Читать книгу Magician’s End - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 13

HAL LUNGED.

Ty Hawkins beat aside the blade and riposted. Hal barely avoided the point of Ty’s sword with a frantic parry, but before he could get back on line, Ty was already back in place, ready for his attack.

‘Enough,’ said Tal Hawkins. To Hal he said, ‘You’re still over-reaching when you sense a weakness. Most times you’ll survive that mistake, because you’re as fast a blade as I’ve seen in my life. But Ty is not like most of the opponents you’ll face. And you must never assume the man facing you is not my son’s equal. Else you will find yourself losing the bout.’

‘Or face down on the ground bleeding,’ added Ty. He removed the basket helm he wore for practice and wiped away the perspiration. ‘But you came close.’

Hal removed his basket helm and also wiped his brow with the back of his gauntlet. He motioned to a servant who took his helm, then Ty’s.

Tal smiled at his son. ‘When you faced him in the Masters’ Court, I told you he was faster.’

Ty grinned back. ‘I’m going to have to practise faster, I guess.’

Hal laughed. ‘Thank you for the bout. I needed it.’

Tal put his hand on Hal’s shoulder. ‘I understand. Waiting for the other side to make the next move can be grinding on the nerves.’

Tal said, ‘I feel like a steam. You two need to clean up.’

Ty and Hal exchanged questioning looks, and Ty said, ‘He’s right. We both reek.’

Hal glanced around and decided he’d find out what this was about when they were alone. He motioned for the palace servant who had been assigned to him as he unbuttoned his heavily padded practice tunic. When it was off he handed it to the page and said, ‘Bring fresh clothes to the baths.’

Ty echoed the instruction to the lad who cared for his needs, and the two young nobles left the empty room Hal had commandeered for use as a practice hall. It was used primarily as an extra dining hall, hence it being long enough for good fencing practice. That meant it also had a back entrance that opened onto a long hall that led to stairs down to the next level, the main servants’ quarters and lesser guest quarters, a floor above the baths.

They moved quickly down the stairs into the very busy royal kitchens. A massive complex of rooms, it was centred around a core kitchen with two hearths for roasting meat or boiling soups, preparation space, and ovens. Even with no king in residence, there were hundreds of mouths to feed every day and with the current influx of eastern nobles attending the Congress when it ratified the next king – whenever that finally occurred – the demand for food and drink was constant.

Two auxiliary kitchens were also in operation, adding two more hearths and four working ovens, and a further two for back-up. The last two were used if a gala was underway or on Midsummer Day, the Festival of Banapis, when the gates of the palace were thrown open and the city feasted at the king’s table.

The two young nobles made their way through a busy press of cooks and helpers, with one particularly striking blonde helper catching Ty’s eye. He smiled and paused to speak with her, but Hal grabbed his arm. ‘Later.’

Ty threw Hal a dark look, but said nothing. They moved through the servants’ wing of the palace, heading back towards the main corridors that fed into the grand entryway, the hall that ran from the main doors of the palace – once the heart of an ancient keep – to the throne room. As Hal was reminded each time he needed to go from one side of the palace to the other, it was massive.

Originally a fortress above a village on one of several islands in what became known as the Sea of Kingdoms, the fortress had been replaced by several increasingly larger constructions, first of wood and mud, then stone, and finally the first castle had been erected on this site. Of the last castle, only vestigial walls remained, now part of the heart of the palace, surrounding on three sides the king’s reception area and throne room. The rear wall had been torn down to accommodate floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the bay.

Now the two young men cut across the entry hallway, which was as wide as most streets in the city, and reached the beginning of the labyrinth of apartments and offices that ended at the royal apartment complex on the opposite side from where they started. Rillanon might not have the tradition of opulence that was found in the older Kingdom of Roldem, but it seemed to be attempting to overtake it as best it could, Hal thought. He glanced through the massive doors that opened onto the reception courtyard and gave a view of the city beyond. In the afternoon sun, it was dazzling.

Rodric the Fourth, occasionally called the Mad King, though never in this palace, had been obsessed about turning Rillanon into the most splendid city in the world. To that end he had started a beautification project of unprecedented scale. Stone quarries in all corners of the Kingdom, and some in Queg and Kesh, were searched out for the finest marble and granite, which was shipped to the city in a steady stream to replace the ancient walls of the palaces, the royal complex, and the royal precinct. Over the years subsequent kings had continued the process, so that now merchants and commoners found stone-cutters and masons with royal commissions arriving one day to announce that old masonry, stone facing, and even ancient whitewashed daub, was being replaced by stone, courtesy of the king.

The result, centuries later, was that on a sunny day, when approached from the sea, Rillanon sparkled like a jewel, and as one came closer, the rainbow of colours playing over the façades of the city was stunning. From rose to pale blue, golden yellow to pale violet, the range of colours was breath-taking.

At times of conflict the cost to the royal treasury might be debated, and the impact on taxes was undoubted, but no one argued about the results. Rillanon was the Jewel of the Sea of Kingdoms.

Hal and Ty reached a long descending staircase, lit by lamps in sconces, and reached a basement two floors below the main hall. One of the pleasures of the palace was that one of Hal’s ancestors had installed a Quegan-style bath in a previously dank and little-used sub-basement. Unlike the Quegans who had evolved bathing into a pastime, Kesh’s baths were more a way to mitigate the scorching summer heat near cool pools and fountains, dipping in and out all day, so that cleanliness was rarely an issue for the scantily clad Truebloods of the City of Kesh. They could drop their light robes or girdles, slip into cool water, and wait for the evening’s cooler air.

The Quegans, on the other hand, had come to colonize the Bitter Sea and, as a result, had a much more varied climate during the year. They had developed a three-room bath process, later up to five rooms, for steam and dry heat.

Hal had discovered the almost-sybaritic pleasures of bathing since coming to Rillanon. He and Ty entered the first room, the cold bath, and handed their clothes to attendants. The dry stone floors told them they were the first nobles of the day to partake of the bath’s pleasures.

The two young men slipped into the bath, descending two broad steps of marble, until they were able to kneel and cover their shoulders with the bracing cold water. Hal dunked his head and when he came up said, ‘If I were king, my friend, I’d be here every day.’

Ty ducked his head and emerged, wiping his face. He grinned. ‘These days the desire to be king makes you a target, Hal.’

‘True,’ said Hal, turning and swimming to the far end of the pool, Ty a half stroke behind him.

They reached the end, pulled themselves up onto the stone deck and found servants holding towels. The softness of the king’s woven towels never ceased to amaze Hal. He had grown up in a castle where coarse linen was the fabric of choice for drying everything, from kitchen utensils to the duke’s sons.

They walked through a short hall that brought them into the warm room. A shallow pool of water occupied all but a two-foot-wide ledge around the perimeter and was filled with warm water. A series of low wooden stools were arrayed so as many as a dozen bathers could be attended at any time. With only two attendants, Hal knew that someone on the palace chancellor’s staff always knew how many residents were approaching the baths.

They sat on stools while the two attendants, boys who appeared to be approaching manhood, set about soaping up the two young nobles. As Hal endured having someone else soap his hair – something he hadn’t had done by anyone since his mother stopped doing it when he was a boy – Ty laughed. ‘In Queg, and the City of Kesh, this task would likely befall a couple of lovely young girls.’

Hal laughed at that. ‘If that were true here, I’d never get you to the hot room.’

‘A time and place for everything, I suppose. You natives of the Isles tend to be a bit proper. You’re almost as conservative as the folk in Roldem.’

‘You have Isles parents,’ observed Hal.

‘True, but I was Olasko-born and spent most of my youth there and in Roldem. I also hold titles from both cities.’

When they were completely covered in soap, they stood for the servants to pour buckets of warm water over their heads. Dripping wet, they made their way to the next room, where a very deep, hot pool waited. They slipped in and Hal could barely avoid gasping from the sudden increase in heat.

After a moment he could feel his muscles loosen from the vigorous sword play. ‘I could linger here for an hour or two,’ he said.

Laughing, Ty pulled himself up. ‘Maybe later, but Father is waiting.’

Hal groaned, but followed his friend to where more servants waited with large fluffy towels, which the two young men wrapped around their waists. They moved through a heavily curtained entrance that led to a short hall with two doors, one on either hand.

‘Wet or dry?’ asked Hal.

‘Father will be in dry. That way he won’t have to bathe off the sweat.’

They entered the dry chamber, a spacious room with cedar-wood walls and a large bench. A bin of heated rocks had been placed against one wall. Hot coals could be added from a slot in the wall beneath, so the attendant didn’t have to enter the room.

Two men waited on the bench, both wearing towels. Next to Tal Hawkins sat Jim Dasher, which surprised Hal not at all. The two older men sat on the higher of the two long benches across the back of the room. Jim held up his hand for silence, then indicated the bench at his feet. Both younger men sat.

A sudden eruption of steam from the steam box filled the room with moisture and a sibilant hiss. Jim said, ‘One of my men has ensured we are not overheard.’

Hal and Ty exchanged quick glances, then Hal said, ‘News?’

‘Not of the good sort,’ answered Jim Dasher. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and said, ‘You’ve been marked for death.’ He looked at Hal.

Hal was silent for a moment, then said, ‘You said that might happen.’

‘And so it has,’ answered Jim.

‘Do we know who wants me dead?’

Jim smiled. ‘A lot of people want you dead, Hal, we just don’t know who is paying for it.’ He sighed. ‘I got word early this morning off a ship from Roldem, sent by a good friend.’ Hal knew he meant the Lady Franciezka Sorboz, a woman with much the same position in Roldem as Jim Dasher held in the Isles. ‘We’d a report from the Conclave a while back that the Nighthawks had come to terms with them, basically safe passage in exchange for … getting out of the assassination trade, more or less. At least they were no longer lending support to the demon-worshippers who had been plaguing us for a very long time. As a result, those seeking a blade for hire or a poisoner have had fewer recourses; in short, it’s a seller’s market.

‘That being the case, both my friend in Roldem and I have had certain people watched, those able to broker less reputable contracts and arrangements, some who are not adverse to setting up such deals then selling information about those deals to a third party.’

‘You,’ said Ty.

‘Or … your friend in Roldem,’ added Hal.

Jim nodded.

Hal asked, ‘What do I do?’

Jim sat back. ‘For the moment, nothing. I’ve some good men out looking for a pair of fellows who’ve sailed up from Kesh to Roldem, then on to Rillanon. Given the recent unpleasantness between Kesh and the Kingdom, anyone coming straight from there to here would be examined carefully by several hundred soldiers surrounding the docks.’

‘A pair of sailors off a ship …?’ Jim shrugged.

‘Do you have a description?’ asked Tal, reaching over and taking a ladle of water from a bucket and pouring it over his head.

‘I doubt they look the same any more,’ said Jim. ‘I’ve got on a ship looking like a nobleman, and got off it looking like something that crawled out of the bilge. For a target in the palace,’ he pointed at Hal, ‘even if he is only a distant royal, that means a great deal of gold and only the best would accept the contract.’ Jim took the ladle from Tal, refilled it from the nearby bucket, and poured it over his own head. ‘I’ve never been one for this dry heat.’

Tal smiled. ‘My people in the mountains had sweat lodges when I was a boy. You get used to it. After a fashion, you even enjoy it.’

‘What I’ll enjoy is getting out of it,’ said Jim Dasher, rising. To Hal he said, ‘Pack a bag and leave it in your rooms, by the doors that so my servants can find it quickly. Be ready to leave the moment I give word. Until then, stay in the palace.’

Tal looked at his son and said, ‘Pack as well. You’re going with him.’ Then he rose and departed.

Ty looked at Hal and said, ‘I guess I’m going with you.’

‘Apparently.’

Rising, Hal said, ‘Let’s go gather our things.’

‘And then we wait,’ finished Ty.

‘Boredom beckons,’ said Hal.

Ty laughed. ‘In a palace full of serving women who would love to make close acquaintance with a duke?’

Hal sighed and said nothing.

As they walked to the dressing room where fresh clothing awaited them, Ty said, ‘Stephané.’

Hal again said nothing.

‘Sorry,’ said Ty.

‘It’s … something I need to get used to.’

This time, Ty said nothing. He understood what a beauty Stephané was, and how resilient she had proven herself when Hal and he had helped her escape Roldem. But Tyrone Hawkins had never found a woman to hold his attention longer than a few weeks, perhaps a month at most. His childhood had been less than instructive about how women and men should be together, he thought occasionally. He knew the facts of his childhood, that his father was some unknown Olaskan soldier, though Talwin Hawkins treated him as his own, and he loved him as his father, but there was a sadness about his mother, one that never seemed to completely pass. He knew she loved her husband, but there was something missing. Ironically, he felt closer to his adopted father than his natural mother, though she loved him dearly.

He pushed aside thoughts that led to doubt and concern, and turned his mind to something much more enjoyable: that pretty blonde wench in the kitchen who had smiled at him as he had passed through. As they reached the changing room, he decided the first thing he’d do was to find out her name.

A knock at the door awoke Hal. It was still dark. After the many cautions he’d received from Jim Dasher, he had his sword in hand when he opened the door. Opening it slightly, he saw a page waiting. ‘Lord James asks you to attend him, my lord.’

Hal nodded and said, ‘Wait here.’

It took him only a few minutes to dress and, again he heard the echoing cautions in his head, he wore sturdy clothing suitable for travel rather than court finery. He followed the page and was surprised that even in the pre-dawn darkness, the palace at Rillanon was busy.

They reached Duke James’s quarters and found Jim Dasher, Ty, and a court chirurgeon attending the duke. Hal hurried to the old duke’s bedside. ‘Are you ill, my lord?’

Waving away the hovering chirurgeon, Duke James coughed and said, ‘Just a bit of an ague. It’ll pass.’

Hal glanced at Jim, who shook his head slightly.

Feeling alarm rising, Hal asked, ‘How may I serve, my lord?’

Old Duke James said, ‘That reprobate grandson of mine says someone’s come to kill you. He’s inclined to let you sit here as bait and capture the murderous dogs who are sniffing around. I, on the other hand, think it best to get you somewhere else. They can’t kill you if they don’t know where you are. So, get going and stay alive.’

Hal was caught between concern and amusement, but managed to keep a serious expression as he said, ‘Yes, my lord.’

Jim nodded toward the bed. ‘My grandfather is holding this kingdom together with strength of will. There are nobles who’ve stood silently, not allying with Montgomery or Chadwick, or are thinking of throwing their weight behind Oliver.’ Jim closed his eyes as if suffering a headache, then said, ‘We take these trials as they come. Now I need to get you two off this island,’ he said to Hal and Ty. ‘Then I must have a very important talk with Montgomery.’

Hal and Ty listened, and said nothing.

‘If in a few days you hear my grandfather is no longer among the living and that Montgomery is now Duke of Rillanon, assume I’m dead.’

Hal’s face showed alarm. He glanced at the old duke, who nodded.

‘Your very distant cousin’s claim to the throne benefits him if he’s Duke of Rillanon, the man in theory I would be paying fealty to, and who would be in a far better position to allocate favours before a vote in the Congress.’

‘And have control over your agents,’ added Ty with a tone of concern that surprised Hal.

Jim nodded. ‘So I must have a chat with dear old Monty and insist he let me assume the office of duke so I can maintain the balance between all the raving lunatics around us who think being king is a wonderful idea!’ His voice rose at the last, his anger starting to manifest itself.

‘Can you convince him?’ asked Hal.

Jim said, ‘A combination of promises and threats … perhaps. Our Montgomery is a man of low tastes at times and has made some ill-advised choices. His wife is a simple woman, but her father is the Duke of Bas-Tyra, who would not be pleased to know that his son-in-law is unfaithful on a regular basis, preferring the company of young girls – very young girls – to his wife.’

Hal said nothing, but his face bore an expression of distaste.

‘Without Bas-Tyra, Montgomery’s claim will fall short. Bas-Tyra influences the votes of every noble from here to the Eastern Kingdoms. A great deal of the plotting and dealing around his claim presumes that he has his father-in-law’s backing.’

It was Ty who said, ‘Still, rumours against the possibility of his daughter being Queen of the Isles?’

It was the old duke who said, ‘Bas-Tyra is a cautious man, but not without ambition. Not for himself, but as young Ty observes, perhaps for his daughter. Bas-Tyra has not openly supported anyone, but in the end he’ll do the right thing for the Crown. Now, Montgomery,’ he added, looking less than happy, ‘he’s another thing. Not a driven man, like some, but one capable of being led.’ To Jim he said, ‘When it comes to claiming the Crown, you must convince him not to stand before the Priest of Ishap.’

‘I’ll convince him, or kill him,’ said Jim.

Hal was speechless.

‘Go on, now,’ said Duke James from his bed. ‘Leave an old man to his rest and go cause some havoc for our enemies.’

Jim walked out of the old man’s room with Ty and Hal. Once outside, Hal asked, ‘How is he, really?’

‘Not good,’ said Jim, his tone matter-of-fact, but behind it lingered a hint of sadness. ‘I’ve sent for a healing priest from the Temple of Sung, but there are only so many times you can fend off death. My grandfather is approaching ninety, though he looks a man twenty years younger when he’s in his armour bellowing at the palace guard.’ He glanced back towards the door of the duke’s private chambers.

‘Now,’ said Jim. ‘I’ve had your travel bags collected from your rooms, Hal. From here you’re to go straight to the stables where two horses are waiting. They are sturdy, but unremarkable, as is the tack. In short, once you’re out of the gate, you’re swords-for-hire, or young adventurers, or whatever brand of feckless gadabouts you care to be.

‘Half the ships in the Sea of Kingdoms are arrayed to the west of us, a blockade no captain could run. Every ship in and out is being boarded and inspected by someone, either captains loyal to the Crown, Montgomery’s faction, or Chadwick’s. But if you ride north for a few days, on the west coast you’ll find a fishing village called Kempton. Ask in the tavern for a man named Moss. He’ll show you to a boat you two can certainly handle. It’ll look shoddy, but in fact it’s in excellent condition, and with some luck you can hug the coast travelling north-east, and when you see any break, you can make a run for Bas-Tyra. Once there, find the Inn of the Black Ram, ask for Anton, and he’ll set you on your way to Edward.’ He looked from face to face. ‘Any questions?’

When there weren’t, he said, ‘Go now, and may the gods watch over you.’ Jim walked away.

‘And your grandfather,’ said Hal after him.

Hal turned and left, Ty a half-step behind. As they moved toward the stables, Ty said, ‘I do not envy that man.’

‘I never have,’ said Hal, as they turned a corner. ‘I admire him, for he has thankless and bloody work to do, but I would never wish his burdens on anyone.’

They hurried down a flight of stairs that led to a door opening on the old marshalling yard, and across it lay the royal stables. They were halfway across the dark yard when Hal realized there were no lanterns lit in the stable. Then he heard a nervous nicker from a horse inside.

His sword was out of its scabbard as he heard the faint click. He leaped to the right and slammed into Ty, knocking him over, and came up as a second crossbow bolt sped through the space just occupied by the young noble from Olasko.

Ty was a step behind Hal as they charged through the large open door into the royal stable. Without a word, both men dived headfirst, striking the ground in a tuck, and rolling to their feet, swords at the ready. The sound of crossbows being fired over their heads demonstrated the wisdom of their choice, and a horse cried out in pain and started kicking out at its stall as an errant bolt struck it.

Hal turned to his left and Ty to his right, protecting one another’s backs. They paused only for a moment before moving towards opposite ends of the large stable.

Hal saw a dark shape moving in a crouch while all around horses neighed and whinnied in panic. Hal knew that he had seconds before the assassin reloaded his crossbow or fled into the night. He charged.

The man rose up holding a small, one-handed bow which fired a dart rather than a bolt. Hal slashed with his sword, knocking the weapon aside, and punched the assassin hard in the face with his left hand. The man staggered back and Hal lunged, nicking him in the left side. Suddenly the man had two dirks out, and executed a fast feint followed by a slash towards Hal’s throat. Hal barely fell back enough to avoid losing the fight there and then.

He ducked and a dirk cut through air where he had been standing a moment before. Then he jabbed with his sword and felt the tip strike the man’s already injured side. The assassin gasped in pain and both men were suddenly enmeshed in a deadly duel.

Hal stepped back, his sword’s point aimed at his opponent, who crouched and took his measure. It was clear that the assassin had expected Hal to be dead and himself to be safely away by now. Hal realized he had two opportunities to emerge victorious: either kill the assassin and hope Ty did the same with his opponent, or keep him occupied until relief arrived. It was the middle of the night, but someone from the nearby servants’ quarters would surely hear the struggle, or notice the absence of the certainly now-dead lackeys who had failed to return from readying the horses for him and Ty.

The assassin also realized that and knew his only hope of survival was to finish this quickly. He suddenly threw one of his dirks.

Hal managed to beat the blade aside and stumbled backwards, trying to get his blade around from his blocking move to a position at which he could employ the point.

The assassin didn’t give him the chance, but lowered his shoulder and charged. Hal brought his sword-hand back hard, striking the rushing thug on the side of the head with his pommel. That staggered him and Hal felt an off-target blow slide across his side, as the dirk missed his torso. He slammed the man over the head again, gripped the back of his shirt with his left hand and fell onto the extended right arm. The sound of bone cracking accompanied by a gasp of pain was heard as he struck the ground, his full weight on the assassin’s arm. Hal drew back his sword hilt and slammed the man on the head for a third time, rendering him senseless.

Hal rolled up onto his feet, his sword pointed at the now-motionless assassin, as shouts of enquiry came from the servants’ quarters.

Hal glanced into the gloom of the stable in time to see Ty approaching with his sword at the ready. ‘Yours?’ he asked.

‘Dead,’ said Ty. ‘This one?’

‘Not yet.’

Servants with lanterns arrived, followed moments later by palace guards. Hal looked at his attacker in the lantern light. He was an unremarkable man, slight of build and wearing simple garb, a city man who would easily blend into a crowd.

‘He doesn’t look like an assassin,’ said Hal.

‘Neither did mine,’ said Ty. ‘But they almost did the job.’ He quickly knelt and opened the man’s mouth, motioning for a torch to be brought close to his face. ‘No false teeth,’ he said. ‘Not fanatics like the Nighthawks, then.’ He sheathed his sword as he stood, and motioned for the guards to pick up the unconscious killer.

Hal said, ‘Take him to a cell and notify Jim Dasher.’

The guards lifted him up. A servant cried suddenly, ‘Oh, dear! Poor Lonny and Mark are dead!’

‘See to them,’ said Hal to another pair of guards.

‘How did you know?’ asked Ty.

‘Know what?’

‘They were there. To knock me down?’

‘I heard a click when he set the trigger on his crossbow.’

Ty was silent for a moment, then laughed. ‘So, for want of some lubricant, we’re alive.’

Hal chuckled. ‘I almost got myself killed forgetting we’re not duelling.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Ty. ‘It can be a bad habit, trying to fence while your opponent is brawling. Swords have edges, too.’

Patting his sword, Hal said, ‘And pommels. They make a fair bludgeon.’

‘What now?’

Looking around at the building crowd, Hal said, ‘As much as I would like to tarry and find out exactly who is trying to kill me, I think it best if we follow orders. We ride.’

‘Wise choice. If Jim finds out who is behind this, he’ll send word. And if another attempt is made, it’s best for you to be somewhere else.’

They quickly finished the saddling done by the two dead lackeys and within ten minutes were riding out the postern gate of the palace, vanishing into the night.

Three days later they reached the village of Kempton and found the promised boat. They waited until the evening tide, then slipped out after dark, sailing along the coast on a north-easterly tack.

The third morning after heading up the coast, Ty scrambled up the mast and shouted, ‘Nothing in sight!’

Within moments, sails were raised and Hal pulled them around to catch a favourable wind blowing north. By rough reckoning, they should hit the southern shore of the Kingdom mainland close to Bas-Tyra. With luck, when they caught sight of land, they’d be pointed right at that harbour.

Twice they caught sight of sails and turned and ran, and for two days there was no sign of pursuit. During the war they had run afoul of Ceresian pirates, acting as privateers but in fact raiding the coast. But this trip passed uneventfully.

Three days after leaving the coast they saw a brown smudge on the northern horizon that promised land. Two hours later, the coast was clearly outlined against the sky. By midday they could make out features and judge roughly where they were. Hall pulled the tiller over and corrected his course, and soon coastal details could clearly be seen.

Three distant white spots indicated sails, but Hal made straight for them, because he knew exactly where they were. An hour before sundown, they could see a huge city, one to rival Rillanon and Roldem in size if not in majesty. The harbour mouth was flanked by two massive towers, but beyond that dozens of ships could be seen sailing among many more at anchor.

Hal looked at Ty and smiled. ‘Bas-Tyra.’

The Black Ram was like many other taverns in the cities along the coasts of the Sea of Kingdoms: crowded, dangerous, noisy and packed. It was filled with sailors avoiding duty aboard ships stuck in harbour, with mercenaries looking for employment either as auxiliaries to the city’s garrison or as guards for merchants, with prostitutes, gamblers, and the assorted riff-raff attracted to an approaching war. Two young men pushed their way through the press of bodies over the occasional objections of people who disliked being jostled, though once they saw two young men with serious expressions and fine swords on their hips, they soon gave way.

Reaching the bar, Ty signalled to the closest of three barmen, and when he approached said, ‘I’m looking for Anton.’

With a jerk of his head, the barman indicated a door off to the left. Pushing through complaining customers, Ty and Hal reached the door, masked by an ancient curtain. Pushing it aside, they found themselves looking down a dimly lit hall at the far end of which stood the largest man either of them had ever seen.

They were forced to look up to address him. As both Ty and Hal were over six feet in height, they judged this human mountain to be approaching seven feet tall. From the size of his shoulders and arms, he probably weighed close to three hundred pounds. His skin was coffee-coloured, so much of his ancestry would be Keshian, but his eyes were a vivid blue. His shaved head reflected the light from the one open lamp that hung halfway down the hall.

‘What?’ he asked in a voice so deep it almost rumbled.

‘We seek Anton,’ said Hal.

‘Who sent you?’ asked the human barricade.

Ty paused for a moment, then said, ‘Jim Dasher.’

The man nodded once, turned his back and opened the door. He leaned in and said, ‘Someone looking for you. From Jim Dasher.’

Somehow the monstrous guard stepped aside enough to allow Ty and Hal to enter the room. Inside they found a tiny desk behind which sat a slender man with the oddest hair Hal had ever seen. He was balding, but had a fringe of dark hair which he had allowed to grow, and which he swept up and forward to cover his pate. He used some manner of pomade or oil to keep it in place, so it looked as if he was wearing a strange, shiny helm. His clothing was ostentatious and he wore earrings and several necklaces. Only his thumbs lacked rings.

‘Jim Dasher?’ he said, rising. He moved around the desk, but did not offer his hand or bow. He just appraised the two young men silently.

Hal started to speak, but Anton cut him off with an upraised hand. ‘I do not need to know many things, and do not want to know almost as many. I’m in Jim Dasher’s debt, so tell me what you need and I’ll do what I can to help.’

‘We need to reach Prince Edward,’ said Hal.

Anton winced. ‘That tells me too much, but you had no choice. That way could prove dangerous.’ He fell silent for a moment, tapping his cheek. ‘I can get you safely to Salador. From there you must find your own way.’

‘Salador would be a good start,’ said Hal.

Anton went to his desk and removed a parchment, ink and quill, and began to write. ‘Our lord, the Duke of Bas-Tyra, has remained neutral in the contestation for the Crown. He’s a wise man, our duke, who will wait until he’s certain which way the wind is blowing, at which point he will declare for the winner.’

‘A practical man,’ observed Ty.

Anton shot him a dark look. ‘Now,’ he said, holding out the parchment. ‘Take this to the servants’ entrance to the palace. Ask for a man named Jaston, no one else. Someone at the gate may argue they’ll take the message, but do not permit it. Just keep insisting and eventually they’ll send for him.

‘You do not need to know who Jaston is, so do not ask. You do not need to know why he will do me this favour, so do not ask. More importantly, he doesn’t need to know anything more about you than I’ve written down here, so do not answer any of his questions, no matter how affable the conversation may be. Do you understand?’

Both Hal and Ty nodded.

‘Do what he says, however, and he will get you to Salador.’

Hal took the parchment and turned without remark, Ty a step behind.

The massive guard stepped aside as much as he was able, allowing the two travellers to squeeze through the door.

Within half an hour, Ty and Hal were at the servants’ gate to the palace arguing with a guard about summoning Jaston. Eventually, as predicted by Anton, Jaston was sent for and appeared.

By his dress, he was a man of some rank within the ducal household. He read Anton’s letter and then looked at Hal and Ty. ‘Come,’ he said brusquely, and led them through the gates.

They walked around the massive castle’s side yard, past some flowering gardens, and to the rear marshalling yard. There a company of horsemen was gathering. ‘Captain Reddic!’ Jaston shouted.

An officer of horse, dressed in the black tabard of Bas-Tyra, with a golden eagle spreading wings embroidered over his heart, turned and replied, ‘Sir?’

Jaston indicated Hal and Ty. ‘These two gentlemen are to accompany you to Salador.’

‘Sir?’ said the captain again, this time his tone curious.

‘They are men of rank, but their identities will remain unknown to you. Should there be cause to speak to them, keep it brief and to the point. Ask no questions. Should anyone question you, they are mercenary swords attached to your patrol – nothing more, nothing less.’

The man named Jaston turned and walked away without waiting for an answer. The captain didn’t look pleased with his instructions, but after a moment turned to Hal and Ty. ‘Ask the lackeys inside to fetch out two sturdy mounts. We’ve a very long ride ahead and we’ll be weeks on the trail. We leave in a half-hour.’

They walked towards the stables and when they couldn’t be overheard, Ty said, ‘I never understood just how far Jim Dasher’s reach went.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Hal.

In less than half an hour, a patrol of thirty cavalry with two mercenaries tagging along left the palace of Bas-Tyra and wended its way through the second busiest city in the Kingdom, moving slowly towards the western gate and the road to Salador.