Читать книгу The Riftwar Saga Series Books 2 and 3: Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 26

PUG WAS RESTLESS.

He sat looking out a window of the Prince’s palace in Krondor. Outside, the snow was falling, as it had been for the last three days. The Duke and Arutha had been meeting with the Prince of Krondor daily. On the first day Pug had told his story about finding the Tsurani ship, then had been dismissed. He remembered that awkward interview.

He had been surprised to find the Prince to be young, in his thirties, if not a vigorous and well man. Pug had been startled during their interview when the Prince’s remarks were interrupted by a violent attack of coughing. His pale face, drenched with sweat, showed him to be in worse health than his manner indicated.

He had waved off Pug’s suggestion that he should leave and come back when more convenient for him. Erland of Krondor was a reflective person, who listened patiently to Pug’s narration, lessening the boy’s discomfort at being before the heir apparent to the throne of the Kingdom. His eyes regarded Pug with reassurance and understanding, as if it were a common thing to have awkward boys standing before him. After listening to Pug’s narration, he had spent a short time talking with Pug about small things, such as his studies and his fortuitous rise to the nobility, as if these were important matters to his realm.

Pug decided he liked Prince Erland. The second most powerful man in the Kingdom, and the single most powerful man in the West, was warm and friendly and cared for the comfort of his least-important guest.

Pug looked around the room, still not used to the splendor of the palace. Even this small room was richly appointed, with a canopied bed instead of a sleeping pallet. It was the first time Pug had ever slept in one, and he found it difficult to get comfortable on the deep, soft, feather-stuffed mattress. In the corner of the room stood a closet with more clothing in it than he thought he could wear in his lifetime, all of costly weave and fine cut, and all seemingly in his size. Kulgan had said it was a gift from the Prince.

The quiet of his room reminded Pug how little he had seen of Kulgan and the others. Gardan and his soldiers had left that morning with a bundle of dispatches for Prince Lyam from his father, and Meecham was housed with the palace guard. Kulgan was involved in the meetings as often as not, so Pug had a lot of time to himself. He wished he had his books with him, for then at least the time could be put to some good use. Since his arrival in Krondor there had been little for him to do.

More than once Pug had thought of how much Tomas would have loved the newness of this place – seemingly fashioned from glass and magic more than stone – and the people in it. He thought about his lost friend, hoping Dolgan had somehow found him, but not believing he had. The pain of loss was now a dull ache, but still tender. Even after the last month, he would find himself turning, expecting to see Tomas close by.

Not wishing to sit idle any longer, Pug opened the door and looked down the hallway that ran the length of the east wing of the Prince’s palace. He hurried down the hall, looking for any familiar face to break the monotony.

A guard passed him by, going the other way, and saluted. Pug still couldn’t get used to the idea of being saluted every time a guard passed, but as a member of the Duke’s party he was given full honors due his Squire’s rank by the household staff.

Reaching a smaller hallway, he decided to explore. One way was the same as another, he thought. The Prince had personally told him he had the run of the palace, but Pug had been shy about overstepping himself. Now boredom drove him to adventuring, or at least as much adventuring as possible under the circumstances.

Pug found a small alcove with a window, providing a different view of the palace grounds. Pug sat upon the window seat. Beyond the palace walls he could see the port of Krondor lying below like a white-shrouded toy village. Smoke was coming from many of the buildings, the only sign of life in the city. The ships in the harbor looked like miniatures, lying at anchor, waiting for more propitious conditions under which to sail.

A small voice behind him brought Pug out of his reverie. ‘Are you Prince Arutha?’

A girl was standing behind him, about six or seven years old, with big green eyes and dark reddish brown hair done up in silver netting. Her dress was simple but fine looking, of red cloth with white lace at the sleeves. Her face was pretty, but was set in an expression of deep concentration that gave it a comic gravity.

Pug hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘No, I’m Pug. I came with the Prince.’

The girl made no attempt to hide her disappointment. With a shrug she came over and sat next to Pug. She looked up at him with the same grave expression and said, ‘I was so hoping that you might be the Prince, for I wanted to catch a glimpse of him before you leave for Salador.’

‘Salador,’ Pug said flatly. He had hoped the journey would end with the visit to the Prince. Lately he had been thinking of Carline.

‘Yes. Father says you are all to leave at once for Salador, then take a ship for Rillanon to see the King.’

‘Who’s your father?’

‘The Prince, silly. Don’t you know anything?’

‘I guess not.’ Pug looked at the girl, seeing another Carline in the making. ‘You must be Princess Anita.’

‘Of course. And I’m a real princess too. Not the daughter of a duke, but the daughter of a prince. My father would have been King if he had wanted, but he didn’t want to. If he had, I would be Queen someday. But I won’t be. What do you do?’

The question, coming so suddenly without preamble, caught Pug off guard. The child’s prattling wasn’t very irksome, and he wasn’t following closely, being more intent on the scene through the window.

He hesitated, then said, ‘I’m apprenticed to the Duke’s magician.’

The Princess’s eyes grew round, and she said, ‘A real magician?’

‘Real enough.’

Her little face lit up with delight. ‘Can he turn people into toads? Mummy said magicians turn people into toads if they are bad.’

‘I don’t know. I’ll ask him when I see him – if I see him again,’ he added under his breath.

‘Oh, would you? I would so very much like to know.’ She seemed utterly fascinated by the prospect of finding out if the tale was true. ‘And could you please tell me where I might see Prince Arutha?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him myself in two days. What do you want to see him for?’

‘Mummy says I may marry him someday. I want to see if he is a nice man.’

The prospect of this tiny child’s being married to the Duke’s younger son confounded Pug for a moment. It was not an uncommon practice for nobles to pledge their children in marriage years before their coming of age. In ten years she would be a woman, and the Prince would still be a young man, the Earl of some minor keep in the Kingdom. Still, Pug found the prospect fascinating.

‘Do you think you would like living with an earl?’ Pug asked, realizing at once it was a stupid question. The Princess confirmed the opinion with a glance that would have done Father Tully credit.

She said, ‘Silly! How could I possibly know that when I don’t even know who Mummy and Father will have me marry?’

The child jumped up. ‘Well, I must go back. I’m not supposed to be here. If they find me out of my rooms, I’ll be punished. I hope you have a nice journey to Salador and Rillanon.’

‘Thank you.’

With a sudden expression of worry, she said, ‘You won’t tell anyone that I was here, will you?’

Pug gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘No. Your secret’s safe.’ With a look of relief, she smiled and peeked both ways down the hallway. As she started to leave, Pug said, ‘He’s a nice man.’

The Princess stopped. ‘Who?’

‘The Prince. He’s a nice man. Given to brooding and moods, but on the whole a nice person.’

The Princess frowned for a moment as she digested the information. Then, with a bright smile, she said, ‘That’s good. I’d not want to marry a man who’s not nice.’ With a giggle she turned the corner and was gone.

Pug sat awhile longer, watching the snow fall, musing over the fact of children being concerned about matters of state, and over a child with big, serious green eyes.

That night the entire party was feted by the Prince. The whole population of nobles at court and most of the rich commoners of Krondor were attending the gala. Over four hundred people sat to dine, and Pug found himself at a table with strangers who, out of respect for the quality of his clothing and the simple fact of his being there in the first place, politely ignored him. The Duke and Prince Arutha were seated at the head table with Prince Erland and his wife, Princess Alicia, along with Duke Dulanic, Chancellor of the Principality and Knight-Marshal of Krondor. Owing to Erland’s ill health, the business of running Krondor’s military fell to Dulanic and the man he was deep in conversation with, Lord Barry, Erland’s Lord-Admiral of the Krondorian fleet. Other royal ministers were seated nearby, while the rest of the guests were at smaller tables. Pug was seated at the one farthest removed from the royal table.

Servants were bustling in and out of the hall, carrying large platters of food and decanters of wine. Jongleurs strolled the hall, singing the newest ballads and ditties. Jugglers and acrobats performed between the tables, mostly ignored by the dinner guests, but giving their best, for the Master of Ceremony would not call them back again should he judge their efforts lacking.

The walls were covered with giant banners and rich tapestries. The banners were of every major household in the Kingdom, from the gold and brown of Crydee in the far west, to the white and green of far Ran, in the east. Behind the royal table hung the banner of the Kingdom, a golden lion rampant holding a sword, with a crown above his head, upon a field of purple, the ancient crest of the conDoin kings. Next to it hung Krondor’s banner, an eagle flying above a mountain peak, silver upon the royal purple. Only the Prince, and the King in Rillanon, could wear the royal color. Borric and Arutha wore red mantles over their tunics, signifying they were princes of the realm, related to the royal family. It was the first time Pug had ever seen the two wearing the formal marks of their station.

Everywhere were sights and sounds of gaiety, but even from across the room Pug could tell that the talk at the Prince’s table was subdued. Borric and Erland spent most of the dinner with their heads close together, speaking privately.

Pug was startled by a touch on his shoulder and turned to see a doll-like face peering through the large curtains not two feet behind him. Princess Anita put her finger to her lips and beckoned for him to step through. Pug saw the others at the table were looking at the great and near-great in the room and would scarcely notice the departure of a nameless boy. He rose and moved through the curtain, finding himself in a small servants’ alcove. Before him was another curtain, leading to the kitchen, Pug supposed, through which peeked the tiny fugitive from bed. Pug moved to where Anita waited, discovering it was, indeed, a long connecting corridor between the kitchen and the great hall. A lengthy table covered with dishware and goblets ran along the wall.

Pug said, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Shush!’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘I’m not supposed to be here.’

Pug smiled at the child. ‘I don’t think you have to worry about being heard, there’s too much noise for that.’

‘I came to see the Prince. Which one is he?’

Pug motioned for her to step into the small alcove, then drew aside the curtain a little. Pointing at the head table, he said, ‘He’s two removed from your father, in the black-and-silver tunic and red mantle.’

The child stretched up on tiptoe and said, ‘I can’t see.’

Pug held the girl up for a moment. She smiled at him. ‘I am in your debt.’

‘Not at all,’ Pug intoned with mock gravity. They both giggled.

The Princess started as a voice spoke close to the curtain. ‘I must fly!’ She darted through the alcove, passed through the second curtain, and disappeared from sight heading toward the kitchen and her getaway.

The curtain into the banquet hall parted, and a startled servant stared at Pug. Uncertain what to say, the servingman nodded. The boy by rights shouldn’t be there, but by his dress he was certainly someone.

Pug looked about and, without much conviction, finally said, ‘I was looking for the way to my room. I must be going the wrong way.’

‘The guest wing is through the first door on the left in the dining hall, young sir. Ah … this way lies the kitchen. Would you care to have me show you the way?’ The servant obviously didn’t care to do so, and Pug was equally lacking any desire for a guide. ‘No, thank you, I can find it,’ he said.

Pug rejoined his table, unnoticed by the other guests. The balance of the meal passed without incident, except for an occasional strange glance by a servingman.

Pug passed the time after dinner talking with the son of a merchant. The two young men found each other in the crowded room where the Prince’s after-dinner reception was being held. They spent a fitful hour being polite to one another, before the boy’s father came and took him in tow. Pug stood around being ignored by the Prince’s other dinner guests for a while, then decided he could slip back to his own quarters without affronting anyone – he wouldn’t be missed. Besides he hadn’t seen the Prince, Lord Borric, or Kulgan since they left the dinner table. Most of the reception seemed under the supervision of a score of household officials and Princess Alicia, a charming woman who had spoken politely with Pug for a moment as he passed through the reception line.

Pug found Kulgan waiting for him in his room when he returned. Kulgan said, without preamble, ‘We leave at first light, Pug. Prince Erland is sending us on to Rillanon to see the King.’

Pug said, ‘Why is the Prince sending us?’ His tone was cross, for he was deeply homesick.

Before Kulgan could answer, the door flew open and Prince Arutha came storming in. Pug was surprised by Arutha’s expression of unconfined anger.

‘Kulgan! There you are,’ Arutha said, slamming the door. ‘Do you know what our royal cousin is doing about the Tsurani invasion?’

Before Kulgan could speak, the Prince supplied the answer. ‘Nothing! He won’t lift a finger to send aid to Crydee until Father has seen the King. That will take another two months at least.’

Kulgan raised his hand. Instead of an adviser to the Duke, Arutha saw one of his boyhood instructors. Kulgan, like Tully, could still command both sons of the Duke when the need arose. ‘Quietly, Arutha.’

Arutha shook his head as he pulled over a chair. ‘I am sorry, Kulgan. I should have mastered my temper.’ He noticed Pug’s confusion. ‘I apologize to you also, Pug. There is much involved here that you don’t know of. Perhaps …’ He looked questioningly at Kulgan.

Kulgan took out his pipe. ‘You might as well tell him, he’s going along for the journey. He’ll find out soon enough.’

Arutha drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair for a moment, then sitting forward, said, ‘My father and Erland have been conferring for days on the best way to meet these outworlders should they come. The Prince even agrees it is likely they will come.’ He paused. ‘But he will do nothing to call the Armies of the West together until he has been given permission by the King.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Pug. ‘Aren’t the Armies of the West the Prince’s to command as he sees fit?’

‘No longer,’ said Arutha with a near-grimace. ‘The King sent word, less than a year ago, that the armies may not be mustered without his permission.’ Arutha sat back in his chair as Kulgan blew a cloud of smoke. ‘It is in violation of tradition. Never have the Armies of the West had another commander than the Prince of Krondor, as the Armies of the East are the King’s.’

Pug was still unclear about the significance of all this. Kulgan said, ‘The Prince is the King’s Lord-Marshal in the West, the only man besides the King who may command Duke Borric and the other Knight-Generals. Should he call, every Duke from Malac’s Cross to Crydee would respond, with their garrisons and levies. King Rodric, for his own reasons, has decided that none may gather the armies without his authority.’

Arutha said, ‘Father would come to the Prince’s call, regardless, as would the other Dukes.’

Kulgan nodded. ‘That may be what the King fears, for the Armies of the West have long been more the Prince’s armies than the King’s. If your father called, most would gather, for they revere him nearly as much as they revere Erland. And if the King should say not …’ He let the sentence slip away.

Arutha nodded. ‘Strife within the Kingdom.’

Kulgan looked at his pipe. ‘Even to civil war, perhaps.’

Pug was troubled by the discussion. He was a keep boy, in spite of his newly acquired title. ‘Even if it is in defense of the Kingdom?’

Kulgan shook his head slowly. ‘Even then. For some men, kings also, there is as much importance in the manner in which things are done as the doing.’ Kulgan paused. ‘Duke Borric will not speak of it, but there has long been trouble between himself and certain eastern dukes, especially his cousin, Guy du Bas-Tyra. This trouble between the Prince and the King will only add to the strain between West and East.’

Pug sat back. He knew that this was somehow more important than what he was understanding, but there were blank places in his picturings of the way things were. How could the King resent the Prince’s summoning the armies in defense of the Kingdom? It didn’t make sense to him, in spite of Kulgan’s explanation. And what sort of trouble in the East was Duke Borric unwilling to speak of?

The magician stood. ‘We have an early day tomorrow, so we had best get some sleep. It will be a long ride to Salador, then another long passage by ship to Rillanon. By the time we reach the King, the first thaw will have come to Crydee.’

Prince Erland bade the party a good journey as they sat upon their horses in the courtyard of the palace. He looked pale and deeply troubled as he wished them well.

The little Princess stood at an upstairs window and waved at Pug with a tiny handkerchief. Pug was reminded of another Princess and wondered if Anita would grow to be like Carline or be more even-tempered.

They rode out of the courtyard, where an escort of Royal Krondorian Lancers stood ready to accompany them to Salador. It would be a three weeks’ ride over the mountains and past the marshes of Darkmoor, past Malac’s Cross – the dividing point between the western and eastern realms – and on to Salador. There they would take ship, and after another two weeks they would reach Rillanon.

The lancers were shrouded in heavy cloaks of grey, but the purple-and-silver tabards of Krondor’s Prince could be seen underneath, and their shields bore the device of the royal Krondorian household. The Duke was being honored by an escort of the Prince’s own household guard, rather than a detachment from the city garrison.

As they left the city, the snow began to fall once more, and Pug wondered if he would ever see spring in Crydee again. He sat quietly on his horse as it plodded along the road east, trying to sort out the impressions of the last few weeks, then gave up, resigning himself to whatever was to happen.

The ride to Salador took four weeks instead of three, for there had been a storm of unusual intensity in the mountains west of Darkmoor. They had been forced to take lodging at an inn outside the village that took its name from the marshes. It had been a small inn, and they had all been forced to crowd together regardless of rank for several days. The food had been simple and the ale indifferent, and by the time the storm passed, they were all glad to leave Darkmoor behind.

Another day had been lost when they chanced upon a village being troubled by bandits. The sight of approaching cavalry had driven the brigands away, but the Duke had ordered a sweep of the area to insure that they didn’t return as soon as the soldiers rode off. The villagers had opened their doors to the Duke’s party, welcoming them and offering their best food and warmest beds. Poor offerings by the Duke’s standards, yet he received their hospitality with graciousness, for he knew it was all they had. Pug enjoyed the simple food and company, the closest yet to home since he had left Crydee.

When they were a half day’s ride short of Salador, they encountered a patrol of city guards. The guard captain rode forward. Pulling up his horse, he shouted, ‘What business brings the Prince’s guard to the lands of Salador?’ There was little love lost between the two cities, and the Krondorians rode without a heraldic banner. His tone left no doubt that he regarded their presence as an infringement upon his territory.

Duke Borric threw back his cloak, revealing his tabard. ‘Carry word to your master that Borric, Duke of Crydee, approaches the city and would avail himself of Lord Kerus’s hospitality.’

The guard captain was taken aback. He stammered, ‘My apologies, Your Grace. I had no idea … there was no banner …’

Arutha said dryly, ‘We mislaid it in a forest sometime back.’

The captain looked confused. ‘My lord?’

Borric said, ‘Never mind, Captain. Just send word to your master.’

The captain saluted. ‘At once, Your Grace.’ He wheeled his horse and signaled for a rider to come forward. He gave him instructions, and the soldier spurred his horse toward the city and soon galloped out of sight.

The captain returned to the Duke. ‘If Your Grace will permit, my men are at your disposal.’

The Duke looked at the travel-weary Krondorians, all of whom seemed to be enjoying the captain’s discomfort. ‘I think thirty men-at-arms are sufficient, Captain. The Salador city guard is renowned for keeping the environs near the city free of brigands.’

The captain, not realizing he was being made sport of, seemed to puff up at this. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

The Duke said, ‘You and your men may continue your patrol.’

The captain saluted again and returned to his men. He shouted the order to move out, and the guard column moved past the Duke’s party. As they passed, the captain ordered a salute, and lances were dipped toward the Duke. Borric returned the salute with a lazy wave of his hand, then when the guards had passed, said, ‘Enough of this foolishness, let us to Salador.’

Arutha laughed and said, ‘Father, we have need of men like that in the West.’

Borric turned and said, ‘Oh? How so?’

As the horses moved forward, Arutha said, ‘To polish shields and boots.’

The Duke smiled and the Krondorians laughed. The western soldiers held those of the East in low regard. The East had been pacified long before the West had been opened to Kingdom expansion, and there was little trouble in the Eastern Realm requiring real skill in warcraft. The Prince of Krondor’s guards were battle-proved veterans, while those of Salador were considered by the guardsmen from the West to do their best soldiering on the parade ground.

Soon they saw signs that they were nearing the city: cultivated farmland, villages, roadside taverns, and wagons laden with trade goods. By sundown they could see the walls of distant Salador.

As they entered the city, a full company of Duke Kerus’s own household guards lined the streets to the palace. As in Krondor, there was no castle, for the need for a small, easily defensible keep had passed as the lands around became civilized.

Riding through the city, Pug realized how much of a frontier town Crydee was. In spite of Lord Borric’s political power, he was still Lord of a frontier province.

Along the streets, citizens stood gawking at the western Duke from the wild frontier of the Far Coast. Some cheered, for it seemed like a parade, but most stood quietly, disappointed that the Duke and his party looked like other men, rather than blood-drenched barbarians.

When they reached the courtyard of the palace, household servants ran to take their horses. A household guard showed the soldiers from Krondor to the soldiers’ commons, where they would rest before returning to the Prince’s city. Another, with a captain’s badge of rank on his tunic, led Borric’s party up the steps of the building.

Pug looked with wonder, for this palace was even larger than the Prince’s in Krondor. They walked through several outer rooms, then reached an inner courtyard. Here fountains and trees decorated a garden, beyond which stood the central palace. Pug realized that the building they had passed through was simply one of the buildings surrounding the Duke’s living quarters. He wondered what use Lord Kerus could possibly have for so many buildings and such a large staff.

They crossed the garden courtyard and mounted another series of steps toward a reception committee that stood in the door of the central palace. Once this building might have been a citadel, protecting the surrounding town, but Pug couldn’t bring himself to imagine it as it might have been ages ago, for numerous renovations over the years had transformed an ancient keep into a glittering thing of glass and marble.

Duke Kerus’s chamberlain, an old dried-up stick of a man with a quick eye, knew every noble worth noting – from the borders of Kesh in the south to Tyr-Sog in the north – by sight. His memory for faces and facts had often saved Duke Kerus from embarrassment. By the time Borric had made his way up the broad stairway from the courtyard, the chamberlain had provided Kerus with a few personal facts and a quick evaluation of the right amount of flattery required.

Duke Kerus took Borric’s hand. ‘Ah, Lord Borric, you do me great honor by this unexpected visit. If you had only sent word of your arrival, I would have prepared a more fitting welcome.’

They entered the antechamber of the palace, the Dukes in front. Borric said, ‘I am sorry to put you to any trouble, Lord Kerus, but I am afraid our mission is dependent on speed, and that the formal courtesies will have to be put aside. I bear messages for the King and must put to sea for Rillanon as soon as is possible.’

‘Of course, Lord Borric, but you will surely be able to stay for a short while, say a week or two?’

‘I regret not. I would put to sea tonight if I could.’

‘That is indeed sorry news. I so hoped that you could guest with us for a time.’

The party reached the Duke’s audience hall, where the chamberlain gave instructions to a company of household servants, who jumped to the task of readying rooms for the guests. Entering the vast hall, with its high vaulted ceiling, gigantic chandeliers, and great arched glass windows, Pug felt dwarfed. The room was the largest he had ever seen, greater than the hall of the Prince of Krondor.

A huge table was set with fruits and wine, and the travelers fell to with vigor. Pug sat down with little grace, his whole body one mass of aches. He was turning into a skilled horseman simply from long hours in the saddle, but that fact didn’t ease his tired muscles.

Lord Kerus pressed the Duke for the cause of his hurried journey, and between mouthfuls of fruit and drinks of wine, Borric filled him in on the events of the last three months. After he was done, Kerus looked distressed. ‘This is grave news indeed, Lord Borric. Things are unsettled in the Kingdom. I am sure the Prince has told you of some of the trouble that has occurred since last you came to the East.’

‘Yes, he did. But reluctantly and in only the most cursory manner. Remember, it has been thirteen years since I journeyed to the capital, at Rodric’s coronation when I came to renew my vassalage. He seemed a bright enough young man then, able enough to learn to govern. But from what I’ve heard in Krondor, there seems to have been a change.’

Kerus glanced around the room, then waved away his servants. Looking pointedly at Borric’s companions, he raised one eyebrow questioningly.

Lord Borric said, ‘These have my trust and will not betray a confidence.’

Kerus nodded. Loudly he said, ‘If you would like to stretch your legs before retiring, perhaps you’d care to see my garden?’

Borric frowned and was about to speak when Arutha put his hand upon his father’s arm, nodding agreement.

Borric said, ‘That sounds interesting. Despite the cold I could use a short walk.’

The Duke motioned for Kulgan, Meecham, and Gardan to remain, but Lord Kerus indicated Pug should join them. Borric looked surprised, but nodded agreement. They left through a small set of doors to the garden, and once outside, Kerus whispered, ‘It will look less suspicious if the boy comes with us. I can’t even trust my own servants anymore. The King has agents everywhere.’

Borric seemed infuriated. ‘The King has placed agents in your household?’

‘Yes, Lord Borric, there has been a great change in our King. I know Erland has not told you the entire story, but it is one you must know.’

The Duke and his companions watched Duke Kerus, who looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat as he glanced around the snow-covered garden. Between the light from the palace windows and the large moon above, the gardan was a winterscape of white and blue crystals, undisturbed by footprints.

Kerus pointed to a set of tracks in the snow and said, ‘I made those this afternoon when I came here to think about what I could safely tell you.’ He glanced around one more time, seeing if anyone could overhear the conversation, then continued. ‘When Rodric the Third died, everyone expected Erland would take the crown. After the official mourning, the Priests of Ishap called all the possible heirs forward to present their claims. You were expected to be one of them.’

Borric nodded. ‘I know the custom. I was late getting to the city. I would have renounced the claim in any event, so there was no importance in my absence.’

Kerus nodded. ‘History might have been different had you been here, Borric.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I risk my neck by saying this, but many, even those of us here in the East, would have urged you to take the crown.’

Borric’s expression showed he did not like hearing this, but Kerus pressed on. ‘By the time you got here, all the back-hallway politics had been done – with most lords content to give the crown to Erland – but it was a tense day and a half while the issue was in doubt. Why the elder Rodric didn’t name an heir I don’t know. But when the priests had chased away all the distant kin with no real claim, three men stood before them, Erland, young Rodric, and Guy du Bas-Tyra. The priests asked for their declarations, and each gave them in turn. Rodric and Erland both had solid claims, while Guy was there as a matter of form, as you would have been had you arrived in time.’

Arutha interjected dryly, ‘The time of mourning ensures no western Lord will be King.’

Borric threw a disapproving glance at his son, but Kerus said, ‘Not entirely. If there had been any doubt to the rights of succession, the priest would have held off the ceremony until your father arrived, Arutha. It has been done before.’

He looked at Borric and lowered his voice. ‘As I said, it was expected Erland would take the crown. But when the crown was presented to him, he refused, conceding the claim to Rodric. No one at that time knew of Erland’s ill health, so most lords judged the decision a generous affirmation of Rodric’s claim, as the only son of the King. With Guy du Bas-Tyra’s backing the boy, the assembled Congress of Lords ratified his succession. Then the real infighting began, until at last your late wife’s uncle was named as King’s Regent.’

Borric nodded. He remembered the battle over who would be named the then boy King’s Regent. His despised cousin Guy had nearly won the position, but Borric’s timely arrival and his support of Caldric of Rillanon, along with the support of Duke Brucal of Yabon and Prince Erland, had swung the majority of votes in the congress away from Guy.

‘For the next five years there was only an occasional border clash with Kesh. Things were quiet. Eight years ago’ – Kerus paused to glance around again – ‘Rodric embarked upon a program of public improvements, as he calls them, upgrading roads and bridges, building dams, and the like. At first they were of little burden, but the taxes have been increased yearly until now the peasants and freemen, even the minor nobles, are being bled white. The King has expanded his programs until now he is rebuilding the entire capital, to make it the greatest city known in the history of man, he says.

‘Two years ago a small delegation of nobles came to the King and asked him to abjure this excessive spending and ease the burden upon the people. The King flew into a rage, accused the nobles of being traitors, and had them summarily executed.’

Borric’s eyes widened. The snow under his boot crunched dryly as he turned suddenly. ‘We’ve heard nothing of this in the West!’

‘When Erland heard the news, he went immediately to the King and demanded reparation for the families of the nobles who were executed, and a lessening of the taxes. The King – or so it is rumored – was ready to seize his uncle, but was restrained by the few counselors he still trusted. They advised His Majesty that such an act, unheard of in the history of the Kingdom, would surely cause the western lords to rise up against the King.’

Borric’s expression darkened. ‘They were right. Had that boy hanged Erland, the Kingdom would have been irretrievably split.’

‘Since that time the Prince has not set foot in Rillanon, and the business of the Kingdom is handled by aides, for the two men will not speak to one another.’

The Duke looked skyward, and his voice became troubled. ‘This is much worse than I had heard. Erland told me of the taxes and his refusal to impose them in the West. He said that the King was agreed, for he understood the need of maintaining the garrisons of the North and West.’

Kerus slowly shook his head no. ‘The King agreed only when his aides painted pictures of goblin armies pouring down from the Northlands and plundering the cities of his Kingdom.’

‘Erland spoke of the strain between himself and his nephew, but even in light of the news I carry, said nothing about His Majesty’s actions.’

Kerus drew a deep breath and started walking once more. ‘Borric, I spend so much time with the sycophants of the King’s court, I forget that you of the West are given to plain speech.’ Kerus was silent a moment, then said, ‘Our King is not the man he once was. Sometimes he seems his old self, laughing and open, filled with grand plans for the Kingdom; other times he is … someone else, as if a dark spirit has taken possession of his heart.

‘Take care, Borric, for only Erland stands closer to the throne than yourself. Our King is well aware of that fact – even if you never think of it – and sees daggers and poison where none exists.’

Silence descended over the group, and Pug saw Borric look openly troubled. Kerus continued. ‘Rodric fears others covet his crown. That may be, but not those the King suspects. There are only four conDoin males besides the King, all of whom are men of honor.’ Borric inclined his head at the compliment. ‘But there are perhaps a dozen more who can claim ties to the throne, through the King’s mother and her people. All are eastern lords, and many would not flinch from the opportunity to press their claim to the throne before the Congress of Lords.’

Borric looked incensed. ‘You speak of treason.’

‘Treason in men’s hearts, if not in deeds … yet.’

‘Have things come to such a pass in the East, without us of the West knowing?’

Kerus nodded as they reached the far end of the garden. ‘Erland is an honorable man, and as such would keep unfounded rumors from his subjects, even yourself. As you have said, it is thirteen years since you last were at Rillanon. All warrants and missives from the King still pass through the Prince’s court. How would you know?

‘I fear it is only a matter of time before one or other of the King’s advisers positions himself over the fallen heads of those of us who hold to our beliefs that the nobility are wardens of the nation’s welfare.’

Borric said, ‘Then you risk much with your frank speech.’

Duke Kerus shrugged, indicating they should begin their return to the palace. ‘I have not always been a man to speak my mind, Lord Borric, but these are difficult times. Should anyone else have passed through, there would have been only polite conversation. You are unique, for with the Prince estranged from his nephew, you are the only man in the Kingdom with the strength and rank to possibly influence the King. I do not envy your weighty position, my friend.

‘When Rodric the Third was king, I was among the most powerful nobles in the East, but I might as well be a landless freebooter for all the influence I now hold in Rodric the Fourth’s court.’ Kerus paused. ‘Your black-hearted cousin Guy is now closest to the King, and the Duke of Bas-Tyra and I have little love between us. Our reasons for disliking one another are not as personal as yours. But as his star rises, mine falls even more.’

Kerus slapped his hands as the cold was beginning to bite. ‘But one bit of good news. Guy is wintering at his estate near Pointer’s Head, so the King is free of his plotting for the present.’ Kerus gripped Borric’s arm. ‘Use whatever influence you can muster to stem the King’s impulsive nature, Lord Borric, for with this invasion you bring word of, we need to stand united. A lengthy war would drain us of what little reserves we possess, and should the Kingdom be put to the test, I do not know whether it would endure.’

Borric said nothing, for even his worst fears since leaving the Prince were surpassed by Kerus’s remarks. The Duke of Salador said, ‘One last thing, Borric. With Erland having refused the crown thirteen years ago, and the rumors of his health failing, many of the Congress of Lords will be looking to you for guidance. Where you lead, many will follow, even some of us in the East.’

Borric said coldly, ‘Are you speaking of civil war?’

Kerus waved a hand, a pained expression crossing his face. His eyes seemed moist, as if near tears. ‘I am ever loyal to the crown, Borric, but if it comes to the right of things, the Kingdom must prevail. No one man is more important than the Kingdom.’

Borric said through clenched jaws, ‘The King is the Kingdom.’

Kerus said, ‘You would not be the man you are and say otherwise. I hope you are able to direct the King’s energies toward this trouble in the West, for should the Kingdom be imperiled, others will not hold to such lofty beliefs.’

Borric’s tone softened a little as they walked up the steps leading from the garden. ‘I know you mean well, Lord Kerus, and there is only love of the realm in your heart. Have faith and pray, for I will do whatever I can to ensure the survival of the Kingdom.’

Kerus stood before the door back into the palace. ‘I fear we will all be in deep water soon, my lord Borric. I pray that this invasion you speak of will not be the wave that drowns us. In whatever way I can aid you, I will.’ He turned toward the door, which was opened by a servant. Loudly he said, ‘I will bid you a good night, for I can see you’re all tired.’

The tension in the room was heavy as Borric, Arutha, and Pug reentered, and the Duke’s mood one of dark reflection. Servants came to show the guests to their rooms, and Pug followed a boy near his own age, dressed in the Duke’s livery. Pug looked over his shoulder as they left the hall to see the Duke and his son standing together, speaking quietly to Kulgan.

Pug was shown to a small but elegant room and, ignoring the richness of the bed covers, fell across them still fully clothed. The servant boy said, ‘Do you need aid in undressing, Squire?’

Pug sat up and looked at the boy with such a frank expression of wonder that the servant backed away a step. ‘If that will be all, Squire?’ he asked, obviously uncomfortable.

Pug just laughed. The boy stood uncertainly for an instant, then bowed and hurriedly left the room. Pug pulled off his clothing, wondering at the eastern nobles and servants who had to help them undress. He was too tired to fold his garments, simply letting them fall to the floor in a heap.

After blowing out the bedside candle, Pug lay for a time in the darkness, troubled by the evening’s discussion. He knew little of court intrigue, but knew that Kerus must have been deeply worried to speak as he did before strangers, in spite of Borric’s reputation as a man of high honor.

Pug thought of all the things that had taken place in the last months and knew that his dreams of the King answering the call of Crydee with banners flying were another boyish fancy shattered upon the hard rock of reality.