knees.

Abruptly Jack leapt backwards, as if a giant hand had seized him by the collar and yanked. He slammed against a large crate and for an instant his eyes registered shocked disbelief, then rolled up in his head as limp fingers lost their grip on his sword. Jimmy saw that, where Jack’s chest had been, a bloody, pulped mass was left by the passage of another crossbow bolt. But for the sudden fury of Jack’s attack, Jimmy would have received it in the back. Without a sound Jack slumped, and Jimmy realized he was pinned to the crate. Jimmy rose from his crouch, spinning to confront the nameless man, who had tossed away the crossbow with a curse. He pulled his sword and rushed Jimmy. The man aimed a blow at Jimmy’s head and the boy ducked, catching his heel. He fell heavily backwards into a sitting position while the man’s swing took him off balance slightly. Jimmy tossed his dirk at the man. The man took the point of the long dagger in the side and looked down at the wound, more an inconvenience than an injury. But the brief distraction was all Jimmy needed. An expression of uncomprehending surprise crossed the nameless man’s face as Jimmy got to one knee and ran him through.

Jimmy yanked away his blade as the man fell. He pulled his dirk from the dead man’s side, then wiped off and resheathed his blades. Slowly examining himself, he found he was bleeding but would live.

Fighting off nausea, he walked to where Jack hung against the crate. Looking at the Nightwarden, Jimmy tried to gather his thoughts. He and Jack had never cared a whit for each other, but why this elaborate trap? Jimmy wondered if this was somehow tied up with the matter of the assassin and the Prince. It was something he could dwell on after he spoke to the Prince, for if there was a direct relationship, it boded ill for the Mockers. The possibility of a betrayal by one as highly placed as Laughing Jack would shake the guild to its foundation.

Never losing his perspective, Jimmy relieved Jack and his companion of their purses, finding them both satisfactorily full. As he finished looting Jack’s companion, he noticed something around the man’s neck.

Reaching down, Jimmy came away with a gold chain, upon which hung an ebony hawk. He studied the charm for a few moments, then stuck it away in his tunic. Looking around, he spied a likely-looking place to deposit the bodies. He plucked Jack from off the bolt, dragged him and the other man over to a nook formed by crates, and tipped some heavy sacks down on top of them. He turned two damaged crates so the intact sides were revealed. It might be days before someone uncovered the corpses.

Ignoring his angry side and fatigue, Jimmy looked around to make sure he was still unobserved, then vanished into the foggy gloom.




• CHAPTER THREE •

Plots


ARUTHA ATTACKED FURIOUSLY.

Laurie exhorted Gardan to better efforts as the Prince forced his duelling companion into a retreat. The singer had willingly surrendered the honour of the first bout to Gardan, for he had been Arutha’s partner every morning upon the journey from Salador to Krondor. While the practice had sharpened sword skills grown rusty in the King’s palace, he had tired of always losing to the lightning-quick Prince. At least this morning he would have someone with whom to share his defeat. Still, the old campaigner wasn’t without a trick or two and suddenly Gardan had Arutha backing up. Laurie whooped when he realized the captain had been lulling the Prince into a false sense of control. But after a furious exchange the Prince was again on the offensive, and Gardan was crying, ‘Hold!’

The chuckling Gardan backed away. ‘In all my years there have been only three men who could best me with the blade, Highness: Swordmaster Fannon, your father, and now yourself.’

Laurie said, ‘A worthy trio.’ Arutha was about to offer a bout to Laurie when something caught his eye.

A large tree was situated in the corner of the palace exercise yard, where it overhung a wall separating the palace grounds from an alley and the city beyond. Something was moving along the branches of the tree. Arutha pointed. One of the palace guardsmen was already moving towards the tree, his attention drawn there by the Prince’s stare.

Suddenly someone dropped from the branches, landing lightly on his feet. Arutha, Laurie, and Gardan all stood with swords held ready. The guardsman took the youth, as they now clearly saw him to be, by the arm and led him towards the Prince.

As they approached, a flicker of recognition crossed Arutha’s face. ‘Jimmy?’

Jimmy executed a bow, wincing slightly at the pain in his side, poorly bandaged by himself that morning. Gardan said, ‘Highness, you know this lad?’

With a nod, Arutha said, ‘Yes. He may be a little older and a bit taller, but I know this young rogue. He’s Jimmy the Hand, already a legend among brigands and cutpurses in the city. This is the boy thief who helped Anita and me flee the city.’

Laurie studied the boy, then laughed. ‘I never saw him clearly, for the warehouse was dark when Kasumi and I were taken from Krondor by the Mockers, but by my teeth, it’s the same lad. “There’s a party at Mother’s.” ’

Jimmy grinned. ‘ “And a good time will be had by all.” ’

Arutha said, ‘So you know each other as well?’

‘I told you once that when Kasumi and I were carrying the peace message from the Tsurani Emperor to King Rodric, there was a boy who had guided us from the warehouse to the city gate and led away the guards while we escaped Krondor. This was that boy, and I never could remember his name.’

Arutha put up his sword, as did the others. ‘Well then, Jimmy, while I am glad to see you again, there is this matter of climbing walls into my palace.’

Jimmy shrugged. ‘I thought it possible you’d be willing to see an old acquaintance, Highness, but I doubted I could convince the captain’s guards to send word.’

Gardan smiled at the brash answer and signalled the guard to release his hold upon the boy’s arm. ‘Probably you’re right, Jack-a-rags.’

Jimmy suddenly became aware he looked a poor sight to these men, used to the well-dressed and -groomed inhabitants of the palace. From his raggedly cut hair down to his dirty bare feet he looked every inch the beggar boy. Then Jimmy saw the humour in Gardan’s eyes.

‘Don’t let his appearance mislead you, Gardan. He’s far more capable than his years indicate.’ To Jimmy, Arutha said, ‘You throw some discredit upon Gardan’s guards by entering in this fashion. I expect you’ve reason to seek me out?’

‘Yes, Highness. Business most serious and urgent.’

Arutha nodded. ‘Well then, what is this most serious and urgent business?’

‘Someone has placed a price on your head.’

Gardan’s face registered shock. Laurie said, ‘What – how?’

‘What leads you to think so?’ asked Arutha.

‘Because someone has already tried to collect.’

Besides Arutha, Laurie, and Gardan, two others listened to the boy’s story in the Prince’s council chambers. Earl Volney of Landreth had formerly been the assistant to the Principate Chancellor, Lord Dulanic, the Duke of Krondor who disappeared during the viceroyalty of Guy du Bas-Tyra. At Volney’s side sat Father Nathan, a priest of Sung the White, Goddess of the One Path, once one of Prince Erland’s chief advisers and there at Gardan’s request. Arutha did not know these two men, but during the months of his absence Gardan had come to trust their judgement, and that opinion counted for much with Arutha. Gardan had been virtually acting Knight-Marshal of Krondor, just as Volney had been acting Chancellor, while Arutha had been gone.

Both men were stocky, but while Volney seemed one who had never known labour, simply a man always stout, Nathan looked like a wrestler now going to fat. Under that soft appearance strength still waited. Neither spoke until Jimmy had finished recounting his two fights of the night before.

Volney studied the boy thief for a moment, looking at him from under carefully combed, bushy eyebrows. ‘Utterly fantastic. I simply don’t wish to believe such a plot can exist.’

Arutha had sat with his hands forming a tent before his face, the fingers restlessly flexing. ‘I’d not be the first prince targeted for an assassin’s blade, Earl Volney.’ He said to Gardan, ‘Double the guard at once, but quietly, with no explanation given. I do not want rumours flying about the palace. Within two weeks we’ll have every noble in the Kingdom worth mention in these halls, as well as my brother.’

Volney said, ‘Perhaps you should warn His Majesty?’

‘No,’ said Arutha flatly. ‘Lyam will be travelling with a full company of his Royal Household Guard. Have a detachment of Krondorian Lancers meet them at Malac’s Cross, but no word that it is other than a formal honour company. If a hundred soldiers can’t protect him while he rides, he can’t be protected.

‘No, our problem lies here in Krondor. We have no choice in our options.’

‘I’m not sure I follow, Highness,’ said Father Nathan.

Laurie threw his eyes heavenward while Jimmy grinned. Arutha smiled grimly. ‘I think our two streetwise companions have a clear understanding of what must be done.’ Turning to face Jimmy and Laurie, Arutha said, ‘We must catch a Nighthawk.’

Arutha sat quietly while Volney paced the dining hall. Laurie, who had seen years enough of hunger to take food when it was available, ate while the stout Earl of Landreth stalked the hall. After watching Volney make another circuit before the table, Arutha, in weary tones, said, ‘My lord Earl, must you pace so?’

The Earl, who was caught up in his own thoughts, stopped abruptly. He bowed towards Arutha slightly, but his expression was one of irritation. ‘Highness, I’m sorry to have disturbed you’ – his tone showed he wasn’t in the least bit sorry, and Laurie smiled behind a joint of beef – ‘but to trust that thief is sheer idiocy.’

Arutha’s eyes widened and he looked at Laurie, who returned his amazed expression. Laurie said, ‘My dear Earl, you should cease being so circumspect. Come, just speak your mind to the Prince. Be direct, man!’

Volney flushed as he realized his gaffe. ‘I beg your pardon, I …’ He seemed genuinely embarrassed.

Arutha smiled his crooked half-smile. ‘Pardon granted, Volney, but only for the rudeness.’ He studied Volney for a quiet moment, then added, ‘I find the candour rather refreshing. Say on.’

‘Highness,’ Volney said firmly, ‘for all we know, this boy is but a part of some confidence game designed to capture you, or to destroy you, as he claims others intend.’

‘And what would you have me do?’

Volney paused and shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know, Highness, but sending the boy alone to gather intelligence is … I don’t know.’

Arutha said, ‘Laurie, tell my friend and counsellor the Earl that all is well.’

Gulping down a mouthful of fine wine, Laurie said, ‘All is well, Earl.’ When Arutha threw the minstrel a black look, Laurie added, ‘In truth, sir, all possible is being done. I know the ways of the city as well as any man can who is not one of the Upright Man’s own. Jimmy’s a Mocker. He may discover a lead to the Nighthawks where a dozen spies will find none.’

‘Remember,’ said Arutha, ‘I met Guy’s captain of secret police, Jocko Radburn, and he was a cunning, ruthless man who stopped at nothing to try to recapture Anita. The Mockers proved his match.’

Volney seemed to sag a little, then indicated he required the Prince’s permission to sit. Arutha waved him to a chair, and as he sat he said, ‘Perhaps you are right, singer. It is just that I have no means to answer this threat. The thought of assassins running loose gives me little ease.’

Arutha leaned across the table. ‘Less than myself? Remember, Volney, it appeared I was the intended target.’

Laurie nodded. ‘It couldn’t have been me they were after.’

‘Perhaps a music lover?’ countered Arutha dryly.

Volney sighed. ‘I am sorry if I am acting poorly in all this. I have wished upon more than one occasion to be done with this business of administering the Principality.’

‘Nonsense, Volney,’ said Arutha. ‘You’ve done a capital job here. When Lyam insisted I make the eastern tour with him, I objected on the grounds that the Western Realm would suffer under any hand but my own – which was because of the effects of Bas-Tyra’s rule and no comment upon your abilities. But I am pleased to see this was not the case. I doubt that any could have done better in running the daily affairs of the realm than you have, Earl.’

‘I thank His Highness,’ said Volney, somewhat less agitated for the compliment.

‘In fact, I was going to ask you to stay on. With Dulanic mysteriously gone, we’ve no Duke of Krondor to act on behalf of the city. Lyam cannot announce the office vacant – without dishonouring Dulanic’s memory by stripping him of the title – for another two years, but we can all assume he is dead at Guy’s or Radburn’s hands. So for the time being, I think we’ll plan on your acting the part of Chancellor.’

Volney seemed less than pleased with this news, but took the pronouncement with good grace. He simply said, ‘I thank His Highness for the trust.’

Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Gardan, Father Nathan and Jimmy. Nathan’s bull neck bulged as he half carried Jimmy to a chair. The boy’s face was drained of colour and he was sweating. Ignoring formality, Arutha pointed to a chair and the priest deposited Jimmy there.

‘What is this?’ asked Arutha.

Gardan half smiled, half looked disapproving. ‘This young bravo has been running around since last night with a nasty cut in his side. He bandaged it himself and botched the job.’

‘It had begun to fester,’ added Nathan, ‘so I was forced to clean and dress it. I insisted on treating it before we came to see you, as the boy was turning feverish. It takes no magic to keep a wound from putrefaction, but every street boy thinks he is a chirurgeon. So the wound sours.’ He looked down at Jimmy. ‘He’s a little pale from the lancing, but he’ll be fine in a few hours – as long as he doesn’t reopen the wound,’ he added pointedly to Jimmy.

Jimmy looked abashed. ‘Sorry to put you to the trouble, father, but under other circumstances, I would have had the wound tended.’

Arutha looked at the boy thief. ‘What have you discovered?’

‘This business of catching assassins may be even more difficult than we thought, Highness. There is a way to make contact, but it is varied and roundabout.’ Arutha nodded for him to continue. ‘I had to cadge a lot with the street people, but here is what I have gleaned. Should you wish to employ the services of the Guild of Death, you must take yourself away to the Temple of Lims-Kragma.’ Nathan made a sign of protection at mention of the Death Goddess. ‘A devotion is said and a votive offering placed in the urn marked for such, but with the gold sewn into a parchment, giving your name. You will be contacted at their convenience within one day’s time. You name the victim; they name the price. You pay or you don’t. If you do, they tell you when and where to drop the gold. If you don’t, they vanish and you can’t reach them again.’

‘Simple,’ said Laurie. ‘They dictate when and where, so laying a trap will not be easy.’

‘Impossible, I should think,’ said Gardan.

‘Nothing is impossible,’ said Arutha, his expression showing he was deep in thought.

After a long moment Laurie said, ‘I have it!’

Arutha and the others looked at the singer. ‘Jimmy, you said they will contact whoever leaves the gold within the day.’ Jimmy nodded. ‘Then what we need to do is have whoever leaves the gold stay in one place. A place we control.’

Arutha said, ‘A simple enough idea, once it’s thought of, Laurie. But where?’

Jimmy said, ‘There are a few places we might take over for a time, Highness, but those who own them are unreliable.’

‘I know a place,’ said Laurie, ‘if friend Jimmy the Hand is willing to say devotions, so the Nighthawks will be less likely to think it a trap.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jimmy. ‘Things are funny in Krondor. If I’m under suspicion, we might never get another opportunity.’ He reminded them of Jack’s attack, and of his unknown companion with the crossbow. ‘It may have been a grudge thing; I’ve known men to get crazy over something even more trivial than a nickname, but if it wasn’t … If Jack was somehow involved with that assassin …’

‘Then,’ said Laurie, ‘the Nighthawks have turned an officer of the Mockers to their cause.’

Jimmy looked upset, as he suddenly dropped his mask of bravado. ‘That thought has troubled me as much as the thought of someone sticking his Highness with a crossbow bolt. I’ve been neglecting my oath to the Mockers. I should have told all last night, and certainly I must now.’ He seemed ready to rise.

Volney placed a firm hand upon Jimmy’s shoulder. ‘Presumptuous boy! Are you saying some league of cut-throats merits even a moment’s consideration in light of the danger to your Prince and possibly your King?’

Jimmy seemed on the verge of a retort when Arutha said, ‘I think that’s exactly what the boy said, Volney. He has given oath.’

Laurie quickly stepped over to where the boy sat. Moving Volney to one side, he leaned down so his face was level with Jimmy’s. ‘You have your concerns, we know, lad, but things seem to be moving rapidly. If the Mockers have been infiltrated, then speaking too soon could make those who have been placed there cover tracks. If we can get one of these Nighthawks …’ He left the thought unfinished.

Jimmy nodded. ‘If the Upright Man will only follow your logic, I may survive, singer. I come close to past the time when I may cover my actions with a facile story. Soon I will be at an accounting. Very well, I’ll take a note to the Drawer of Nets’ temple. And I will play no mummery when I ask her to make a place for me should it be my time.’

‘And,’ said Laurie, ‘I must be off to see an old friend about the loan of an inn.’

‘Good,’ said Arutha. ‘We will spring the snare tomorrow.’

While Volney, Nathan, and Gardan watched, Laurie and Jimmy departed, deep in conversation as they made plans. Arutha followed their departure as well, his dark eyes masking the quietly burning rage he felt. After so many years of strife during the Riftwar he had returned to Krondor hoping for a long, peaceful life with Anita. Now someone dared to threaten that peaceful life. And that someone would pay dearly.

The Rainbow Parrot Inn was quiet. The storm windows had been closed against a sudden squall off the Bitter Sea, so the taproom lay blanketed in haze, blue smoke from the fireplace and a dozen patron’s pipes. To any casual observer the inn looked much as it would have on other rainy nights. The owner, Lucas, and his two sons stood behind the long bar, one of them occasionally moving through the door to the kitchen to get meals and carry them to the tables. In the corner near the fireplace, opposite the stairs to the second floor, a blond minstrel sang softly of a sailor who is far from home.

Close inspection would have revealed that the men at the tables barely touched their ale. While rough in appearance, they didn’t have the air of workers from the docks and sailors fresh in from sea voyages. They all possessed a certain hard-eyed look, and their scars were earned in past battles rather than tavern brawls. All were members of Gardan’s company of Household Guard, some of the most seasoned veterans of the Armies of the West during the Riftwar. In the kitchen five new cooks and apprentices worked. Upstairs, in the room closest to the head of the stairway, Arutha, Gardan, and five soldiers waited patiently. In total, Arutha had placed twenty-four men in the inn. Arutha’s men were the only ones present, as the last local had left when the storm commenced.

In the corner farthest from the door, Jimmy the Hand waited. Something had troubled him all day, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. But he knew one thing: if he himself had entered this room this night, his experience-bred caution would have warned him away. He hoped the Nighthawks’ agent wasn’t as perceptive. Something here just wasn’t right.

Jimmy sat back and absently nibbled at the cheese, pondering what was askew. It was an hour after sundown, and still no sign of anyone who might be from the Nighthawks. Jimmy had come straight from the temple, making sure he had been seen by several beggars who knew him well. If any in Krondor wished to find him, word of his whereabouts could be purchased easily and cheaply.

The front door opened and two men came in from the rain, shaking water from their cloaks. Both appeared to be fighting men, perhaps bravos who had earned a fair purse of silver protecting some merchant’s caravans. They wore similar attire: leather armour, calf-length boots, broadswords at their sides, and shields slung over their backs under the protective cloaks.

The taller fellow, with a grey streak through his dark hair, ordered ales. The other, a thin blond man, looked about the room. Something in the way his eyes narrowed alarmed Jimmy: he also sensed something different in the inn. He spoke softly to his companion. The man with the grey lock nodded, then took the ales presented by the barman. Paying with coppers, the two men moved to the only available table, the one next to Jimmy’s.

The man with the grey lock turned towards Jimmy and said, ‘Lad, is this inn always so sombre?’ Jimmy then realized what the problem had been all day. In their waiting, the guards had fallen into the soldier’s habit of speaking softly. The room was free of the usual common-room din.

Jimmy held his forefinger before his lips and whispered, ‘It is the singer.’ The man turned his head and listened to Laurie for a moment. Laurie was a gifted performer and was in good voice despite his long day’s work. When he finished, Jimmy banged his ale jack hard upon the table and shouted, ‘Ha! Minstrel, more, more!’ as he tossed a silver coin towards the dais upon which Laurie sat. His outburst was followed a moment later by similar shouting and cheering as the others realized the need of some display. Several other coins were tossed. When Laurie struck up another tune, lively and bawdy, a sound not unlike the normal buzz of conversation returned to the taproom.

The two strangers settled back into their chairs and listened, occasionally speaking to each other. They visibly relaxed as the mood in the room shifted to resemble what they had expected. Jimmy sat for a while, watching the two men at the next table. Something about these two was out of place, something that nagged at him as had the false note in the common room only moments before.

The door opened again and another man entered. He looked around the room as he shook water from his hooded great cloak, but he didn’t remove the voluminous covering or lower the cowl. He spied Jimmy and crossed to his table. Without waiting for invitation, he pulled out a chair and sat. In hushed tones he said, ‘Have you a name?’

Jimmy nodded and leaned forward as if to speak. As he did so, four facts suddenly struck him. The men at the next table, despite their casual appearance, had swords and shields close at hand, needing only an instant to bring them to the ready. They didn’t drink like mercenaries fresh into town after a long caravan; in fact, their drinks were nearly untouched. The man opposite Jimmy had one hand hidden under his cloak, as he had since entering. But most revealing of all, all three men wore large black rings on their left hands, with a hawk device carved in them, one similar to the talisman taken from Laughing Jack’s companion. Jimmy’s mind worked furiously, for he had seen such rings before and understood their use.

Improvising, Jimmy pulled a parchment out of his boot. He placed it on the table, to the far right of the man, making him stretch awkwardly across himself to reach for it while he kept his right hand hidden. As the man’s hand touched the parchment, Jimmy pulled his dirk out and struck, pinning the man’s hand to the table. The man froze at the sudden attack, then his other hand came from within his cloak, holding a dagger. He slashed at Jimmy as the boy thief fell backwards. Then pain struck the man and he howled in agony. Jimmy, tumbling over his chair, shouted, ‘Nighthawks!’ as he struck the floor.

The room exploded with activity. Lucas’s sons, both veterans of the Armies of the West, came leaping over the bar, landing on the swordsmen at the table next to Jimmy as they attempted to rise. Jimmy found himself hanging backwards atop the overturned chair and awkwardly tried to pull himself upright. From his position he could see the barmen grappling with the grey-lock man. The other false mercenary had his left hand before his face, his ring to his lips. Jimmy shouted, ‘Poison rings! They have poison rings!’

Other guards had the hooded man in their grip as he frantically tried to remove his ring from his pinned hand. After another moment he was held tightly by the three men around him, unable to move.

The grey-lock man kicked out at the barmen, rolled away, leapt up, and dashed towards the door, knocking aside two men surprised by the sudden move. For a moment a clear path to the door appeared as curses filled the room from soldiers attempting to navigate the jumble of tables and chairs. The Nighthawk was nearing the door and freedom when a slender fighter interposed himself. The assassin leapt towards the door. With near-inhuman speed Arutha stepped forward and struck the grey-locked man a blow to the head with his rapier’s hilt. The stunned man teetered for a moment, then collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Arutha stood erect and looked about the room. The blond assassin lay with eyes staring blankly upwards, obviously dead. The hooded man’s cloak was thrown back and he was white with pain as the dagger pinning his hand to the table was pulled loose. Three soldiers held him down, though he looked too weak to stand upon his own feet. When the dirk was pulled from the table, he screamed and passed out.

Jimmy stepped gingerly around the dead man and came up to Arutha. He looked down to where Gardan was removing the other black ring from the man on the floor and then the boy grinned at Arutha. Holding up his hand, he counted two on his fingers.

The Prince, still flushed from the struggle, smiled and nodded. None of his men appeared wounded and he had two assassins in tow. He said to Gardan, ‘Guard them closely and let no one who is not known to us see them when you take them into the palace. I’ll have no rumours flying around. Lucas and others may be in danger enough when these three turn up missing, should others from the Guild of Death be about. Leave enough of this company to keep up the appearance of normal business until closing, and pay Lucas double the damages, with our thanks.’ Even as he spoke, Gardan’s company was restoring the inn to order, removing the broken table and moving the others about so it would not be noticed missing. ‘Take these two to the rooms I have chosen and be quick about it. We shall begin questioning tonight.’

Guards blocked a door leading to a remote wing of the palace. The rooms were used only occasionally by guests of minor importance. The wing was a recent construction, being accessible from the main buildings of the palace by a single short hall and a single outside doorway. The outside door was bolted from within and was posted with two guards without, who had orders that absolutely no one, no matter who, was to enter or leave by that door.

Inside the wing all the outer rooms had been secured. In the centre of the largest room of the suite Arutha studied his two prisoners. Both were tied to stout wooden beds by heavy ropes. Arutha was taking no chances on their attempting suicide. Father Nathan supervised his acolytes, who tended the two assassins’ wounds.

Abruptly one of the acolytes moved away from the bedside of the man with the grey lock. He looked at Nathan, his face betraying confusion. ‘Father, come see.’

Jimmy and Laurie followed behind the priest and Arutha. Nathan stepped up behind the acolyte and all heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Sung show us the way!’ The grey-locked man’s leather armour had been cut away, revealing a black tunic beneath embroidered with a silver fisher’s net. Nathan pulled away the other prisoner’s robe. Beneath that robe was another, of night’s black colour, also with a silver net over his heart. The prisoner’s hand had been bandaged and he had regained consciousness. He glared defiantly at the priest of Sung, naked hatred in his eyes.

Nathan motioned the Prince aside. ‘These men wear the mark of Lims-Kragma in her guise as the Drawer of Nets, she who gathers all to her in the end.’

Arutha nodded. ‘It fits in. We know the Nighthawks are contacted through the temple. Even should the hierarchy of the temple be ignorant of this business, someone within the temple must be a confederate of the Nighthawks. Come, Nathan, we must question this other one.’ They returned to the bed where the conscious man lay. Looking down upon him, Arutha said, ‘Who offers the price for my death?’

Nathan was called to attend the unconscious man. ‘Who are you?’ demanded the Prince of the other. ‘Answer now, or the pain you’ve endured will be merely a hint of what will be visited upon you.’ Arutha did not enjoy the prospect of torture, but he would not stop at any means to discover who was responsible for the attack upon him. The question and the threat were answered by silence.

After a moment Nathan returned to Arutha’s side. ‘The other is dead,’ he said softly. ‘We must treat this one cautiously. That man should not have died from your blow to the head. They may have means to command the body not to fight against death, but to welcome it. It is said even a hardy man may will himself to death, given enough time.’

Arutha noticed sweat beading upon the brow of the wounded man as Nathan examined him. With concern on his face, the priest said, ‘He is fevered, and it rises apace. I will have to tend him before there can be an accounting.’ The priest quickly fetched his potion and forced some fluid down the man’s throat as soldiers held his jaws apart. Then the priest began to intone his clerical magic. The man on the bed began to writhe frantically, his face a contorted mask of concentration. Tendons stood out on his arms, and his neck was a mass of ropy cords as he struggled against his confinement. Suddenly he let forth a hollow-sounding laugh and fell back, eyes closed.

Nathan examined the man. ‘He is unconscious, Highness.’ The priest added, ‘I have slowed the fever’s rise, but I don’t think I can halt it. Some magic agency works here. He fails before our eyes. It will take time to counter whatever magic is at work upon him … if I have the time.’ There was doubt in Nathan’s voice. ‘And if my arts are equal to the task.’

Arutha turned to Gardan. ‘Captain, take ten of your most trusted men and make straight for the Temple of Lims-Kragma. Inform the High Priestess I command her attendance at once. Bring her by force if needs be, but bring her.’

Gardan saluted, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Laurie and Jimmy knew he disliked the thought of bearding the priestess in her own halls. Still, the staunch captain turned and obeyed his Prince without comment.

Arutha returned to the stricken man, who lay in fevered torment. Nathan said, ‘Highness, the fever rises, slowly, but it rises.’

‘How long will he live?’

‘If we can do nothing, through the balance of the night, no longer.’

Arutha struck his left hand with his balled right fist in frustration. There was less than six hours before dawn. Less than six hours to discover the cause for the attack upon him. And should this man die, they would be back where they started, and worse, for his unknown enemy would not likely fall into another snare.

‘Is there anything else you can do?’ asked Laurie softly.

Nathan considered. ‘Perhaps …’ He moved away from the ill man and motioned his acolytes away from the bedside. With a gesture he indicated that one of them should bring him a large volume of priestly spells.

Nathan instructed the acolytes and they quickly did his bidding, knowing the ritual and their parts in it. A pentagram was chalked upon the floor, and many runic symbols laid within its boundary, with the bed at the centre. When they were finished, everyone who stood within the room was encompassed by the chalk marks upon the floor. A lighted candle was placed at every point of the design, and a sixth given to Nathan, who stood studying the book. Nathan began waving the light in an intricate pattern while he read aloud in a language unknown to the nonclerics in the room. His acolytes stood quietly to one side, responding in unison at several points during the incantation. The others felt a strange stilling of the air, and as the final syllables were uttered, the dying man groaned, a low and piteous sound.

Nathan snapped shut the book. ‘Nothing less powerful than an agent of the gods themselves may pass through the boundaries of the pentagram without my leave. No spirit, demon, or being sent by any dark agency can trouble us now.’

Nathan then directed everyone to stand outside the pentagram, opened the book again, and began reading another chant. Quickly the words tumbled from the stocky priest. He finished the spell and pointed at the man upon the bed. Arutha looked at the ill man but could see nothing amiss, then, as he turned to speak to Laurie, noticed a change. Seeing the man from the corner of his eye, Arutha could discern a nimbus of faint light around him, filling the pentagram, not visible when viewed directly. It was a light, milky quartz in colour. Arutha asked, ‘What is this?’

Nathan faced Arutha. ‘I have slowed his passage through time, Highness. To him an hour is now a moment. The spell will last only until dawn, but to him less than a quarter of an hour will have passed. Thus we gain time. With luck, he will now linger until midday.’

‘Can we speak to him?’

‘No, for we would sound like buzzing bees to him. But if we need, I can remove the spell.’

Arutha regarded the slowly writhing, fevered man. His hand seemed poised a scant inch above the bed, hanging in space. ‘Then,’ said the Prince impatiently, ‘we must wait upon the pleasure of the High Priestess of Lims-Kragma.’

The wait was not long, nor was there much pleasure evident in the manner of the High Priestess. There was a commotion outside, and Arutha hurried to the door. Beyond it he found Gardan waiting with a woman in black robes. Her face was hidden behind a thick, gauzy black veil, but her head turned towards the Prince.

A finger shot out towards Arutha, and a deep, pleasant-sounding feminine voice said, ‘Why have I been commanded here, Prince of the Kingdom?’

Arutha ignored the question as he took in the scene. Behind Gardan stood a quartet of Guards, spears held across their chests, barring the way to a group of determined-looking temple guards wearing the black and silver tabards of Lims-Kragma. ‘What passes, Captain?’

Gardan said, ‘The lady wishes to bring her guards within, and I have forbidden it.’

In tones of icy fury the priestess said, ‘I have come as you bid, though never have the clergy acknowledged temporal authority. But I will not come as a prisoner, not even for you, Prince of Krondor.’

Arutha said, ‘Two guards may enter, but they will stand away from the prisoner. Madam, you will cooperate and enter, now.’ Arutha’s tone left little doubt of his mood. The High Priestess might be commander of a powerful sect, but before her stood the ruler of the Kingdom absolute, save the King, a man who would brook no interference in some matter of paramount importance. She nodded to the two foremost guards, and they entered. The door was closed behind them, and the two guards were taken off to one side by Gardan. Outside, the palace guards kept watchful eyes upon the remaining temple guards and the wicked curved swords carried at their belts.

Father Nathan greeted the High Priestess with a stiffly formal bow, their two orders having little affection for each other. The High Priestess chose to ignore the priest’s presence.

Her first remark upon seeing the pentagram upon the floor was ‘Do you fear otherworld interference?’ Her tone was suddenly analytical and even.

It was Nathan who answered. ‘Lady, we are not sure of many things, but we do seek to prevent complications from whatever source, physical or spiritual.’

She did not acknowledge his words but stepped as close to the two men, one dead and the other wounded, as she could. Seeing the black tunics, she faltered a step, then turned to face Arutha. Through the veil he could almost feel her malevolent gaze upon him. ‘These men are of my order. How do they come to lie here?’

Arutha’s face was a mask of controlled anger. ‘Madam, it is to answer that question that you have been fetched. Do you know these two?’

She studied their faces. ‘I do not know this one,’ she said, pointing to the dead man with the grey lock in his hair. ‘But the other is a priest of my temple, named Morgan, newly come to us from our temple in Yabon.’ She paused for a moment as she considered something. ‘He wears the mark of a brother of the Order of the Silver Net.’ Her head came around, facing Arutha once more. ‘They are the martial arm of our faith, supervised by their Grand Master in Rillanon. And he answers to none save our Mother Matriarch for his order’s practices.’ She paused again. ‘And then only sometimes.’ Before anyone could comment, she continued. ‘What I do not understand is how one of my temple priests came to wear their mark. Is he a member of the order, passing himself off as a priest? Is he a priest playing the part of a warrior? Or is he neither priest nor brother of the order, but an impostor on both counts? Any of those three possibilities is forbidden, at risk of Lims-Kragma’s wrath. Why is he here?’

Arutha said, ‘Madam, if what you say is true’ – she seemed to tense at the implication of a possible falsehood – ‘then what is occurring concerns your temple as much as it concerns me. Jimmy, speak what you know of the Nighthawks.’

Jimmy, obviously uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the Death Goddess’s High Priestess, spoke quickly and forwent his usual embellishments. When he finished, the High Priestess said, ‘Highness, what you say is a deed foul in the nostrils of our goddess.’ Her voice was cold rage. ‘In times past, certain of the faithful sought sacrifices, but those practices are long abandoned. Death is a patient goddess; all will come to know her in time. We need no black murders. I would speak to this man.’ She indicated the prisoner.

Arutha hesitated and noticed Father Nathan shaking his head slightly. ‘He is close to death, less than hours without any additional stress upon him. Should the questioning prove rigorous, he might die before we can plumb the depths of these dark waters.’

The High Priestess said, ‘What cause for concern, priest? Even dead, he is still my subject. I am Lims-Kragma’s ephemeral hand. In her manor I will find truths no living man can obtain.’

Father Nathan bowed. ‘In the realm of death, so you are supreme.’ To Arutha he said, ‘May my brothers and I withdraw, Highness? My order finds these practices offensive.’

The Prince nodded, and the High Priestess said, ‘Before you go, remove the prayer of slowness you have called down upon him. It will cause less difficulty than should I do it.’

Nathan quickly complied and the man on the bed began to groan feverishly. The priest and acolytes of Sung hurriedly left the room, and when they were gone, the High Priestess said, ‘This pentagram will aid in keeping outside forces from interfering with this act. I would ask all to remain outside, for within its bounds each person creates ripples in the fabric of magic. This is a most holy rite, for whatever the outcome, our lady will most surely claim this man.’

Arutha and the others waited outside the pentagram and the priestess said, ‘Speak only when I have given permission, and ensure the candles do not burn out, or forces may be loosed that would prove … troublesome to recall.’ The High Priestess drew back her black veil, and Arutha was almost shocked at her appearance. She looked barely more than a girl, and a lovely one at that, with blue eyes and skin the colour of dawn’s blush. Her eyebrows promised her hair would be the palest gold. She raised her hands overhead and began to pray. Her voice was soft, musical, but the words were strange and fearful to hear.

The man on the bed squirmed as she continued her incantation. Suddenly his eyes opened and he stared upwards. He seemed to convulse, straining at the bonds that restrained him. He relaxed, then turned to face the High Priestess. A distant look crossed his face, as his eyes seemed to focus and unfocus in turn. After a moment a strange, sinister smile formed on his lips, an expression of mocking cruelty. His mouth opened and the voice that issued forth was deep and hollow. ‘What service, mistress?’

The High Priestess’s brow furrowed slightly as if there was something askew in his manner, but she maintained her poise and said in commanding tones, ‘You wear the mantle of the Order of the Silver Net, yet you practise in the temple. Explain this falsehood.’

The man laughed, a high shrieking cackle that trailed off. ‘I am he who serves.’

She stopped, for the answer was not to her liking. ‘Answer then, who do you serve?’

There came another laugh and the man’s body tensed once more, pulling against the restraining ropes. Beads of sweat popped out upon his brow, and the muscles of his arms corded as he drew himself against the ropes. Then he relaxed and laughed again. ‘I am he who is caught.’

‘Who do you serve?’

‘I am he who is a fish. I am in a net.’ Again came the mad laughter and the near-convulsive straining at the ropes. As the man strained, sweat poured off his face in rivulets. Shrieking, he pulled again and again at the restraints. As it seemed he would break his own bones with exertion, the man screamed, ‘Murmandamus! Aid your servant!’

Abruptly one of the candles blew out as a wind from some unknown place swept across the room. The man reacted with a single convulsive spasm, bowing his body in a high arch, with only his feet and head touching the bed, pulling against the ropes with such force that his skin tore and bled. Suddenly he collapsed upon the bed. The High Priestess fell back a step, then crossed to look down on the man. Softly she said, ‘He is dead. Relight the candle.’

Arutha motioned and a guard lit a taper from another candle and relit the extinguished one. The priestess began another incantation. While the first had been mildly discomforting, this one carried a feeling of dread, a chill from the farthest corner of some lost and frozen land of wretchedness. It carried the echo of the cries of those without comfort or hope. Yet within it was another quality, powerful and attractive, an almost seductive feeling that it would somehow be wonderful to lay aside all burdens and rest. As the spell continued, the feelings of foreboding increased, and those who waited fought against the desire to run far from the sound of the High Priestess’s spell casting.

Suddenly the spell was over, and the room lay as quiet as a tomb. The High Priestess spoke in the King’s Tongue. ‘You who are with us in body but are now subject to the will of our mistress, Lims-Kragma, hearken to me. As our Lady of Death commands all things in the end, so do I now command you in her name. Return!’

The form on the bed stirred but lay silent once more. The High Priestess shouted, ‘Return!’ and the figure moved again. With a sudden movement the dead man’s head came up and his eyes opened. He seemed to be looking around the room, but while his eyes were open, they remained rolled back up in his head, only the whites showing. Still there was some feeling that the corpse could yet see, for his head stopped moving as if he was looking at the High Priestess. His mouth opened and a distant, hollow laugh issued from it.

The High Priestess stepped forward. ‘Silence!’

The dead man quieted, but then the face grinned, a slowly broadening, terrible, and evil expression. The features began to twitch, moving as if the man’s face were subject to some strange palsy. The very flesh shivered, then sagged, as if turned to heated wax. The skin colour subtly shifted, becoming fairer, almost pale white. The forehead became higher and the chin more delicate, the nose more arched and the ears pointed. The hair darkened to black. Within moments the man they had questioned was gone and in his place lay a form no longer human.

Softly Laurie spoke. ‘By the gods! A Brother of the Dark Path!’

Jimmy shifted his weight uncomfortably. ‘Your Brother Morgan is from a lot farther north than Yabon city, lady,’ he whispered. There was no humour in his tone, only fear.

Again came the chill wind from some unknown quarter, and the High Priestess turned towards Arutha. Her eyes were wide with fear and she seemed to speak, but none could hear her words.

The creature on the bed, one of the hated dark cousins to the elves, shrieked in maniacal glee. With a shocking and sudden display of strength, the moredhel ripped one arm free of its bond, then the other. Before the guards could react, it tore free the bonds holding its legs. Instantly the dead thing was on its feet, leaping towards the High Priestess.

The woman stood resolute, a feeling of power radiating from her. She pointed her hand at the creature. ‘Halt!’ The moredhel obeyed. ‘By my mistress’s power, I command obedience from you who are called. In her domain do you dwell and subject you are to her laws and ministers. By her power do I order you back!’

The moredhel faltered a moment, then with startling quickness reached out and with one hand seized the High Priestess by the throat. In that hollow, distant voice it screamed, ‘Trouble not my servant, lady. If you love your mistress so dearly, then to her go!’

The High Priestess gripped its wrist, and blue fire sprang to life along the creature’s arm. With a howl of pain it picked her up as if she weighed nothing and hurled her against the wall near Arutha, where she crashed and slid to the floor.

All stood motionless. The transformation of this creature and its unexpected attack upon the High Priestess robbed all in the room of volition. The temple guards were rooted by the sight of their priestess humbled by some dark, otherworld power. Gardan and his men were equally stunned.

With another booming howl of laughter the creature turned towards Arutha. ‘Now, Lord of the West, we are met, and it is your hour!’

The moredhel swayed upon its feet a moment, then stepped towards Arutha. The temple guards recovered an instant before Gardan’s men. The two black-and-silver-clad soldiers leapt forward, one interposing himself between the advancing moredhel and the stunned priestess, the other attacking the creature. Arutha’s soldiers were only a step behind in preventing the creature from reaching Arutha. Laurie sprang for the door, shouting for the guards without.

The temple guard thrust with his scimitar and impaled the moredhel. Sightless eyes widened, showing red rims, as the creature grinned, a horrid expression of glee. In an instant its hands shot forward and were around the guard’s throat. With a twisting motion it broke the guard’s neck, then tossed him aside. The first of Arutha’s guards to reach the creature struck from the side, a blow that gouged a bloody furrow along its back. With a backhand slap it knocked the guard down. It reached down and pulled the scimitar out of its own chest and with a snarl tossed it aside. As it turned away, Gardan hit it low and from behind. The huge captain encircled the creature with his powerful arms, lifting it from the ground. The creature’s claws raked Gardan’s arms, but still he held it high, preventing its progress towards Arutha. Then the creature kicked backwards, its heel striking Gardan in the leg, causing both to fall. The creature rose. As Gardan tried to reach it again, he stumbled over the body of the fallen temple guard.

The door flew open as Laurie tossed aside the inner bar, and palace and temple guards raced past the singer. The creature was within a sword’s thrust of Arutha when the first guard tackled it from behind, followed an instant later by two more. The temple guards joined their lone fellow in forming a defence around the unconscious High Priestess. Arutha’s guards joined in the assault upon the moredhel. Gardan recovered from his fall and rushed to Arutha’s side. ‘Leave, Highness. We can hold it here by weight of numbers.’

Arutha, with sword ready, said, ‘How long, Gardan? How can you stop a creature already dead?’

Jimmy the Hand backed away from Arutha’s side, edging towards the door. He couldn’t take his eyes from the knot of writhing bodies. Guards hammered at the creature with hilts and fists, seeking to bludgeon it into submission. Hands and faces were sticky red as the creature’s claws raked out again and again.

Laurie circled around the mêlée, looking for an opening, his sword pointed like a dagger. Catching sight of Jimmy as the thief bolted towards the door, Laurie shouted, ‘Arutha! Jimmy shows uncommon good sense. Leave!’ Then he thrust with his sword and a low, chilling moan came from within the jumble of bodies.

Arutha was gripped by indecision. The mass seemed to be inching towards him, as if the weight of the guards served only to slow the creature’s progress. The creature’s voice rang out. ‘Flee, if you will, Lord of the West, but you shall never find refuge from my servants.’ As if gifted by some additional surge of power, the moredhel heaved mightily and the guards were cast aside. They crashed into those standing before the High Priestess, and for a moment the creature was free to stand upright. Now it was covered in blood, its face a mask of bleeding wounds. Torn flesh hung from one cheek, transforming the moredhel’s face into a permanent, baleful grin. One guard managed to rise and shatter the creature’s right arm with a sword blow. It spun and tore the man’s throat out with a single rake of its hand. With its right arm dangling uselessly at its side, the moredhel spoke through loose, rubbery lips, its voice a bubbling, wet noise. ‘I feed on death! Come! I shall feed on yours!’

Two soldiers jumped upon the moredhel from behind, driving it to the floor once more, before Arutha. Ignoring the guards, the creature clawed towards the Prince, its good arm outstretched, fingers hooked like a claw. More guards leapt upon it, and Arutha darted forward, driving his sword through the creature’s shoulder, deep into its back. The monstrous figure shuddered briefly, then resumed its forward motion.

Like some giant, obscene crab, the mass of bodies inched slowly towards the Prince. The activities of the guards increased, as if they would protect Arutha by literally tearing the creature to shreds. Arutha took a step back, his reluctance to flee slowly overbalanced by the refusal of the moredhel to be stopped. With a cry, a soldier was tossed away, to land hard, his head striking the stone floor with an audible crack. Another shouted, ‘Highness, it grows in strength!’ A third screamed as he had an eye clawed out by the frantic creature. With a titanic heave, it tossed the remaining soldiers away and rose, with no one between itself and Arutha.

Laurie tugged at Arutha’s left sleeve, leading the Prince slowly towards the door. They walked sideways, never taking their eyes from the loathsome creature, while it stood swaying upon its feet. Its sightless eyes followed the two men, glaring from a skull rendered a pulpy red mask devoid of recognizable features. One of the High Priestess’s guards charged the creature from behind, and without looking, the moredhel lashed backwards with its right hand and crushed the man’s skull with a single blow.

Laurie cried, ‘It has the use of its arm once more! It’s healing itself!’ The creature was upon them in a leap. Suddenly Arutha felt himself going down as someone shoved him aside. In a blur of images, Arutha saw Laurie ducking away from the blow that would have torn Arutha’s head from his shoulders. Arutha rolled away and came to his feet beside Jimmy the Hand. The boy had knocked him out of harm’s way. Beyond Jimmy, Arutha could see Father Nathan.

The bull-necked priest approached the monster, his left hand held upright, palm forward. The creature somehow sensed the priest’s approach, for it turned its attention from Arutha and spun to face Nathan.

The centre of Nathan’s hand began to glow, then shine with a fierce white light that cast a visible beam upon the moredhel, which stood transfixed. From its torn lips a low moan was emitted. Then Nathan began to chant.

A high shriek erupted from the moredhel, and it cowered, covering sightless eyes from the glare of Nathan’s mystic light. Its voice could be heard, low and bubbling. ‘It burns … it burns!’ The stocky cleric took a step forward, forcing the creature to shamble backwards. The thing looked nothing mortal, bleeding thick, nearly coagulated blood from a hundred wounds, large pieces of flesh and clothing dangling from its form. It hunkered lower and cried out, ‘I burn!’

Then a cold wind blew in the room and the creature shrieked, loud enough to startle even seasoned, battle-ready soldiers. Guards looked furiously about, seeking the source of some nameless horror that could be felt on every side.

The creature suddenly rose up, as if new power had come into it. Its right hand shot out, grabbing at the source of the burning light, Nathan’s left hand. Fingers and talon-like fingers interlaced, and with a searing sound the creature’s hand began to smoke. The moredhel drew back its left hand to strike a blow at the cleric, but as it uncoiled to strike, Nathan shouted a word unknown to the others in the room, and the creature faltered and groaned. Nathan’s voice rang out, filling the room with the sounds of mystic prayer and holy magic. The creature froze for an instant, then trembled in place. Nathan stepped up the urgency of his incantation and the creature reeled as if being struck a mighty blow, and smoke rose from its body. Nathan called down the power of his goddess, Sung the White, the deity of purity, his voice hoarse and strained. A loud moaning, seeming to come from a great distance, escaped from the moredhel’s mouth and it shuddered again. Locked in this mystic battle, Nathan lifted his shoulders as if he were struggling to move away a great weight, and the moredhel fell to its knees. Its right hand bent backwards as Nathan’s voice droned on. Beads of sweat rolled down the priest’s forehead and the cords on his neck stood out. Blisters rose on the creature’s ragged flesh and exposed muscle and it began an ululating cry. A sizzling sound and the smell of cooking meat filled the room. Thick oily smoke poured off its body, and one guard turned his head and vomited. Nathan’s eyes grew wide as he exerted the force of his will upon this creature. Slowly they swayed, the creature’s flesh cracking as it blackened and crisped from Nathan’s magic. The moredhel bent backwards under the force of the priest’s grip, and suddenly blue energy coursed over its blackening body. Nathan released his hold and the creature toppled sideways, flames erupting from its eyes, mouth, and ears. Soon flames engulfed the body and reduced it quickly to ashes, choking the room with a foul, greasy odour.

Nathan slowly turned to face Arutha, and the Prince saw a man suddenly aged. The cleric’s eyes were wide and sweat poured down his face. In a dry croak he said, ‘Highness, it is done.’ Taking one slow step, then another, towards the Prince, Nathan smiled weakly. Then he fell forward, to be caught by Arutha before he struck the floor.




• CHAPTER FOUR •

Revelations


BIRDS SANG TO WELCOME THE NEW DAWN.

Arutha, Laurie, Jimmy, Volney, and Gardan sat in the Prince’s private audience chamber awaiting word of Nathan and the High Priestess. The temple guards had carried the priestess to a guest chamber and stood guard while healers summoned from her temple attended her. They had been with her all night, while members of Nathan’s order tended him in his quarters.

Everyone in the room had been rendered silent by the horrors of the night, and all were reluctant to speak of it. Laurie stirred first from the numbness, leaving his chair to move to a window.

Arutha’s eyes followed Laurie’s movement, but his mind was wrestling with a dozen unanswerable questions. Who or what was seeking his death? And why? But more important to him than his own safety was the question of what threat this posed for Lyam, Carline, and the others due to arrive soon. And most of all, was there any risk to Anita? A dozen times over the last few hours Arutha had considered postponing the wedding.

Laurie sat down on a couch next to the half-dozing Jimmy. Quietly he asked, ‘Jimmy, how did you know to fetch Father Nathan when the High Priestess herself was helpless?’

Jimmy stretched and yawned. ‘It was something I remembered from my youth.’ At this, Gardan laughed and the tension in the room lessened. Even Arutha ventured a half-smile as Jimmy continued. ‘I was given into the tutelage of one Father Timothy, a cleric of Astalon, for a time. Occasionally one boy or another is allowed to do this. It’s a sign the Mockers have great expectations for the boy,’ he said proudly. ‘I stayed only to learn my letters and numbers, but along the way I chanced to pick up a few other bits of knowledge.

‘I remembered a discourse on the nature of the gods Father Timothy had given once – though it had almost put me to sleep. According to that worthy, there is an opposition of forces, positive and negative forces that are sometimes called good and evil. Good cannot cancel good, nor evil cancel evil. To balk an agent of evil, you need an agency of good. The High Priestess is counted a servant of dark powers by most people and could not hold the creature at bay. I hoped the father could oppose the creature, as Sung and her servants are seen as being of “good” demeanour. I really didn’t know if it was possible, but I couldn’t see standing around while that thing chewed up the palace guards one by one.’

Arutha said, ‘It proved a good guess.’ His tone revealed approval of Jimmy’s quick thinking.

A guard came into the room and said, ‘Highness, the priest is recovered and sends word for you. He begs you to come to his quarters.’ Arutha nearly leapt from his chair and strode out of the chamber with the others close behind.

For over a century custom had provided that the palace of the Prince of Krondor contain a temple with a shrine to each of the gods, so that whoever was a guest, no matter which of the major deities he worshipped, would find a place of spiritual comfort close by. The order seeing to the temple’s care would change from time to time as different advisers to the Prince came and went. It was Nathan and his acolytes who cared for the temple under Arutha’s administration, as they had during Erland’s. The priest’s quarters lay behind the temple, and Arutha entered through the large, vaulted hall. At the opposite end of the nave a door could be glimpsed behind the bema that contained the shrine to the four greater gods. Arutha strode towards the door, his boots clacking upon the stone floor as he walked past the shrines to the lesser gods on either side of the temple. As he approached the door to Nathan’s quarters, Arutha could see it was open and glimpsed movement inside.

He entered the priest’s quarters and Nathan’s acolytes stepped aside. Arutha was struck by the austere look of the room, nearly a cell without personal property or decoration. The only nonutilitarian item visible was a personal statuette of Sung, represented as a lovely young woman in a long white robe, resting on a small table next to Nathan’s bed.

The priest looked haggard and weak but alert. He lay propped up on cushions. Nathan’s assistant priest hovered close by, ready to answer any need Nathan might have. The royal chirurgeon waited beside the bed. He bowed and said, ‘There is nothing physically wrong, Highness, save he is exhausted. Please be brief.’ Arutha nodded as the chirurgeon, followed by all the acolytes, withdrew. As he left, he motioned for Gardan and the others to remain outside.

Arutha came to Nathan’s side. ‘How do you fare?’

‘I will live, Highness,’ he answered weakly.

Arutha cast a quick glance at the door and saw the alarmed expression on Gardan’s face. It confirmed Arutha’s impression that Nathan’s ordeal had left him changed. Softly Arutha said, ‘You will do more than just live, Nathan. You’ll be back to your old self soon.’

‘I have lived through a horror no man should have to face, Highness. So you may understand, I must share a confidence with you.’ He nodded towards the door.

The assistant priest closed the door and returned to Nathan’s bedside. Nathan said, ‘I must now tell you something not commonly known outside the temple, Highness. I take great responsibility upon myself to do this, but I judge it imperative.’

Arutha leaned forward the better to hear the tired priest’s faint words. Nathan said, ‘There is an order to things, Arutha, a balance imposed by Ishap, the One Above All. The greater gods rule through the lesser gods, who are served by the priesthoods. Each order has its mission. An order may seem to be in opposition to another, but the higher truth is that all orders have a place in the scheme of things. Even those in the temples who are of lower rank are kept ignorant of this higher order. It is the reason for occasional conflicts erupting between temples. My discomfort at the High Priestess’s rites last night was as much for the benefit of my acolytes as from any true distaste. What an individual is capable of understanding determines how much of the truth is revealed to him by the temples. Many need the simple concepts of good and evil, light and dark, to govern their daily lives. You are not such a one.

‘I have trained in the Following of the Single Path, the order I am best suited for by my nature. But as do all others who have reached my rank, I know well the nature and manifestations of the other gods and goddesses. What appeared in that room last night was nothing I have ever known.’

Arutha seemed lost. ‘What do you mean?’

‘As I battled against the force that drove the moredhel I could sense something of its nature. It is something alien, dark and dread, something without mercy. It rages and it seeks to dominate or destroy. Even those gods called dark, Lims-Kragma and Guis-wa, are not truly evil when the truth is understood. But this thing is a blotting out of the light of hope. It is despair incarnate.’

The assistant priest indicated it was time for Arutha to leave. As he moved towards the door, Nathan called out. ‘Wait, you must understand something more. It left, not because I had bested it, but because I had robbed it of the servant it inhabited. It had no physical means of continuing the attack. I only defeated its agent. It … revealed something of itself in that moment. It is not ready yet to face my Lady of the One Path, but it holds her and the other gods in contempt.’ His face revealed his alarm. ‘Arutha, it feels contempt for the gods!’ Nathan sat up, his hand outstretched, and Arutha returned and took it. ‘Highness, it is a force that deems itself supreme. It hates and it rails and it means to destroy any who oppose it. If –’

Arutha said, ‘Softly, Nathan.’

The priest nodded and lay back. ‘Seek greater wisdom than mine, Arutha. For one other thing did I sense. This foe, this encompassing darkness, is growing in strength.’

Arutha said, ‘Sleep, Nathan. Let this all become just another bad dream.’ He nodded to the assistant priest and left the room. As he passed the royal chirurgeon, he said, ‘Aid him,’ a plea more than a command.

Hours went by as Arutha awaited word of the High Priestess of Lims-Kragma. He sat alone, while Jimmy slept on a low settee. Gardan was off seeing to the deployment of his guards. Volney was busy with running the Principality, as Arutha was preoccupied with the mysteries of the previous night. He had decided against informing Lyam of exactly what had occurred until the King was in Krondor. As he had observed before, with Lyam’s retinue numbering in excess of a hundred soldiers, it would take something in the order of a small army to imperil him.

Arutha paused for a moment in his deliberation to study Jimmy. He looked still a child as he breathed slowly. He had laughed off the severity of his wound, but once things had finally quieted down, he had fallen asleep almost instantly. Gardan had gently lifted him onto the couch. Arutha shook his head slightly. The youth was a common criminal, a parasite upon society who had not worked an honest day’s labour in his young life. Not much past fourteen or fifteen, he was a braggart, a liar, and a thief, but while he might be many things, he was still a friend. Arutha sighed and wondered what to do about the boy.

A court page arrived with a message from the High Priestess, requesting Arutha’s presence at once. The Prince rose quietly, so as not to awaken Jimmy, and followed the page to where the High Priestess was being cared for by her healers. Arutha’s guards waited outside the suite and temple guards stood inside the door, a concession Arutha had granted when requested by the priest who had come from the temple. The priest greeted Arutha coolly, as if Arutha somehow bore the responsibility for his mistress’s injury. He led Arutha into the sleeping chamber, where a priestess attended the leader of their temple.

Arutha was shocked by the appearance of the High Priestess. She lay propped up by a pile of bolsters, her pale blond hair framing a face drained of colour, as if the icy blue of winter had suffused her features. She looked as if she had aged twenty years in a day. But as she fixed her gaze upon Arutha, there was still an aura of power about her.

‘Have you recovered, madam?’ Arutha’s tone showed concern as he inclined his head towards her.

‘My mistress has work for me yet, Highness. I will not join her for some time.’

‘I am pleased to hear that news. I have come as you required.’

The woman drew herself upright, until she sat with her back against the pillows. Without conscious thought she brushed back her nearly white hair, and Arutha could see that despite the grim demeanour the High Priestess was a woman of unusual beauty, albeit a beauty without a hint of softness. In a voice still strained, the priestess said, ‘Arutha conDoin, there is peril to our Kingdom, and more. In the realm of the Mistress of Death, only one stands higher than I; she is our Mother Matriarch in Rillanon. Other than herself, none should challenge my power in the domain of death. But now there comes something that challenges the very goddess herself, something that while still weak, while still learning its powers, can overcome my control over one in my mistress’s realm.

‘Have you any understanding of the importance of my words? It is as if a baby fresh from her mother’s teat has come to your palace, nay, the palace of your brother the King, and turned his retinue, his guards, even the very people against him, rendering him helpless in the very seat of his power. That is what we face. And it grows. As we stand speaking, it grows in strength and rage. And it is ancient …’ Her eyes grew wide, and suddenly Arutha saw a hint of madness. ‘It is both new and old … I don’t understand.’

Arutha nodded towards the healer and turned to the priest. The priest indicated the door and Arutha started to leave. As he reached the door, the High Priestess’s voice broke into sobbing.

When they reached the outer room, the priest said, ‘Highness, I am Julian, Chief Priest of the Inner Circle. I’ve sent word to our mother temple in Rillanon of what has happened here. I …’ He appeared troubled by what he was about to say. ‘Most likely I will be High Priest of Lims-Kragma within a few months’ time. We shall care for her,’ he said, facing the closed door, ‘but she will never again be able to guide us in our mistress’s service.’ He returned his attention to Arutha. ‘I have heard from the temple guards of what occurred last night, and I have just heard the High Priestess’s words. If the temple can help, we will.’

Arutha considered the man’s words. It was usual for a priest of one of the orders to be numbered among the councillors of the nobility. There were too many matters of mystic importance to be faced for the nobility to be without spiritual guidance. That was why Arutha’s father had been the first to include a magician in his company of advisers. But active cooperation between temple and temporal authority, between ruling bodies themselves, was rare. Finally Arutha said, ‘My thanks, Julian. When we have a better sense of what we are dealing with, we shall seek out your wisdom. I have just come to understand that my view of the world is somewhat narrow. I expect you will provide valued assistance.’

The priest bowed his head. As Arutha made to leave, he said, ‘Highness?’

Arutha looked back to see a concerned expression on the priest’s face. ‘Yes?’

‘Find whatever this thing is, Highness. Seek it out, and destroy it utterly.’

Arutha could only nod. He made his way back to his chamber. Entering, he sat quietly, lest he disturb Jimmy, who still lay sleeping upon the settee. Arutha noticed that a plate of fruit and cheese and a decanter of chilled wine had been placed upon the table for him. Realizing he had had nothing to eat all day, he poured himself a glass of wine and cut a wedge of cheese, then sat down again. He put his boots on the table and leaned back, letting his mind wander. The fatigue of two nights with little sleep washed over him, but his mind was too caught up in the events of the last two days to let sleep be considered for even a moment. Some supernatural agent was loose in his realm, some magic thing that threw fear into priests of two of the most powerful temples in the Kingdom. Lyam would arrive in less than a week. Nearly every noble in the Kingdom would be in Krondor for the wedding. In his city! And he could think of nothing he could do to guarantee their safety.

Arutha sat for an hour, his mind miles away as he absently ate and drank. He was a man who often descended into dark brooding when left alone, but when given a problem he never ceased to work on it, to attack it from every possible side, to worry it, tossing it about, as a terrier does a rat. He conjured up dozens of possible approaches to the problem and constantly re-examined every shred of information he had. Finally, after discarding a dozen plans, he knew what he must do. He took his feet off the table and grabbed a ripe apple off the dish before him.

‘Jimmy!’ he shouted, and the boy thief was instantly awake, years of dangerous living having bred the habit of light sleeping. Arutha threw the apple at the boy and with astonishing speed he sat up and caught the fruit scant inches from his face. Arutha could understand how he had come to be known as ‘the Hand’.

‘What?’ inquired the boy as he bit into the fruit.

‘I need you to carry a message to your master.’ Jimmy stopped in mid-bite. ‘I need you to arrange a meeting between myself and the Upright Man.’ Jimmy’s eyes widened in utter disbelief.

Again thick fog had rolled in off the Bitter Sea to blanket Krondor in a deep mantle of haze. Two figures moved quickly past the few taverns still open for business. Arutha followed as Jimmy led him through the city, passing out of the Merchants’ Quarter into rougher environs, until they were deep within the heart of the Poor Quarter. Then a quick turn down an alley and they stood before a dead end. Emerging from the shadows, three men appeared as if by magic. Arutha had his rapier out in an instant, but Jimmy only said, ‘We are pilgrims who seek guidance.’

‘Pilgrims, I am the guide,’ came the answer from the foremost man. ‘Now, tell your friend to put up his toad sticker or we’ll deliver him up in a sack.’

If the men knew Arutha’s identity, they were giving no sign. Arutha slowly put away his sword. The other two men came forward, holding out blindfolds. Arutha said, ‘What business is this?’

‘This is the way you will travel,’ answered the spokesman. ‘If you refuse, you will go not one step farther.’

Arutha fought down irritation and nodded, once. The men came forward and Arutha saw Jimmy blindfolded an instant before he was roughly denied light himself. Struggling against the urge to pull the blindfold away, Arutha heard the man speak. ‘You will both be led from here to another place, where others will come to guide you. You may be passed along through many hands before you reach your destination, so do not become alarmed should you hear unexpected voices in the dark. I do not know what your ultimate destination is, for I do not need to know. I also do not know who you are, man, but orders have come down from one most highly placed that you are to be led quickly and delivered unharmed. But be warned: remove your blindfold only at grave risk. You may not know where you are from this moment henceforth.’ Arutha felt a rope being tied around his waist and heard the speaker say, ‘Hold tightly to the rope and keep a sure foot; we travel at good pace.’

Without further word, Arutha was jerked around and led off into the night.

For more than an hour, or so it seemed to the Prince, he had been led about the streets of Krondor. He had twice stumbled and had bruises to show for the casual care given by his guides. At least three times he had changed guides, so he had no idea whom he would see when the blindfold was removed. But at last he climbed a flight of stairs. He heard several doors open and shut before strong hands forced him to sit. At last the blindfold was removed and Arutha blinked as he was dazzled by the light.

Arrayed along a table was a series of lanterns, with a polished reflector behind each, all turned to face him. Each cast a brilliant illumination into the Prince’s eyes, preventing him from seeing anyone who stood behind that table.

Arutha looked to his right and saw Jimmy sitting upon another stool. After a long moment a deep voice rumbled from behind the lights. ‘Greetings, Prince of Krondor.’

Arutha squinted against the light, but could catch no glimpse of who spoke from behind the glare. ‘Am I speaking to the Upright Man?’

A long pause preceded the answer. ‘Be satisfied that I am empowered to reach any understanding you may desire. I speak with his voice.’

Arutha considered for a moment. ‘Very well. I seek an alliance.’

From behind the glare came a deep chuckle. ‘What would the Prince of Krondor need of the Upright Man’s aid?’

‘I seek to learn the secrets of the Guild of Death.’

A long silence followed on the heels of this statement. Arutha couldn’t decide if the speaker was consulting another person or simply thinking. Then the voice behind the lanterns said, ‘Remove the boy and hold him outside.’

Two men appeared from out of the dark and roughly grabbed Jimmy, hauling him from the room. When he was gone, the voice said, ‘The Nighthawks are a source of concern for the Upright Man, Prince of Krondor. They trespass upon the Thieves’ Highway and their black murders stir up the populace, casting unwelcome light upon the Mockers’ many activities. In short, they are bad for business. It would serve us to see them ended, but what cause have you beyond that which normally occupies a ruler when his subjects are being wantonly murdered in their sleep?’

‘They pose a threat to my brother and myself.’

Again there was a long silence. ‘Then they set their sights high. Still, royalty often needs killing as much as the commons, and a man must earn a living howsoever he may, even though he be an assassin.’

‘It should be apparent to you,’ said Arutha dryly, ‘that murdering Princes would be especially bad for business. The Mockers would find things a little cramped working in a city under martial law.’

‘This is true. Name your bargain.’

‘I ask no bargain. I demand cooperation. I need information. I wish to know where lies the heart of the Nighthawks.’

‘Altruism accrues little benefit to those lying cold in the gutter. The arm of the Guild of Death is long.’

‘No longer than mine,’ said Arutha in a voice devoid of humour. ‘I can see that the activities of the Mockers suffer greatly. You know as well as I what would happen to the Mockers should the Prince of Krondor declare war upon your guild.’

‘There is little profit in such contention between the guild and Your Highness.’

Arutha leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming from the brilliant lights. Slowly, biting off each word, he said, ‘I have no need of profit.’

A moment of silence was followed by a deep sigh. ‘Yes, there is that,’ said the voice thoughtfully. Then it chuckled. ‘That is one of the advantages to inheriting one’s position. It would prove troublesome to govern a guild of starving thieves. Very well, Arutha of Krondor, but for this risk the guild needs indemnity. You’ve shown the stick, now what of the carrot?’

‘Name your price.’ Arutha sat back.

‘Understand this: the Upright Man is sympathetic to Your Highness regarding the problems posed by the Guild of Death. The Nighthawks are not to be endured. They must be eliminated root and branch. But many risks are involved, and great expense will be incurred; this will be a costly venture.’

‘Your price?’ Arutha repeated flatly.

‘For the risk involved to all should we fail, ten thousand golden sovereigns.’

‘That would put a large hole in the royal treasury.’

‘True, but consider the alternatives.’

‘We have a bargain.’

‘I shall provide the Upright Man’s instructions as to the means of payment later,’ the voice said with a hint of humour in it. ‘Now there is another matter.’

‘What is that?’ said Arutha.

‘Young Jimmy the Hand has broken oath with the Mockers and his life is forfeit. He shall die within the hour.’

Without thinking, Arutha began to rise. Strong hands pushed him down from behind as a large thief stepped out of the darkness. He simply shook his head in the negative.

‘We would never think of returning you to the palace in less salubrious condition than that in which you arrived,’ said the voice behind the lights, ‘but draw a weapon in this room and you will be delivered to the palace gate in a box and we will deal then with the consequences.’

‘But Jimmy –’

‘Broke oath!’ interrupted the voice. ‘He was honour-bound to report the whereabouts of the Nighthawk when he saw him. As he was honour-bound to tell of Laughing Jack’s treachery. Yes, Highness, we know of these things. Jimmy betrayed the guild to carry word to you first. There are certain matters that can be forgiven because of age, but these actions cannot.’

‘I’ll not stand by and allow Jimmy to be murdered.’

‘Then listen, Prince of Krondor, for I have a story to tell. Once the Upright Man lay with a woman of the streets, as he had with hundreds of others, but this whore bore him a son. This is a certainty: Jimmy the Hand is the Upright Man’s son, though he is ignorant of his paternity. This presents the Upright Man with something of a quandary. If he is to obey the laws he has made, he must order the death of his own son. But should he not, he will lose credibility with those who serve him. An unpleasant choice. Already the Guild of Thieves is in turmoil from Jack’s being shown as an agent of the Nighthawks. Trust is a thin enough commodity at most times; it is nearly nonexistent now. Can you think of another way?’

Arutha smiled, for he knew another way. ‘In times not far past, it was not unheard of to buy pardon. Name your price.’

‘For treason? No less than another ten thousand gold sovereigns.’

Arutha shook his head. His treasury would be gutted. Still, Jimmy must have known the risks of betraying the Mockers to bring him warning, and that was worth much. ‘Done,’ said Arutha sourly.

‘Then you must keep the boy with you, Prince of Krondor, for he’ll never be one with the Mockers again, though we will not attempt to harm him … unless he again transgresses against us. Then we shall deal with him as we would any freebooter. Harshly.’

Arutha rose. ‘Is our business then done?’

‘Except for one last thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Also in times not far past, it was not unheard of to buy a patent of nobility for a price in gold. What price would you ask of a father to have his son named Squire of the Prince’s court?’

Arutha laughed, suddenly understanding the course of negotiations. ‘Twenty thousand golden sovereigns.’

‘Done! The Upright Man is fond of Jimmy; though he has other bastards around, Jimmy is special. The Upright Man wishes Jimmy to remain ignorant of the relationship, but he will be pleased to think his son shall have a brighter future for this night’s negotiations.’

‘He will be placed within my service, without knowing who his father is. Shall we meet again?’

‘I think not, Prince of Krondor. The Upright Man guards his identity jealously, and even to come close to one who speaks with his voice brings him dangers. But we will carry clear messages to you when we know where hide the Nighthawks. And we will welcome news of their obliteration.’

Jimmy sat nervously. For over three hours Arutha had been closeted with Gardan, Volney, and Laurie, as well as other members of his privy staff. Jimmy had been invited to remain in a room set aside for his use. The presence of two guards at the door and two more below the balcony outside his window gave ample support to the notion that he was, for whatever reason, a prisoner. Jimmy had little doubt he could leave undetected during the night if he had been in fit condition, but after the events of the last few days he felt abused. Also, he was at something of a loss to understand being returned to the palace with the Prince. The boy thief was uneasy. Something in his life had changed and he wasn’t sure what, or why.

The door to the room opened and a guard sergeant stuck his head in, waving to Jimmy to come. ‘His Highness wants you, boy.’ Jimmy quickly followed the soldier down the hall to the long passage to the council chambers.

Arutha looked up from reading something. About the table sat Gardan, Laurie, and some other men Jimmy didn’t know, while Earl Volney stood near the door. ‘Jimmy, I have something for you here.’ Jimmy simply looked around the room, not knowing what to say. Arutha said, ‘This is a royal patent naming you Squire to the Prince’s court.’

Jimmy was speechless, his eyes wide. Laurie chuckled at his reaction, while Gardan grinned. Finally Jimmy found his voice. ‘This is a jest, right?’ When Arutha shook his head, the boy said, ‘But … me, a squire?’

Arutha replied, ‘You have saved my life and you are to be rewarded.’

Jimmy said, ‘But, Highness, I … thank you, but … there’s the matter of my oath to the Mockers.’

Arutha leaned forward. ‘That matter has been disposed of, Squire. You are no longer a member of the Guild of Thieves. The Upright Man has agreed. It is done.’

Jimmy felt trapped. He had never taken much pleasure in being a thief, but he had taken great pleasure in being a very good thief. What appealed to him was the chance to prove himself at every turn, to show all that Jimmy the Hand was the best thief in the guild … or at least would be someday. But now he was to be bound to the Prince’s household, and with the office came duties. And if the Upright Man had agreed, Jimmy was forever denied access to the society of the streets.

Seeing the boy’s lack of enthusiasm, Laurie said, ‘May I, Highness?’

Arutha permitted, and the singer came over to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Jimmy, His Highness is simply keeping your head above water, literally. He had to bargain for your life. If he had not, you’d be floating in the harbour this hour. The Upright Man knew you’d broken oath with the guild.’

Jimmy visibly sagged and Laurie squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. The boy had always thought himself somehow above the rules, free of the responsibilities that bound others. Jimmy had never known why he had been granted special consideration so many times, while others were forced to pay their way, but now he knew that he had stretched privilege too far once too often. There was no doubt in the boy’s mind that the singer told the truth, and conflicting emotions surged up within him as he considered how close to being murdered he had come.

Laurie said, ‘Palace life isn’t so bad. The building’s warm, your clothing’ll be clean, and there’s ample food. Besides, there’ll be plenty to hold your interest.’ He looked at Arutha and added dryly, ‘Especially of late.’

Jimmy nodded and Laurie led him around the table. Jimmy was instructed to kneel. The Earl quickly read the patent. ‘To all within our demesne: whereas the youth Jimmy, an orphan of the city of Krondor, has rendered worthy service in preventing injury to the royal person of the Prince of Krondor; and: Whereas the youth Jimmy is considered to hold us forever in his debt; It is my wish that he be known to all in the realm as our beloved and loyal servant, and it is furthermore wished that he be given a place in the court of Krondor, with the rank of Squire, with all rights and privileges pertaining thereunto. Furthermore let it be known that the title to the estate of Haverford on the River Welandel is conferred upon him and his progeny as long as they shall live, to have and to hold, with servants and properties thereupon. Title to this estate shall be held by the crown until the day of his majority. Set this day by my hand and seal, Arutha conDoin, Prince of Krondor; Knight-Marshal of the Western Realm and of the King’s Armies of the West; Heir Apparent to the throne of Rillanon.’ Volney looked at Jimmy. ‘Do you accept this charge?’





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