Читать книгу The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 30

WAGONS GROANED UNDER HEAVY LOADS.

Whips cracked and wheels creaked as lumbering oxen pulled their burdens down the road toward the beach. Arutha, Fannon, and Lyam rode before soldiers protecting the wagons traveling between the castle and the shore. Behind the wagons a ragged crowd of townspeople followed. Many carried bundles or pulled carts, following the Duke’s sons toward the waiting ships.

They turned down the road that split off from the town road, and Arutha’s gaze swept over the signs of destruction. The once-thriving town of Crydee was now covered in an acrid blue haze. The sounds of hammering and sawing rang through the morning air as workmen labored to repair what they could of the damage.

The Tsurani had raided at sundown two days before, racing through the town, overwhelming the few guards at their posts before an alarm was raised by terrified women, old men, and children. The aliens had run riot through the town, not pausing until they reached dockside, where they had fired three ships, heavily damaging two. The damaged ships were already limping toward Carse, while the undamaged ships in the harbor had moved down the coast to their present location, north of Sailor’s Grief.

The Tsurani had put most of the buildings near the quay to the torch, but while heavily damaged, they were reparable. The fire had spread into the heart of town, resulting in the heaviest loss there. The Hall of the Craftmasters, the two inns, and dozens of lesser buildings were now only smoldering ruins. Blackened timbers, cracked roof tiles, and scorched stones marked their locations. Fully one third of Crydee had burned before the fire had been brought under control.

Arutha had stood on the wall, watching the hellish glow reflected on the clouds above the town as the flames spread. Then at first light he had led the garrison out, finding the Tsurani already vanished into the forests.

Arutha still chafed at the memory. Fannon had advised Lyam not to allow the garrison out until dawn – fearing it was a ruse to get the castle gates open or to lure the garrison into the woods where a larger force waited in ambush – and Lyam had acceded to the old Swordmaster’s request. Arutha was sure he could have prevented much of the damage had he been allowed to rout the Tsurani at once.

As he rode down the coast road, Arutha was lost in thought. Orders arrived the day before instructing Lyam to leave Crydee. The Duke’s aide-de-camp had been killed, and with the war beginning its third year this spring, he wished Lyam to join him at his camp in Yabon. For reasons Arutha didn’t understand, Duke Borric had not given command to him as expected; instead Borric had named the Swordmaster garrison commander. But, thought the younger Prince, at least Fannon will be less ready to order me about without Lyam’s backing. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to dislodge his irritation. He loved his brother, but wished Lyam had shown more willingness to assert himself. Since the beginning of the war, Lyam had commanded in Crydee, but it had been Fannon making all the decisions. Now Fannon had the office as well as the influence.

‘Thoughtful, brother?’

Lyam had pulled his own horse up and was now beside Arutha, who shook his head and smiled faintly. ‘Just envious of you.’

Lyam smiled his warmest at his younger brother. ‘I know you wish to be going, but Father’s orders were clear. You’re needed here.’

‘How needed can I be where every suggestion I make has been ignored?’

Lyam’s expression was conciliatory. ‘You’re still disturbed by Father’s decision to name Fannon commander of the garrison.’

Arutha looked hard at his brother. ‘I am now the age you were when Father named you commander at Crydee. Father was full commander and second Knight-General in the West at my age, only four years shy of being named King’s Warden of the West. Grandfather trusted him enough to give him full command.’

‘Father’s not Grandfather, Arutha. Remember, Grandfather grew up in a time when we were still warring in Crydee, pacifying newly conquered lands. He grew up in war. Father did not. He learned all his warcraft down in the Vale of Dreams, against Kesh, not defending his own home as Grandfather had. Times change.’

‘How they change, brother,’ Arutha said dryly. ‘Grandfather, like his father before him, would not have sat behind safe walls. In the two years since the war began, we have not mounted one major offensive against the Tsurani. We cannot continue letting them dictate the course of the war, or surely they will prevail.’

Lyam regarded his brother with concern mirrored in his eyes. ‘Arutha, I know you are restless to harry the enemy, but Fannon is right in saying we dare not risk the garrison. We must hold here and protect what we have.’

Arutha cast a quick glance at the ragged townspeople behind. ‘I’ll tell those who follow how well they’re protected.’

Lyam saw the bitterness in Arutha. ‘I know you blame me, brother. Had I taken your advice, rather than Fannon’s . . .’

Arutha lost his harsh manner. ‘It is not your doing,’ he conceded. ‘Old Fannon is simply cautious. He also is of the opinion a soldier’s worth is measured by the grey in his beard. I am still only the Duke’s boy. I fear my opinions from now on will receive short shrift.’

‘Curb thy impatience, youngster,’ he said in mock seriousness. ‘Perhaps between your boldness and Fannon’s caution, a safe middle course will be followed.’ Lyam laughed.

Arutha had always found his brother’s laughter infectious and couldn’t repress a grin. ‘Perhaps, Lyam,’ he said with a laugh.

They came to the beach where longboats waited to haul the refugees out to the ships anchored offshore. The captains would not return to the quayside until they were assured their ships would not again come under attack, so the fleeing townspeople were forced to walk through the surf to board the boats. Men and women began to wade to the boats, bundles of belongings and small children held safely overhead. Older children swam playfully, turning the event into sport. There were many tearful partings, for most of the townsmen were remaining to rebuild their burned homes and serve as levies in the dukes’ army. The women, children, and old men who were leaving would be carried down the coast to Tulan, the southernmost town in the Duchy, as yet untroubled by either the Tsurani or the rampaging Dark Brothers in the Green Heart.

Lyam and Arutha dismounted, and a soldier took their horses. The brothers watched as soldiers carefully loaded crates of messenger pigeons onto the sole longboat pulled up on shore. The birds would be shipped through the Straits of Darkness to the dukes’ camp. Pigeons trained to fly to the camp were now on their way to Crydee, and with their arrival some of the responsibility for carrying information to and from the dukes’ camp would be lifted from Martin Longbow’s trackers and the Natalese Rangers. This was the first year mature pigeons raised in the camp – necessary for them to develop the homing instinct – were available.

Soon the baggage and refugees were loaded, and it was time for Lyam to depart. Fannon bid him a stiff and formal farewell, but it was apparent from his controlled manner that the old Swordmaster felt concern for the Duke’s older son. With no family of his own, Fannon had been something of an uncle to the boys when they were growing, personally instructing them in swordsmanship, the maintenance of armor, and the theories of warcraft. He maintained his formal pose, but both brothers could see the genuine affection there.

When Fannon left, the brothers embraced. Lyam said, ‘Take care of Fannon.’ Arutha looked surprised. Lyam grinned and said, ‘I’d not care to think what would happen here should Father pass you over once more and name Algon commander of the garrison.’

Arutha groaned, then laughed with his brother. As Horsemaster, Algon was technically second-in-command behind Fannon. All in the castle shared genuine affection for the man, and deep respect for his vast knowledge of horses, but everyone conceded his general lack of knowledge about anything besides horses. After two years of warfare, he still resisted the idea the invaders came from another world, an attitude that caused Tully no end of irritation.

Lyam moved into the water, where two sailors held the longboat for him. Over his shoulder he shouted, ‘And take care of our sister, Arutha.’

Arutha said he would. Lyam leaped into the longboat, next to the precious pigeons, and the boat was pushed away from shore. Arutha watched as the boat dwindled into the distance.

Arutha walked slowly back to where a soldier held his mount. He paused to stare down the beach. To the south, the high bluffs reared, dominated by Sailor’s Grief, which stood upthrust against the morning sky. Arutha silently cursed the day the Tsurani ship crashed against those rocks.

Carline stood atop the southern tower of the keep, watching the horizon, gathering her cloak around her against the sea breeze. She had stayed at the castle, bidding Lyam good-bye earlier, not wishing to ride to the beach. She preferred that her fears not becloud Lyam’s happiness at joining their father in the dukes’ camp. Many times over the last two years she had chided herself over such feelings. Her men were soldiers, all trained since boyhood for war. But since word had reached Crydee of Pug’s capture, she had remained afraid for them.

A feminine clearing of the throat made Carline turn. Lady Glynis, the Princess’s companion for the last four years, smiled slightly and indicated with a nod of her head the newcomer who appeared at the trapdoor leading down into the tower.

Roland emerged from the doorway in the floor. The last two years had added to his growth, and now he stood as tall as Arutha. He was still thin, but his boyish features were resolving into those of a man.

He bowed and said, ‘Highness.’

Carline acknowledged the greeting with a nod and gestured that Lady Glynis should leave them alone. Glynis fled down the stairway into the tower.

Softly Carline said, ‘You did not ride to the beach with Lyam?’

‘No, Highness.’

‘You spoke with him before the left?’

Roland turned his gaze to the far horizon. ‘Yes, Highness, though I must confess to a foul humor at his going.’

Carline nodded understanding. ‘Because you have to stay.’

He spoke with bitterness, ‘Yes, Highness.’

Carline said gently, ‘Why so formal, Roland?’

Roland looked at the Princess, seventeen years old just this last Midsummer’s Day. No longer a petulant little girl given to outbursts of temper, she was changing into a beautiful young woman of thoughtful introspection. Few in the castle were unaware of the many nights’ sobbing that issued from Carline’s suite after news of Pug had reached the castle. After nearly a week of solitude, Carline had emerged a changed person, more subdued, less willful. There was little outward to show how Carline felt, but Roland knew she carried a scar.

After a moment of silence, Roland said, ‘Highness, when . . .’ He halted, then said, ‘It is of no consequence.’

Carline placed her hand upon his arm. ‘Roland, whatever else, we have always been friends.’

‘It pleases me to think that is true.’

‘Then tell me, why has a wall grown between us?’

Roland sighed, and there was none of his usual roguish humor in his answer. ‘If there has, Carline, it is not of my fashioning.’

A spark of the girl’s former self sprang into being, and with a temperamental edge to her voice she said, ‘Am I, then, the architect of this estrangement?’

Anger erupted in Roland’s voice. ‘Aye, Carline!’ He ran his hand through his wavy brown hair and said, ‘Do you remember the day I fought with Pug? The very day before he left.’

At the mention of Pug’s name she tensed. Stiffly she said, ‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Well, it was a silly thing, a boys’ thing, that fight. I told him should he ever cause you any hurt, I’d thrash him. Did he tell you that?’

Moisture came unbidden to her eyes. Softly she said, ‘No, he never mentioned it.’

Roland looked at the beautiful face he had loved for years and said, ‘At least then I knew my rival.’ He lowered his voice, the anger slipping away. ‘I like to think then, near the end, he and I were fast friends. Still, I vowed I’d never stop my attempts to change your heart.’

Shivering, Carline drew her cloak about her, though the day was not that cool. She felt conflicting emotions within, confusing emotions. Trembling, she said, ‘Why did you stop, Roland?’

Sudden harsh anger burst within Roland. For the first time he lost his mask of wit and manners before the Princess. ‘Because I can’t contend with a memory, Carline.’ Her eyes opened wide, and tears welled up and ran down her cheeks. ‘Another man of flesh I can face, but this shade from the past I cannot grapple with.’ Hot anger exploded into words. ‘He’s dead, Carline. I wish it were not so; he was my friend and I miss him, but I’ve let him go. Pug is dead. Until you grant that this is true, you are living with a false hope.’

She put her hand to her mouth, palm outward, her eyes regarding him in wordless denial. Abruptly she turned and fled down the stairs.

Alone, Roland leaned his elbows on the cold stones of the tower wall. Holding his head in his hands, he said, ‘Oh, what a fool I have become!’

‘Patrol!’ shouted the guard from the wall of the castle. Arutha and Roland turned from where they watched soldiers giving instructions to levies from the outlying villages.

They reached the gate, and the patrol came riding slowly in, a dozen dirty, weary riders, with Martin Longbow and two other trackers walking beside. Arutha greeted the Huntmaster and then said, ‘What have you there?’

He indicated the three men in short grey robes who stood between the line of horsemen. ‘Prisoners, Highness,’ answered the hunter, leaning on his bow.

Arutha dismissed the tired riders as other guards came to take position around the prisoners. Arutha walked to where they waited, and when he came within touching distance, all three fell to their knees, putting their foreheads to the dirt.

Arutha raised his eyebrows in surprise at the display. ‘I have never seen such as these.’

Longbow nodded in agreement. ‘They wear no armor, and they didn’t give fight or run when we found them in the woods. They did as you see now, only then they babbled like fishwives.’

Arutha said to Roland, ‘Fetch Father Tully. He may be able to make something of their tongue.’ Roland hurried off to find the priest. Longbow dismissed his two trackers, who headed for the kitchen. A guard was dispatched to find Swordmaster Fannon and inform him of the captives.

A few minutes later Roland returned with Father Tully. The old priest of Astalon was dressed in a deep blue, nearly black, robe, and upon catching a glimpse of him, the three prisoners set up a babble of whispers. When Tully glanced in their direction, they fell completely silent. Arutha looked at Longbow in surprise.

Tully said, ‘What have we here?’

‘Prisoners,’ said Arutha. ‘As you are the only man here to have had some dealings with their language, I thought you might get something out of them.’

‘I remember little from my mind contact with the Tsurani Xomich, but I can try.’ The priest spoke a few halting words, which resulted in a confusion as all three prisoners spoke at once. The centermost snapped at his companions, who fell silent. He was short, as were the others, but powerfully built. His hair was brown, and his skin swarthy, but his eyes were a startling green. He spoke slowly to Tully, his manner somehow less deferential than his companions’.

Tully shook his head. ‘I can’t be certain, but I think he wishes to know if I am a Great One of this world.’

‘Great One?’ asked Arutha.

‘The dying soldier was in awe of the man aboard ship he called ‘Great One.’ I think it was a title rather than a specific individual. Perhaps Kulgan was correct in his suspicion these people hold their magicians or priests in awe.’

‘Who are these men?’ asked the Prince.

Tully spoke to them again in halting words. The man in the center spoke slowly, but after a moment Tully cut him off with a wave of his hand. To Arutha he said, ‘These are slaves.’

‘Slaves?’ Until now there had been no contact with any Tsurani except warriors. It was something of a revelation to find they practiced slavery. While not unknown in the Kingdom, slavery was not widespread and was limited to convicted felons. Along the Far Coast, it was nearly nonexistent. Arutha found the idea strange and repugnant. Men might be born to low station, but even the lowliest serf had rights the nobility were obligated to respect and protect. Slaves were property. With a sudden disgust, Arutha said, ‘Tell them to get up, for mercy’s sake.’

Tully spoke and the men slowly rose, the two on the flanks looking about like frightened children. The other stood calmly, eyes only slightly downcast. Again Tully questioned the man, finding his understanding of their language returning.

The centermost man spoke at length, and when he was done Tully said, ‘They were assigned to work in the enclaves near the river. They say their camp was overrun by the forest people – he refers to the elves, I think – and the short ones.’

‘Dwarves, no doubt,’ added Longbow with a grin.

Tully threw him a withering look. The rangy forester simply continued to smile. Martin was one of the few young men of the castle never intimidated by the old cleric, even before becoming one of the Duke’s staff.

‘As I was saying,’ continued the priest, ‘the elves and dwarves overran their camp. They fled, fearing they would be killed. They wandered in the woods for days until the patrol picked them up this morning.’

Arutha said, ‘This fellow in the center seems a bit different from the others. Ask why this is so.’

Tully spoke slowly to the man, who answered with little inflection in his tones. When he was done, Tully spoke with some surprise. ‘He says his name is Tchakachakalla. He was once a Tsurani officer!’

Arutha said, ‘This may prove most fortunate. If he’ll cooperate, we may finally learn some things about the enemy.’

Swordmaster Fannon appeared from the keep and hurried to where Arutha was questioning the prisoners. The commander of the Crydee garrison said, ‘What have you here?’

Arutha explained as much as he knew about the prisoners, and when he was finished, Fannon said, ‘Good, continue with the questioning.’

Arutha said to Tully, ‘Ask him how he came to be a slave.’

Without sign of embarrassment, Tchakachakalla told his story. When he was done, Tully stood shaking his head. ‘He was a Strike Leader. It may take some time to puzzle out what his rank was equivalent to in our armies, but I gather he was at least a Knight-Lieutenant. He says his men broke in one of the early battles and his “house” lost much honor. He wasn’t given permission to take his own life by someone he calls the Warchief. Instead he was made a slave to expiate the shame of his command.’

Roland whistled low. ‘His men fled and he was held responsible.’

Longbow said, ‘There’s been more than one earl who’s bollixed a command and found himself ordered by his Duke to serve with one of the Border Barons along the Northern Marches.’

Tully shot Martin and Roland a black look. ‘If you are finished?’ He addressed Arutha and Fannon: ‘From what he said, it is clear he was stripped of everything. He may prove of use to us.’

Fannon said, ‘This may be some trick. I don’t like his looks.’

The man’s head came up, and he fixed Fannon with a narrow gaze. Martin’s mouth fell open. ‘By Kilian! I think he understands what you said.’

Fannon stood directly before Tchakachakalla. ‘Do you understand me?’

‘Little, master.’ His accent was thick, and he spoke with a slow singsong tone alien to the King’s Tongue. ‘Many Kingdom slaves on Kelewan. Know little King’s Tongue.’

Fannon said, ‘Why didn’t you speak before?’

Again without any show of emotion, he answered, ‘Not ordered. Slave obey. Not . . .’ He turned to Tully and spoke a few words.

Tully said, ‘He says it isn’t a slave’s place to show initiative.’

Arutha said, ‘Tully, do you think he can be trusted?’

‘I don’t know. His story is strange, but they are a strange people by our standards. My mind contact with the dying soldier showed me much I still don’t understand.’ Tully spoke to the man.

To Arutha the Tsurani said, ‘Tchakachakalla tell.’ Fighting for words, he said, ‘I Wedewayo. My house, family. My clan Hunzan. Old, much honor. Now slave. No house, no clan, no Tsuranuanni. No honor. Slave obey.’

Arutha said, ‘I think I understand. If you go back to the Tsurani, what would happen to you?’

Tchakachakalla said, ‘Be slave, maybe. Be killed, maybe. All same.’

‘And if you stay here?’

‘Be slave, be killed?’ He shrugged, showing little concern.

Arutha said, slowly, ‘We keep no slaves. What would you do if we set you free?’

A flicker of some emotion passed over the slave’s face, and he turned to Tully and spoke rapidly. Tully translated. ‘He says such a thing is not possible on his world. He asks if you can do such a thing.’

Arutha nodded. Tchakachakalla pointed to his companions. ‘They work. They always slaves.’

‘And you?’ said Arutha.

Tchakachakalla looked hard at the Prince and spoke to Tully, never taking his eyes from Arutha. Tully said, ‘He’s recounting his lineage. He says he is Tchakachakalla, Strike Leader of the Wedewayo, of the Hunzan Clan. His father was a Force Leader, and his great-grandfather Warchief of the Hunzan Clan. He has fought honorably, and only once has he failed in his duty. Now he is only a slave, with no family, no clan, no nation, and no honor. He asks if you mean to give him back his honor.’

Arutha said, ‘If the Tsurani come, what will you do?’

Tchakachakalla indicated his companions. ‘These men slaves. Tsurani come, they do nothing. Wait. Go with . . .’ He and Tully exchanged brief remarks and Tully supplied him with the word he wished. ‘. . . victors. They go with victors.’ He looked at Arutha, and his eyes came alive. ‘You make Tchakachakalla free. Tchakachakalla be your man, lord. Your honor is Tchakachakalla’s honor. Give life if you say. Fight Tsurani if you say.’

Fannon spoke. ‘Likely story that. More’s the odds he’s a spy.’

The barrel-chested Tsurani looked hard at Fannon, then with a sudden motion stepped before the Swordmaster, and before anyone could react, pulled Fannon’s knife from his belt.

Longbow had his own knife out an instant later, as Arutha’s sword was clearing its scabbard. Roland and the other soldiers were only a moment behind. The Tsurani made no threatening gesture, but simply flipped the knife, reversing it and handing it to Fannon hilt first. ‘Master think Tchakachakalla enemy? Master kill. Give warrior’s death, return honor.’

Arutha returned his sword to his scabbard and took the knife from Tchakachakalla’s hand. Returning the knife to Fannon, he said, ‘No, we will not kill you.’ To Tully he said, ‘I think this man may prove useful. For now, my inclination is to believe him.’

Fannon looked less than pleased. ‘He may be a very clever spy, but you’re right. There’s no harm if we keep a close watch on him. Father Tully, why don’t you take these men to soldiers’ commons and see what you can learn from them. I’ll be along shortly.’

Tully spoke to the three slaves and indicated they should follow. The two timid slaves moved at once, but Tchakachakalla bent his knee before Arutha. He spoke rapidly in the Tsurani tongue; Tully translated. ‘He’s just demanded you either kill him or make him your man. He asked how a man can be free with no house, clan, or honor. On his world such men are called grey warriors and have no honor.’

Arutha said, ‘Our ways are not your ways. Here a man can be free with no family or clan and still have honor.’

Tchakachakalla bent his head slightly while listening, then nodded. He rose and said, ‘Tchakachakalla understand.’ Then with a grin he added, ‘Soon, I be your man. Good lord need good warrior. Tchakachakalla good warrior.’

‘Tully, take them along, and find out how much Tchak . . . Tchakal . . .’ Arutha laughed. ‘I can’t pronounce that mouthful.’ To the slave he said, ‘If you’re to serve here, you need a Kingdom name.’

The slave looked about and then gave a curt nod.

Longbow said, ‘Call him Charles. It’s as close a name as I can imagine.’

Arutha said, ‘As good a name as any. From now on, you will be called Charles.’

The newly named slave said, ‘Tcharles?’ He shrugged and nodded. Without another word he fell in beside Father Tully, who led the slaves toward the soldiers’ commons.

Roland said, ‘What do you make of that?’ as the three slaves vanished around the corner.

Fannon said, ‘Time will tell if we’ve been duped.’

Longbow laughed. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Charles, Swordmaster. He’s a tough little fellow. He traveled at a good pace when we brought them in. Maybe I’ll turn him into a tracker.’

Arutha interrupted. ‘It will be some time before I’ll be comfortable letting him outside the castle walls.’

Fannon let the matter drop. To Longbow he said, ‘Where did you find them?’

‘To the north, along the Clearbrook branch of the river. We were following the signs of a large party of warriors heading for the coast.’

Fannon considered this. ‘Gardan leads another patrol near there. Perhaps he’ll catch sight of them and we’ll find out what the bastards are up to this year.’ Without another word he walked back toward the keep.

Martin laughed; Arutha was surprised to hear him. ‘What in this strikes you as funny, Huntmaster?’

Martin shook his head. ‘A little thing, Highness. It’s the Swordmaster himself. He’ll not speak of it to anyone, but I wager he would give all he owns to have your father back in command. He’s a good soldier, but he dislikes the responsibility.’

Arutha regarded the retreating back of the Swordmaster, then said, ‘I think you are right, Martin.’ His voice carried a thoughtful note. ‘I have been at odds with Fannon so much of late, I lost sight of the fact he never requested this commission.’

Lowering his voice, Martin said, ‘A suggestion, Arutha.’

Arutha nodded. Martin pointed to Fannon. ‘Should anything happen to Fannon, name another Swordmaster quickly; do not wait for your father’s consent. For if you wait, Algon will assume command, and he is a fool.’

Arutha stiffened at the Huntmaster’s presumption, while Roland tried to silence Martin with a warning look. Arutha coldly said, ‘I thought you a friend of the Horsemaster.’

Martin smiled, his eyes hinting at strange humor. ‘Aye, I am, as are all in the castle. But anyone you ask will tell you the same: take his horses away, and Algon is an indifferent thinker.’

Nettled by Martin’s manner, Arutha said, ‘And who should take his place? The Huntmaster?’

Martin laughed, a sound of such open, clear amusement at the thought, Arutha found himself less angry at his suggestion.

‘I?’ said the Huntmaster. ‘Heaven forfend, Highness. I am a simple hunter, no more. No, should the need come, name Gardan. He is by far the most able soldier in Crydee.’

Arutha knew Martin was correct, but gave in to impatience. ‘Enough. Fannon is well, and I trust will remain so.’

Martin nodded. ‘May the gods preserve him . . . and us all. Please excuse me, it was but a passing concern. Now, with Your Highness’s leave, I’ve not had a hot meal in a week.’

Arutha indicated he could leave, and Martin walked away toward the kitchen. Roland said, ‘He is wrong on one account, Arutha.’

Arutha stood with his arms folded across his chest, watching Longbow as he vanished around the corner. ‘What is that, Roland?’

‘That man is much more than the simple hunter he pretends.’

Arutha was silent for a moment. ‘He is. Something about Martin Longbow has always made me uneasy, though I have never found fault with him.’

Roland laughed, and Arutha said, ‘Now something strikes you as funny, Roland?’

Roland shrugged. ‘Only that many think you and he are much alike.’

Arutha turned a black gaze upon Roland, who shook his head. ‘It’s often said we take offense most in what we see of ourselves in others. It’s true, Arutha. You both have that same cutting edge to your humor, almost mocking, and neither of you suffers foolishness.’ Roland’s voice became serious. ‘There’s no mystery to it, I should think. You’re a great deal like your father, and with Martin having no family, it follows he would pattern himself after the Duke.’

Arutha became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But something else troubles me about that man.’ He left the thought unfinished and turned toward the keep.

Roland fell into step beside the thoughtful Prince and wondered if he had overstepped himself.

The night thundered. Ragged bolts of lightning shattered the darkness as clouds rolled in from the west. Roland stood on the southern tower watching the display. Since dinner his mood had been as dark as the western sky. The day had not gone well. First he had felt troubled by his conversation with Arutha by the gate. Then Carline had treated him at dinner with the same stony silence he had endured since their meeting on this very tower two weeks earlier. Carline had seemed more subdued than usual, but Roland felt a stab of anger at himself each time he chanced a glance in her direction. Roland could still see the pain in the Princess’s eyes. ‘What a witless fool I am,’ he said aloud.

‘Not a fool, Roland.’

Carline was standing a few paces away, looking toward the coming storm. She clutched a shawl around her shoulders, though the air was temperate. The thunder had masked her footfalls, and Roland said, ‘It is a poor night to be upon the tower, my lady.’

She came to stand beside him and said, ‘Will it rain? These hot nights bring thunder and lightning, but usually little rain.’

‘It will rain. Where are your ladies?’

She indicated the tower door. ‘Upon the stairs. They fear the lightning, and besides, I wished to speak with you alone.’

Roland said nothing, and Carline remained silent for a time. The night was sundered with violent displays of energy tearing across the heavens, followed by cracking booms of thunder. ‘When I was young,’ she said at last, ‘Father used to say on nights such as this the gods were sporting in the sky.’

Roland looked at her face, illuminated by the single lantern hanging on the wall. ‘My father told me they made war.’

She smiled. ‘Roland, you spoke rightly on the day Lyam left. I have been lost in my own grief, unable to see the truth. Pug would have been the first to tell me that nothing is forever. That living in the past is foolish and robs us of the future.’ She lowered her head a little. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with Father. When Mother died, he never fully recovered. I was very young, but I can still remember how he was. He used to laugh a great deal before she died. He was more like Lyam then. After . . . well, he became more like Arutha. He’d laugh, but there’d be a hard edge to it, a bitterness.’

‘As if somehow mocking?’

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, mocking. Why did you say that?’

‘Something I noticed . . . something I pointed out to your brother today. About Martin Longbow.’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I understand. Longbow is also like that.’

Softly Roland said, ‘Nevertheless, you did not come to speak of your brother or Martin.’

‘No, I came to tell you how sorry I am for the way I’ve acted. I’ve been angry with you for two weeks, but I’d no right. You only said what was true. I’ve treated you badly.’

Roland was surprised. ‘You’ve not treated me badly, Carline. I acted the boor.’

‘No, you have done nothing but be a friend to me, Roland. You told me the truth, not what I wanted to hear. It must have been hard . . . considering how you feel.’ She looked out at the approaching storm. ‘When I first heard of Pug’s capture, I thought the world ended.’

Trying to be understanding, Roland quoted, ‘“The first love is the difficult love.”’

Carline smiled at the aphorism. ‘That is what they say. And with you?’

Roland mustered a carefree stance. ‘So it seems, Princess.’

She placed her hand upon his arm. ‘Neither of us is free to feel other than as we do, Roland.’

His smile became sadder. ‘That is the truth, Carline.’

‘Will you always be my good friend?’

There was a genuine note of concern in her voice that touched the young Squire. She was trying to put matters right between them, but without the guile she’d used when younger. Her honest attempt turned aside any frustration he felt at her not returning his affections fully. ‘I will, Carline. I’ll always be your good friend.’

She came into his arms and he held her close, her head against his chest. Softly she said, ‘Father Tully says that some loves come unbidden like winds from the sea, and others grow from the seeds of friendship.’

‘I will hope for such a harvest, Carline. But should it not come, still I will remain your good friend.’

They stood quietly together for a time, comforting each other for different causes, but sharing a tenderness each had been denied for two years. Each of them was lost in the comfort of the other’s nearness, and neither saw what the lightning flashes revealed for brief instants. On the horizon, beating for the harbor, came a ship.

The winds whipped the banners on the palisades of the castle walls as rain began to fall. As water gathered in small pools, the lanterns cast yellow reflections upward off the puddles to give an otherworldly look to the two men standing on the wall.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sea, and a soldier said, ‘There! Highness, did you see? Three points south of the Guardian Rocks.’ He extended his arm, pointing the way.

Arutha peered into the gloom, his brow furrowed in concentration. ‘I can see nothing in this darkness. It’s blacker than a Guis-wan priest’s soul out there.’ The soldier absently made a protective sign at the mention of the killer god. ‘Any signal from the beacon tower?’

‘None, Highness. Not by beacon, nor by messenger.’

Another flash of lightning illuminated the night, and Arutha saw the ship outlined in the distance. He swore. ‘It will need the beacon at Longpoint to reach the harbor safely.’ Without another word, he ran down the stairs leading to the courtyard. Near the gate he instructed a soldier to get his horse and two riders to accompany him. As he stood there waiting, the rain passed, leaving the night with a clean but warm, moist feeling. A few minutes later, Fannon appeared from the direction of the soldiers’ commons. ‘What’s this? Riding?’

Arutha said, ‘A ship makes for the harbor, and there is no beacon at Longpoint.’

As a groom brought Arutha’s horse, followed by two mounted soldiers, Fannon said, ‘You’d best be off, then. And tell those stone-crowned layabouts at the lighthouse I’ll have words for them when they finish duty.’

Arutha had expected an argument from Fannon and felt relieved there would be none. He mounted and the gates were opened. They rode through and headed down the road toward town.

The brief rain had made the night rich with fresh odors: the flowers along the road, and the scent of salt from the sea, soon masked by the acrid odor of burned wood from the charred remnants of gutted buildings as they neared town.

They sped past the quiet town, taking the road along the harbor. A pair of guards stationed by the quayside hastily saluted when they saw the Prince fly past. The shuttered buildings near the docks bore mute testimony to those who had fled after the raid.

They left the town and rode out to the lighthouse, following a bend in the road. Beyond the town they gained their first glimpse of the lighthouse, upon a natural island of rock joined to the mainland by a long causeway of stone, topped by a compacted dirt road. The horses’ hooves beat a dull tattoo upon the dirt as they approached the tall tower. A lightning flash lit up the sky, and the three riders could see the ship running under full sail toward the harbor.

Shouting to the others, Arutha said, ‘They’ll pile upon the rocks without a beacon.’

One of the guards shouted back, ‘Look, Highness. Someone signals!’

They reined in and saw figures near the base of the tower. A man dressed in black stood swinging a shuttered lantern back and forth. It could be clearly seen by those on the ship, but not by anyone upon the castle walls. In the dim light, Arutha saw the still forms of Crydee soldiers lying on the ground. Four men, also attired in black with head coverings that masked their faces, ran toward the horsemen. Three drew long swords from back scabbards, while the fourth aimed a bow. The soldier to Arutha’s right cried out as an arrow struck him in the chest. Arutha charged his horse among the three who closed, knocking over two while his sword slashed out, taking the third across the face. The man fell without a sound.

The Prince wheeled around and saw his other companion also engaged, hacking downward at the bowman. More men in black dashed from within the tower, rushing forward silently.

Arutha’s horse screamed. He could see an arrow protruding from its neck. As it collapsed beneath him, he freed his feet from the stirrups and lifted his left leg over the dying animal’s neck, jumping free as it struck the ground. He hit and rolled, coming to his feet before a short figure in black with a long sword held high overhead with both hands. The long blade flashed down, and Arutha jumped to his left, thrusting with his own sword. He took the man in the chest, then yanked his sword free. Like the others before, the man in black fell without uttering a cry.

Another flash of lightning showed men rushing toward Arutha from the tower. Arutha turned to order the remaining rider back to warn the castle, but the shouted command died aborning when he saw the man pulled from his saddle by swarming figures in black. Arutha dodged a blow from the first man to reach him and ran past three startled figures. He smashed at the face of a fourth man with his sword hilt, trying to knock the man aside. His only thought was to open a pathway so he might flee to warn the castle. The struck man reeled back, and Arutha attempted to jump past him. The falling man reached out with one hand, catching Arutha’s leg as he sprang.

Arutha struck hard stone and felt hands frantically grab at his right foot. He kicked backward with his left and took the man in the throat with his boot. The sound of the man’s windpipe being crushed was followed by a convulsion of movement.

Arutha came to his feet as another attacker reached him, others only a step behind. Arutha sprang backward, trying to gain some distance. His boot heel caught on a rock, and suddenly the world tilted crazily. He found himself suspended in space for an instant, then his shoulders met rock as he bounced down the side of the causeway. He hit several more rocks, and icy water closed over him.

The shock of the water kept him from passing into unconsciousness. Dazed, he reflexively held his breath, but had little wind. Without thinking, he pushed upward and broke the surface with a loud, ragged gasp. Still groggy, he nevertheless possessed enough wits to duck below the surface when arrows struck the water near him. He couldn’t see a thing in the murky darkness of the harbor, but clung to the rocks, pulling himself along more than swimming. He moved back toward the tower end of the causeway, hoping the raiders would think him headed in the other direction.

He quietly surfaced and blinked the salt water from his eyes. Peering around the shelter of a large rock, he saw black figures searching the darkness of the water. Arutha moved quietly, nestling himself into the rocks. Bruised muscles and joints made him wince as he moved, but nothing seemed broken.

Another flash of lightning lit the harbor. Arutha could see the ship speeding safely into Crydee harbor. It was a trader, but rigged for speed and outfitted for war. Whoever piloted the ship was a mad genius, for he cleared the rocks by a scant margin, heading straight for the quayside around the bend of the causeway. Arutha could see men in the rigging, frantically reefing in sails. Upon the deck a company of black-clad warriors stood with weapons ready.

Arutha turned his attention to the men on the causeway and saw one motion silently to the others. They ran off in the direction of the town. Ignoring the pain in his body, Arutha pulled himself up, negotiating the slippery rocks to regain the dirt road of the causeway. Staggering a bit, he came to his feet and looked off toward the town. There was still no sign of trouble, but he knew it would erupt shortly.

Arutha half staggered, half ran to the lighthouse tower and forced himself to climb the stairs. Twice he came close to blacking out, but he reached the top of the tower. He saw the lookout lying dead near the signal fire. The oil-soaked wood was protected from the elements by a hood that hung suspended over it. The cold wind blew through the open windows on all sides of the building.

Arutha found the dead sentry’s pouch and removed flint, steel, and tinder. He opened the small door in the side of the metal hood, using his body to shield the wood from the wind. The second spark he fired caught in the wood, and a small flame sprang into existence. It quickly spread, and when it was burning fully, Arutha pulled on the chain hoist that elevated the hood. With an audible whoosh, the flames sprang fully to the ceiling as the wind struck the fire.

Against one wall stood a jar of powder mixed by Kulgan against such an emergency. Arutha fought down dizziness as he bent again to pull the knife from the dead sentry’s belt. He used it to pry the lid off the jar and then tossed the entire contents into the fire.

Instantly the flames turned bright crimson, a warning beacon none could confuse with a normal light. Arutha turned toward the castle, standing away from the window so as not to block the light. Brighter and brighter the flames burned as Arutha found his mind going vague again. For a long moment there was silence in the night, then suddenly an alarm sounded from the castle. Arutha felt relief. The red beacon was the signal for reavers in the harbor, and the castle garrison had been well drilled to meet such raids. Fannon might be cautious with chasing Tsurani raiders into the woods at night, but a pirate ship in his harbor was something he would not hesitate to answer.

Arutha staggered down the stairs, stopping to support himself at the door. His entire body hurt, and he was nearly overcome by dizziness. He drew a deep breath and headed for the town. When he came to where his dead horse lay, he looked about for his sword, then remembered he had carried it with him into the harbor. He stumbled to where one of his riders lay, next to a black-clad bowman. Arutha bent down to pick up the fallen soldier’s sword, nearly blacking out as he stood. He held himself erect for a moment, fearing he might lose consciousness if he moved, and waited as the ringing in his head subsided. He slowly reached up and touched his head. One particularly sore spot, with an angry lump forming, told him he had struck his head hard at least once as he fell down the causeway. His fingers came away sticky with clotting blood.

Arutha began to walk to town, and as he moved, the ringing in his head resumed. For a time he staggered, then he tried to force himself to run, but after only three wobbly strides he resumed his clumsy walk. He hurried as much as he could, rounding the bend in the road to come in sight of town. He heard faint sounds of fighting. In the distance he could see the red light of fires springing heavenward as buildings were put to the torch. Screams of men and women sounded strangely remote and muted to Arutha’s ears.

He forced himself into a trot, and as he closed upon the town, anticipation of fighting forced away much of the fog clouding his mind. He turned along the harborside; with the dockside buildings burning, it was bright as day, but no one was in sight. Against the quayside the raiders’ ship rested, a gangway leading down to the dock. Arutha approached quietly, fearing guards had been left to protect it. When he reached the gangway, all was quiet. The sounds of fighting were distant, as if all the raiders had attacked deeply into the town.

As he began to move away, a voice cried out from the ship, ‘Gods of mercy! Is anyone there?’ The voice was deep and powerful, but with a controlled note of terror.

Arutha hurried up the gangway, sword ready. He stopped when he reached the top. From the forward hatch cover he could see fire glowing brightly belowdecks. He looked about: everywhere his eyes traveled he saw seamen lying dead in their own blood. From the rear of the ship the voice cried out, ‘You, man. If you’re a godsfearing man of the Kingdom, come help me.’

Arutha made his way amid the camage and found a man sitting against the starboard rail. He was large, broad-shouldered, and barrel-chested. He could have been any age between twenty and forty. He held the side of an ample stomach with his right hand, blood seeping through his fingers. Curly dark hair swept back from a receding hairline, and he wore his black beard cut short. He managed a weak smile as he pointed to a black-clothed figure lying nearby. ‘The bastards killed my crew and fired my ship. That one made the mistake of not killing me with the first blow.’ He pointed at the section of a fallen yard pinning his legs. ‘I can’t manage to budge that damned yard and hold my guts in at the same time. If you’d lift it a bit, I think I can pull myself free.’

Arutha saw the problem: the man was pinned down at the short end of the yard, tangled in a mass of ropes and blocks. He gripped the long end and heaved upward, moving it only a few inches, but enough. With a half grunt, half groan, the wounded man pulled his legs out. ‘I don’t think my legs are broken, lad. Give me a hand up and we’ll see.’

Arutha gave him a hand and nearly lost his footing pulling the bulky seaman to his feet. ‘Here, now,’ said the wounded man. ‘You’re not in much of a fighting trim yourself, are you?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ said Arutha, steadying the man while fighting off an attack of nausea.

The seaman leaned upon Arutha. ‘We’d better hurry, then. The fire is spreading.’ With Arutha’s help, he negotiated the gangway. When they reached the quayside, gasping for breath, the heat was becoming intense. The wounded seaman gasped, ‘Keep going!’

Arutha nodded and slung the man’s arm over his shoulder. They set off down the quay, staggering like a pair of drunken sailors on the town.

Suddenly there came a roar, and both men were slammed to the ground. Arutha shook his dazed head and turned over. Behind him a great tower of flames leaped skyward. The ship was a faintly seen black silhouette in the heart of the blinding yellow-and-white column of fire. Waves of heat washed over them, as if they were standing at the door of a giant oven.

Arutha managed to croak, ‘What was that?’

His companion gave out with an equally feeble reply: ‘Two hundred barrels of Quegan fire oil.’

Arutha spoke in disbelief. ‘You didn’t say anything about fire oil back aboard ship.’

‘I didn’t want you getting excited. You looked half-gone already. I figured we’d either get clear or we wouldn’t.’

Arutha tried to rise, but fell back. Suddenly he felt very comfortable resting on the cool stone of the quay. He saw the fire begin to dim before his eyes, then all went dark.

Arutha opened his eyes and saw blurred shapes over him. He blinked and the images cleared. Carline hovered over his sleeping pallet, looking anxiously on as Father Tully examined him. Behind Carline, Fannon watched, and next to him stood an unfamiliar man. Then Arutha remembered him. ‘The man from the ship.’

The man grinned. ‘Amos Trask, lately master of the Sidonie until those bast – begging the Princess’s pardon – those cursed land rats put her to the torch. Standing here thanks to Your Highness.’

Tully interrupted. ‘How do you feel?’

Arutha sat up, finding his body a mass of dull aches. Carline placed cushions behind her brother. ‘Battered, but I’ll survive.’ His head swam a little. ‘I’m a bit dizzy.’

Tully looked down his nose at Arutha’s head. ‘Small wonder. You took a nasty crack. You may find yourself occasionally dizzy for a few days, but I don’t think it is serious.’

Arutha looked at the Swordmaster. ‘How long?’

Fannon said, ‘A patrol brought you in last night. It’s morning.’

‘The raid?’

Fannon shook his head sadly. ‘The town’s gutted. We managed to kill them all, but there’s not a whole building left standing in Crydee. The fishing village at the south end of the harbor is untouched, but otherwise everything was lost.’

Carline fussed around near Arutha, tucking in covers and fluffing his cushions. ‘You should rest.’

He said, ‘Right now, I’m hungry.’

She brought over a bowl of hot broth. He submitted to the light broth in place of solid food, but refused to let her spoon-feed him. Between mouthfuls he said, ‘Tell me what happened.’

Fannon looked disturbed. ‘It was the Tsurani.’

Arutha’s hand stopped, his spoon poised halfway between bowl and mouth. ‘Tsurani? I thought they were reavers, from the Sunset Islands.’

‘At first so did we, but after talking to Captain Trask here, and the Tsurani slaves who are with us, we’ve pieced together a picture of what’s happened.’

Tully picked up the narrative. ‘From the slaves’ story, these men were specially chosen. They called it a death raid. They were selected to enter the town, destroy as much as possible, then die without fleeing. They burned the ship as much as a symbol of their commitment as to deny it to us. I gather from what they say it’s considered something of a great honor.’

Arutha looked at Amos Trask. ‘How is it they managed to seize your ship, Captain?’

‘Ah, that is a bitter story, Highness.’ He leaned to his right a little, and Arutha remembered his wound.

‘How is your side?’

Trask grinned, his dark eyes merry. ‘A messy wound, but not a serious one. The good father put it right as new, Highness.’

Tully made a derisive sound. ‘That man should be in bed. He is more seriously injured than you. He would not leave until he saw you were all right.’

Trask ignored the comment. ‘I’ve had worse. We once had a fight with a Quegan war galley turned rogue pirate and – well, that’s another story. You asked about my ship.’ He limped over closer to Arutha’s pallet. ‘We were outward bound from Palanque with a load of weapons and fire oil. Considering the situation here, I thought to find a ready market. We braved the straits early in the season, stealing the march on other ships, or so we hoped.

‘But while we made the passage early, we paid the price. A monstrous storm blew up from the south, and we were driven for a week. When it was over, we headed east, striking for the coast. I thought we’d have no trouble plotting our position from landmarks. When we sighted land, not one aboard recognized a single feature. As none of us had ever been north of Crydee, we judged rightly we had gone farther than we had thought.

‘We coasted by day, heaving to at night, for I’d not risk unknown shoals and reefs. On the third night the Tsurani came swimming out from shore like a pod of dolphins. Dived right under the ship, and came up on both sides. By the time I was awake from the commotion on deck, there was a full half dozen of the bast – begging the Princess’s pardon – them Tsurani swarming over me. It took them only minutes to take my ship.’ His shoulders sagged a bit. ‘It’s a hard thing to lose one’s ship, Highness.’

He grimaced and Tully stood, making Trask sit on the stool next to Arutha. Trask continued his story. ‘We couldn’t understand what they said; their tongue is more suited for monkeys than men – I myself speak five civilized languages and can do ‘talk-see’ in a dozen more. But as I was saying, we couldn’t understand their gibberish, but they made their intentions clear enough.

‘They pored over my charts.’ He grimaced in remembering. ‘I purchased them legal and aboveboard from a retired captain down in Durbin. Fifty years of experience in those charts, there were, from here in Crydee to the farthest eastern shores of the Keshian Confederacy, and they were tossing them around my cabin like so much old canvas until they found the ones they wanted. They had some sailors among them, for as soon as they recognized the charts, they made their plans known to me.

‘Curse me for a freshwater fisherman, but we had heaved to only a few miles north of the headlands above your lighthouse. If we’d sailed a little longer, we would have been safely in Crydee harbor two days ago.’

Arutha and the others said nothing. Trask continued, ‘They went through my cargo holds and started tossing things overboard, no matter what. Over five hundred fine Quegan broadswords, over the side. Pikes, lances, longbows, everything – I guess to keep any of it from reaching Crydee somehow. They didn’t know what to do with the Quegan fire oil – the barrels would’ve needed a dock hoist to get them out of the hold – so they left it alone. But they made sure there wasn’t a weapon aboard that wasn’t in their hands. Then some of the little land rats got dressed up in those black rags, swam ashore, and started down the coast toward the lighthouse. While they were going, the rest were praying, on their knees rocking back and forth, except for a few with bows watching my crew. Then all of a sudden, about three hours after sundown, they’re up and kicking my men around, pointing to the harbor on the map.

‘We set sail and headed down the coast. The rest you know. I guess they judged you would not expect an attack from seaward.’

Fannon said, ‘They judged correctly. Since their last raid we’ve patrolled the forests heavily. They couldn’t get within a day’s march of Crydee without our knowing. This way they caught us unawares.’ The old Swordmaster sounded tired and bitter. ‘Now the town is destroyed, and we’ve a courtyard filled with terrified townsmen.’

Trask also sounded bitter. ‘They put most of their men ashore quickly, but left two dozen to slaughter my men.’ An expression of pain crossed his face. ‘They were a hard lot, my lads, but on the whole good enough men. We didn’t know what was happening until the first of my boys began to fall from the spars with Tsurani arrows in them, waving like little flags as they hit the water. We thought they were going to have us take them out again. My boys put up a struggle then, you can bet. But they didn’t start soon enough. Marlinspikes and belayin’ pins can’t stand up to men with swords and bows.’

Trask sighed deeply, the pain on his face as much from his story as from his injury. ‘Thirty-five men. Dock rats, cutthroats, and murderers all, but they were my crew. I was the only one allowed to go killing them. I cracked the skull of the first Tsurani who came at me, took his sword, and killed another. But the third one knocked it from my hand and ran me through.’ He barked a short, harsh-sounding laugh. ‘I broke his neck. I passed out for a time. They must have thought me dead. The next I knew, the fires were going and I started yelling. Then I saw you come up the gangway.’

Arutha said, ‘You’re a bold man, Amos Trask.’

A look of deep pain crossed the large man’s face. ‘Not bold enough to keep my ship, Highness. Now I’m nothing more than another beached sailor.’

Tully said, ‘Enough for now. Arutha, you need rest.’ He put his hand on Amos Trask’s shoulder. ‘Captain, you’d do well to follow his example. Your wound is more serious than you admit. I’ll take you to a room where you can rest.’

The captain rose, and Arutha said, ‘Captain Trask.’

‘Yes, Highness?’

‘We have need of good men here in Crydee.’

A glimmer of humor crossed the seaman’s face. ‘I thank you, Highness. Without a ship, though, I don’t know what use I could be.’

Arutha said, ‘Between Fannon and myself, we’ll find enough to keep you busy.’

The man bowed slightly, restricted by his wounded side. He left with Tully. Carline kissed Arutha on the cheek, saying, ‘Rest now.’ She took away the broth and was escorted from the room by Fannon. Arutha was asleep before the door closed.