Читать книгу Magician’s End - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 9

SHIPS DOTTED THE HORIZON.

Hal stood on the battlements of the royal palace at Rillanon, at its heart still a castle, but one which had not seen conflict for centuries. This portion of the ancient rampart, a large, flat rooftop of thick stonework, had once supported war engines defending outer walls long torn down to expand the royal demesne. A fortification that once hosted massive ballista had been converted to a garden, one lush with flowers as summer faded. The stone merlons had been replaced in centuries past with a stone balustrade cleverly carved to be both strong and graceful. Yet the footing beneath Hal’s boots felt as solid as the palisades of Crydee Castle had. And given the forces gathering below, he wished those long-gone outer walls were once again in place here in Rillanon, with ballistas and trebuchets instead of fading blooms.

He let out a slow breath. It was hard to find ease, despite the rigours of the past few weeks fading into memory as troubles associated with fleeing Roldem with the Princess Stephané had been replaced by troubles on a far grander scale. His personal distress over knowing he would never have the woman he loved had been made to seem a petty concern in the face of the threats now confronting his nation.

Yet he was constantly haunted by her memory, along with his friend Ty Hawkins, who had spirited her away from her home and brought her safely to the Kingdom. All of it seemed unreal at times, yet other times it was vivid. Every detail of Stephané was etched in his memory: the grace of her movement, the laughter as she found delight in small things, her worry for those she loved. He struggled to let go, even though he knew that to wallow was to prolong the pain.

He glanced around, and saw his brother Martin was looking his way. Martin inclined his head: a wordless gesture asking if he was all right. Hal returned a slight nod. Their brother Brendan, standing beside Martin, had his attention fixed on the ships in the harbour. Hal turned his attention that way as well. Nearby stood Lord James, Duke of Rillanon, and his grandson Jim Dasher.

Rillanon’s harbour was south of the palace, at the bottom of the hill. Sails had been appearing on all quarters of the horizon for days: hundreds of ships from every port on the Sea of Kingdoms. This ancient island nation had seen fleets such as these, but not in living memory. War had not touched this soil, the ancient home of Hal’s ancestors, in centuries. The prime motive for conquering the surrounding islands and nearby coasts for Hal’s forebears had been fatigue from continuous clashes with minor warlords and raiding clans across these waters. The constant need to defend the home island had turned a relatively peaceful community of fishermen and farmers into the most effective army north of the Empire, creating the second largest nation on this world.

It had been a triumph of the Kingdom of the Isles that this city and the king’s palace could do without the massive defence works, as the king’s navy for centuries had become ‘the wall around Rillanon’. Now that navy was divided. No man could look out upon that sea, and the many sails upon it, and judge just who they were defending: Edward, Oliver, or some other faction. That irony was not lost on Hal.

He couldn’t find ease because he could smell war coming on the afternoon breeze. And unlike the struggle against Kesh, this was the war to be most feared by any noble in the Kingdom: a civil war.

Hal knew the Kingdom’s history well. A determined ruler named Dannis had united all the clans of the island, and his descendant, Delong, had been the first conDoin ruler to establish a foothold on the mainland. After the sack of Bas-Tyra – a rival village that had risen in power to challenge Rillanon – he had not returned to the island stronghold, but had forced the ruler of that city state to swear fealty to Rillanon in exchange for his life and the lives of his followers, creating the Kingdom of the Isle’s first mainland duchy and elevating Bas-Tyra to the rank of second most important city after the capital. That first victory had led to many others, as Rillanon and Bas-Tyra’s combined might had overwhelmed Salador and the southern coast. Only the Eastern Kingdoms, with the help of Roldem, had stemmed that early Kingdom expansion.

Now the ruler of that city stood to Hal’s right asking, ‘What is Oliver thinking?’ Duke James of Rillanon looked at both Hal and the man on Hal’s left, James’s grandson, Jim Dasher Jamison, head of the Crown’s Intelligence Service.

‘He’s not thinking,’ Jim said sourly. ‘Or he’s thinking that some here might object to a foreign-born king, so he’s brought along a few friends.’

Hal glanced at his two brothers, and Martin nodded. Hal knew what Martin also understood: somehow the three conDoin brothers were about to take a part in all this, but what that part would be had not yet been revealed.

The ‘friends’ were the bulk of the army of Maladon and Simrick, bolstered by a substantial number of levies and mercenary companies which were now encamped, as they had been for a month, beyond the walls of the city. The old military grounds lay to the east of the harbour, having once been the staging area for Rillanon’s conquering armies waiting to board ship. Not in a generation had they been used as originally intended, having been converted to a shanty town and impromptu market. Oliver had cleared the area, displacing many of the poor and working poor, and had camped his army there.

Many polite messages had been exchanged between those inside and outside the walls, and the longest interregnum in the history of the Kingdom was underway. By tradition, the Congress of Lords met for the election of the new king three days after the dead king’s internment in the vault of his ancestors.

But for the first time in history, more than a month had passed since the death of a king without the Congress of Lords being formally convened. One excuse or another had been provided, and each faction negotiated furiously behind closed doors, over quiet suppers, or in dark back alleys, but everyone knew exactly what was really taking place: every claimant to the throne was desperately seeking a resolution to the succession without losing their position and without plunging the nation into a civil war it could ill afford. And for the time being, those two goals seemed mutually exclusive.

The senior priests of the Temple of Ishap in Rillanon, the most venerated order in the world, would formally conduct the ceremony, but only when summoned by the Congress to do so. Since the ascension of Lyam the First, no dispute had existed in the line of kings from Lyam to his nephew Borric, to Patrick, then Gregory.

Now, no heir had been proclaimed, and no clear ties by blood were forthcoming. Politics had seized the nation by the throat. Three factions had asserted themselves, all with roughly equal and valid claims, none of which was seen as compelling by those gathered on the balcony this afternoon.

The army gathered outside the city was nominally an ‘honour guard’ for Prince Oliver of the Grand Duchies of Maladon and Simrick. In terms of straight bloodline succession to the late king, he was perhaps the most entitled, his mother being the king’s sister, but she had wed the Prince of Simrick and he had been raised in the twin duchies. To most people in the Isles, that made him a foreigner.

The two other factions were the supporters of Chadwick, Duke of Ran, and those of Montgomery, Earl of Rillanon, Lord James’s first counsellor, and Hal’s distant cousin. Neither could counter Oliver’s claim, but together they could confound the Prince of Simrick’s attempt to take the throne.

Lord James sighed, looking his eighty-plus years of age. ‘If the Keshians decide to abandon the truce and sail into any port in the Kingdom save this one, they’d have nothing but a few fishing smacks and rowing boats to oppose them.’

Hal was forced to appreciate the old duke’s observation. Every warship in the royal fleet on the Kingdom Sea was in the harbour, most of the heavy ships armed with ballistae and small catapults had their weapons trained on Oliver’s army, while beyond was every city’s ducal squadron, and other ships flying the banners of noble houses. Many of those ships were contracted, ‘privateers’ barely more than pirates paid by various coastal nobles to create small zones of control in their coastal waters to extort fees from passing merchantmen. That practice over the years had created the need for the deep-water ships now employed by the navies of the Kingdom and Roldem, as well as the major trading houses in both nations. No matter how often the Crown had warned the local nobles this practice was frowned upon, they had persisted.

Hal said, ‘I trust Oliver brought a lot of gold with him, for he will be paying a great deal for those cut-throats he’s hired to leave without sacking the city for booty.’

Lord James grunted in agreement. ‘If Edward’s bunch were here …’ He let the thought go unfinished. Either Oliver would leave with his tail between his legs, or he would be forced to attack with the Prince of Krondor in residence in Rillanon. Had Edward been in the city, the chance of his being elected king as a compromise became too high for Oliver to wait. Edward had no children of his own, nor was he likely to, but he could name the heir and, after things had calmed down, abdicate, and Oliver knew he had no chance of the crown if Edward named anyone else as heir.

Edward and the western lords had ridden from Krondor for the Congress, but once word reached them of Oliver’s landing on the Isle of Rillanon, they had halted, and were now encamped between Malac’s Cross and Salador. Martin and Brendan had elected to leave Prince Edward’s army and continue to the capital, to learn Hal’s fate. Hal was grateful to have them at hand.

Martin and Brendan were housed in an inn not too far from the palace and had arrived in time for Lord James’s calling his grandson and the brothers to this garden. Silence fell as the old duke was lost in thought as he studied the arriving warships, and Hal recalled his reunion with his brothers.

After commiserating for the first time together over their father’s death, talk between the brothers had turned to their various adventures, from Martin’s defence of Crydee and Ylith, and Hal’s escorting the princess to safety. The reunion had been short and bittersweet, for as relieved as Hal was to discover that their mother was alive and well, being cared for by the elves in Elvandar, the narration of their father’s death was hard for him and despite his best efforts, he found tears running down his cheeks by the time Brendan finished. Martin had heard the story before, but his eyes shone with wetness as he watched his brother endure the tale. Hal embraced his brothers for a long moment, then promised that when they could, the three of them would gather for a quiet meal to honour their father, if fate permitted, in their family’s hall in Crydee.

Hal then suffered through an awkward few moments as Martin stood before him professing his love for Lady Bethany of Carse, who returned his affection, and got halfway through a painful pleading of his cause, coupled with a declaration that he was willing to sacrifice it all for the good of the duchy and the kingdom, should Hal insist on marrying Bethany. Hal finally let his love for his younger brother win over the temptation to torment him, and said that he had no problem with Martin marrying Bethany should her father, Earl Robert of Carse, not object. The relief on Martin’s face was almost comic.

Hal did not tell Martin that his heart belonged to another anyway, a woman whom he could never aspire to wed. He just wryly observed that Martin and Bethany were a perfect match, because she did so well those things that Martin lacked skill at, like archery, hunting, and riding. Martin endured the teasing in good humour, being overwhelmed with relief and gratitude at his brother’s reaction to the news. He had left Hal muttering about how he was going to ask Beth’s father for her hand. Her father had been furious with Martin when he discovered Bethany hadn’t left for Elvandar with the other women, but had remained in Crydee to fight. He seemed to ignore his daughter’s part in all of it, and focused his wrath on Martin.

Now Hal and his brothers stood on the rooftop of the palace, contemplating the next move in this game of kingship. Jim said, ‘Everyone’s getting ready for this party. My agents in Salador tell me there’s no shortage of garrisons from the west gathered on the Fields of Albalyn.’ Those fields lay between Malac’s Cross and Salador, and were historically vital for any military conflict in the region. They were athwart the King’s Highway and no other clear passage to the town which marked the boundary between the Eastern and Western Realms was available.

‘Why would the western lords bring their garrisons?’ asked Hal.

Lord James fixed the young Duke of Crydee with an expression that was a mix of amusement and pity. He nodded once to Jim who said, ‘In case there’s a war. Edward ordered the garrisons to accompany him, rather than return home after the truce with Kesh.’ He let out a long sigh, as stress overtook his usual calm. ‘Edward’s many things, but a political fool is not one of them. It may be we need elect kings who have no wish to rule, for Edward would be a near-perfect monarch under which to reforge this cracked kingdom of ours.’

Hal leaned against the balustrade, his knuckles slowly turning white as he gripped harder and harder. ‘Wasn’t the last war enough for a while?’ he said slowly.

Jim glanced at his grandfather, who nodded once, then motioned for the others to leave Jim and Hal alone. When they were alone, Jim said, ‘You really don’t understand, do you?’

Hal felt tired to his bones. Without Stephané he felt empty. She was now safely in her father’s palace on Roldem, once order had been restored in Roldem, and the three conspirators behind the war had been uncovered and removed. Quietly, he said, ‘I know that I’m a duke without a duchy, that the title came to me far too many years too soon, and my mother is far enough away that I may not live to see her again. I know I spent most of the war hiding and fleeing, rather than leading men into battle, and I feel a lesser man for it.’ Jim seemed on the verge of objecting, but Hal shook his head. ‘I know I served, and I would give my life for the princess and for the Kingdom, and I took men’s lives to do it.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Yet it all feels pointless … now.’ He had been about to say ‘without Stephané’, but he knew that sounded like a whiny complaint. Besides, if anyone knew how he felt about her, it was Jim. ‘So now you have something I need to hear,’ Hal continued, ‘because men of ambition wish to rule, and men of character seem significantly absent. And I suspect that you are also about to tell me what I need to do.’

Jim was also quiet for a moment, then said, ‘You’re not a stupid man, Hal. You’re of the blood royal—’ He held up his hand to cut off the young noble. ‘Spare me the oft-repeated history of your ancestor’s pledge to absent his line from succession. It was a pretty speech: I’ve read the transcript of the entire ceremony that put Lyam on the throne, and it was vital then to prevent just the sort of mess that’s happening now, but there is no legal justification for it. I’ve asked both the court historians and the Priests of Ishap, and there is no precedent that permits the renunciation of that blood tie. Martin was free to not claim his cousin Rodric’s crown, but he could not bind unborn heirs to such a burden. You are of royal blood.

‘Had your ancestor Martin rejected his brother’s giving him the title to Crydee, and your father and his father before back to Lord Martin, all remained commoners, perhaps, that would have set a precedent. But he accepted and held the title and passed it along.’ He shrugged.

‘Are you saying I should put myself forward for king?’

‘Hardly, but I’m trying to stress to you that you are not simply a rustic noble without lands to rule, but rather a player with coins in the game.’

‘This is why it is taking Prince Edward such a very long time in getting here? Not just because Oliver’s landed his army?’

‘Edward wishes to be king less than any prince in the history of the Kingdom, but he’s being hard-pressed by the western nobles to claim the crown.’

‘Why?’ asked Hal.

‘It’s as my grandfather said. It would consolidate the western realm’s authority and strip supporters away from Chadwick and Montgomery, perhaps forcing them to broker a deal.’ Jim ran his hand over his face and Hal saw deep fatigue had taken its toll on the duke’s grandson. ‘At worst it holds off a war a while longer; at best it gives a legitimate hope to avoid bloodshed if Chadwick and Montgomery throw their weight behind Edward. With those three combined, even Oliver’s not ambitious enough to risk destroying his twin duchies in a futile attempt to seize the crown without backing. But there are a lot of “ifs” here. And it begins only if Edward can be convinced to take the crown.’ Jim smiled and some of the vigour Hal had taken for granted since first meeting him returned. ‘Edward has no sons, but he has three daughters, married to eastern nobles who could never return to their marriage beds if they didn’t support their wives’ father for the throne. It was one of Gregory’s wiser moves selecting an eastern noble to rule Krondor after the previous disasters. Those three nobles have vassals and allies who will follow them. No one of power would then support Oliver once the move to Edward began. So Edward is the perfect compromise candidate.’

‘What does this have to do with me? I’m a duchyless duke, now that Crydee is occupied by the Empire of Great Kesh.’

‘You’re still a duke,’ said Jim, ‘and you’re related to the crown by blood. Your support of Edward is vital. It will also keep you from being a false banner behind which others might rally to broker better terms for their interests. Not everyone who was trying to find you was an agent of those mad demon servants who were thrusting us into war. There are a few eastern nobles who would love to install you as a guest in their castles until you came to support Oliver, Chadwick, or Montgomery. If Crydee supported their candidate, others in the west might consider it prudent to follow suit.’

‘Father warned me eastern politics was something to be feared as much as war,’ said Hal.

‘Smart man, your father.’

Hal said nothing, still hurting inside every time he found himself asking what his father would have done in his place.

‘We need to be in Salador sooner rather than later,’ said Jim.

‘Why? Can’t I merely announce my support of Edward, then be on my way? I want to travel to Elvandar and find my mother.’

‘She is safely cared for. Nothing short of a global disaster would put her at risk in Aglaranna and Tomas’s court. No, that will have to wait until the situation here is resolved. And to support Edward, you need to journey to his side.’

‘Why does he wait?’ asked Hal.

‘He rests his forces on the Fields of Albalyn, preparing the ground for battle. He hopes for the best but is getting ready for the worst. Edward is neither a warrior nor a tactician, but he surrounds himself with the best in the west. Vanderal of Yabon is the Western Realm’s best commander with the loss of your father. Fredrick of Tyr-Sog is as fine a cavalry commander as you’ll see. If Oliver seeks to answer this question with arms, Edward prefers a battleground of his own choosing. Oliver knows he cannot sit on this island if Edward will not come to him.’ Jim smiled. ‘If he seizes the capital but the Congress does not confirm him as king, that makes him a usurper, nothing more. Edward would control the mainland and Oliver would sit here until he rots or runs out of food. The few farms on the island and all the fishermen here will not sustain that host for long. And he’ll run out of gold: he has an army only as long as he can pay it.

‘And if Edward will not come to Oliver,’ he continued, ‘Oliver must go to Edward, and that will be on the Fields of Albalyn. Edward has soldiers; he needs officers. You and your brothers need to be on your way westward as soon as we put some things here in order.’

‘Going to help Edward?’ asked Hal. ‘And am I safe in assuming people may not wish me to do so?’

‘A fair assumption,’ said Jim. ‘I’ll have men travel with you, and I’d like you to take Ty Hawkins with you, too. He’s a smart lad and may prove handy. I’ve spoken to Ty and Tal, and they’re willing.’

‘Willing?’

‘To prevent war if possible, to end it as quickly as possible, if not.’

Hal crossed his arms and leaned back against the stone balustrade. ‘Ty’s a good friend and the best swordsman I’ve ever seen. He’s no burden.’

‘Good. His patent of Kingdom nobility is a forgery.’

Hal’s eyes widened slightly.

‘But it’s a very good one, created by the best forger my predecessor could buy.’

‘Predecessor?’

Jim pointed off in the direction his grandfather had taken.

‘The duke?’

‘Few know the truth about my family, and how our connections wend their way past rank, class, even nationality,’ said Jim. ‘It seems to be an every-other-generation sort of thing, really. The first Lord James …’ Jim got a far-off look in his eyes and he turned to stare out at the gathering fleet. ‘Did you know he was a thief, just a boy, yet an accomplished rogue by any measure, who was raised by Prince Arutha to become first his squire, but eventually became Duke of Krondor and was then sent off with the prince’s son, King Borric, to rule the nation as Duke of Rillanon?’

‘No,’ said Hal. ‘Most of the history I do know is from books in my father’s library.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Ashes, now, I expect.’ He looked at Jim. ‘Every other generation?’

‘My great-grandfather, named for Prince Arutha, was by all reports an honourable man, resolute and fearless, but by nature much more of an administrator than any sort of blackguard. You really do need to be something of a scoundrel to do what we do, we Jamisons.’

When Jim let out a deep sigh, Hal could feel the fatigue in the older man’s bones. ‘You could use a spot of rest.’

‘I could spend what remains of my life resting,’ said Jim. ‘But that may not come, should Oliver and his friends below take matters in hand. My great-grandfather had a brother a year younger than himself, by the name of Dashel Jamison. He rejected rank and office: some say because he was by nature a very mean-spirited bastard, but we in the family know he did it to honour a pledge to a woman he loved.’ Jim’s expression hovered halfway between fond remembrance and regret. A slight smile moved his lips for a brief instant, then he said, ‘Men do very foolish things for love, don’t they?’

Hal thought of Stephané and felt his heart turn to lead. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘we do.’

‘Dash, as my great uncle was known, became a businessman of some stature and wealth in Krondor, but what was known by few was that he was also the leader of a large gang of thieves known as the Mockers. He bore the title of the Upright Man.’

Hal said, ‘Those names I know. The legend of the Upright Man and the Mockers reaches out to the Far Coast.’

‘His son Dasher, whose name I bear, was another of those generations who was skipped when it came to bloody work. He almost lost control of the Mockers. And as he had no sons, as his nephew I had to step in and act on behalf of the family.’

‘So, you’re the Upright Man of Krondor?’

‘Until recently. I’ve placed another in that position to assume my responsibilities. What turned out to be the same in my great-great-grandfather, the first Lord James’s, time is true today: a gang of thieves can be very handy in the world of spying.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ asked Hal.

Jim shrugged. ‘I’m not certain I know.’ He continued to gaze out over the sea. ‘I’ve spent half my life here and half in Krondor and half all over the world.’

Hal chuckled. ‘That’s three halves.’

Jim didn’t smile. ‘I know. That’s how it feels.’ He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Why am I telling you anything? You’re important, Hal. Maybe not in ways that are clear, but there are things in motion, undertakings by men of ambition and power, and the best I can pray for is we somehow get Edward on the throne. If that happens, from that moment forward his life will be at risk every minute of every day.’

‘Treason?’

Jim nodded. ‘Slip something into Edward’s wine, or have him fall from his horse, before a clear line of succession can be achieved, and Oliver is back out there with his army within a week, and Chadwick and Montgomery are back inside the palace bargaining with anyone who will promise a vote in the Congress of Lords.’

‘What has that to do with me?’

‘As you’ve observed more than once, young Hal, you are a duke without a duchy. Oh, Edward will eventually wrest it back from Kesh, for they have no real use for the Far Coast, and you can go back and try to govern, though with a population of fractious refugees from the Keshian Confederates now herding, farming, and mining your duchy. But that may prove more of a challenge than herding cats. Send one of your brothers and as much of a garrison as you can scrape together, and go very light on taxes and in a generation or so you’ll have something resembling organization in the region. I’ll try to have Edward forgo Crown taxes for a while so you can feed your brother’s little army.’

‘Martin’s little army? Shouldn’t it be my little army?’

‘No, you need to stay close to Edward.’

‘Why? He’s got your grandfather and you, and there must be others loyal to the Crown, no matter who wears it.’

‘There are, but my grandfather may not be here much longer. It’s hard to know in my family; as often as not we conspire to get ourselves killed before we meet a quiet death in bed. And I …’ Jim closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I am used up. The burden of trying to live up to a family legend that grows with each passing generation, I guess. Truth to tell, I do not know how talented the original Lord James was. By any objective measure he was a genius, but was he the genius portrayed in the histories?

‘My burden, my flaw of character, is to match myself against him. As a child, when my father couldn’t hear, I’d call myself “Jimmyhand” because I could never remember the “the”.’ He leaned forward, both hands on the balustrade, and took a deep breath. ‘Oceans smell different, you know?’

Hal nodded. ‘Far Coast is … damp: the wind comes from the west constantly and we get that salt-and-fish smell. Here …’

Jim laughed. ‘A lot of flowers in these gardens.’

Hal laughed with him. ‘But down in the city it’s still sweet.’

‘Which one is better?’

Hal thought. ‘This one, but not here.’

‘Roldem?’

Hal stayed silent.

Jim put his hand on Hal’s shoulder. ‘There’s someone in Roldem I miss as well.’

‘Lady Franciezka?’

Jim nodded.

‘A remarkable woman,’ said Hal. He and Ty had sheltered for a while under the lady’s protection as they got ready to smuggle Princess Stephané out of Roldem and away from a forced marriage. ‘What is this all going to come to?’ he wondered.

Jim said, ‘If we play our part, we shall gather on the Fields of Albalyn soon, where a truce can be forged that will permit Edward to enter this city safely, and he can be acclaimed by the Congress of Lords as king. And then we can set about restoring order in the Kingdom. And that’s what you need to concern yourself with, my lord Duke of Crydee. There are few men of rank in this nation I would hand a sword and ask them to stand behind the king, but you are one of them. If Edward survives more than a few months before someone decides his rule has lasted too long, then we may look to the future.’ Jim lowered his head.

‘There’s something else? What?’

‘Everything,’ answered Jim. ‘Those three murderous creatures that plunged us into wholesale war with Kesh, had but one ambition: to create chaos, and in that they succeeded in grand fashion. In all things in this life, magic gives me the most to fear, for you need other magic to battle it. We’ve long allied ourselves with people who seem to be of good heart and intent, but I …’

‘You hate leaving things to others,’ finished Hal.

‘Yes,’ admitted Jim. ‘Another flaw of character, and probably why I’m so sick at heart and worn out by all this; I would wager there’s no man alive who has travelled more between Krondor, Rillanon, and Roldem than me.’ He released his hold on the balustrade. ‘We have more to discuss, but some other time. I could do with a meal before tackling the more prickly matter of politics. Join me?’

‘Certainly. Can my brothers come as well?’

‘Of course. There’s much we need to keep between ourselves, but there are many things it would be well for all the conDoin brothers to know.’

Hal smiled.

Jim put his hand on Hal’s shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘You realize that you are the only three males left alive who bear that name.’ He conveniently neglected to include the magician, Pug, who was a conDoin by adoption, but who had renounced his allegiance to the Kingdom years before.

Hal said, ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’

‘For reasons that will become clear, I am having the officials in the court refer to you as Duke Henry, but your brothers will henceforth be called Princes Martin and Brendan. I want these conniving nobles to be reminded of just who you are.’

Hal said nothing, but as he and Jim entered the palace, he wondered, But who are we?

It was a sombre meal despite repeated attempts on the part of Duke James to liven the mood with a series of humorous anecdotes and stories. People would chuckle at the appropriate moments, smile and nod, then fall back into silence. Finally, as the meal drew to an end, silence engulfed the room.

The three brothers from the Far Coast were seated at the table with Lord James, Jim, several of the duke’s closest advisors, various ladies of the court, and attendants. The other addition to the table was Ty Hawkins, son of Talwin Hawkins, a former tribesman from the mountains called the High Fastness in the Eastern Kingdoms. History and circumstance had propelled young Talon of the Silver Hawk into the cauldron that was international politics, and he had emerged a man of many identities.

As had his son. Ty Hawkins, son of Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal and a nameless soldier of Olasko, adopted by Tal and loved as his own, was by nature and training his father’s son. By an odd quirk of circumstance, he resembled his adopted father, with vivid blue eyes and a lithe frame and whipcord strength. The most striking difference was his sandy-blonde hair, contrasting with his father’s near-black. But like many boys, he had adopted so many of his father’s mannerisms and expressions. At times it was impossible to remember Tal was not his true father.

Jim watched Ty in conversation with Hal and found it ironic that the man he most trusted to protect the royal cousin was not even a true citizen of the Kingdom. Still, both father and son had provided valuable service to the Kingdom, Roldem, and occasionally the Conclave of Shadows.

It was the duke who spoke loud enough for the entire table to hear clearly. ‘If I may …’ Everyone fell silent. He looked around the table and said, ‘It dawns on me that with the exception of young Hawkins here, our families are intimately linked, while we are still relative strangers to one another.’ He raised his goblet of wine in the direction of the three brothers. ‘You three are the last of the conDoin line. While others have royal blood, only you three carry the name. My grandson and I descend from a name far less noble – Jamison – founded by a rogue and scoundrel, raised up to nobility by your many-greats-uncle. Both put two things above all else: duty and honour. Let us drink to their memory. Prince Arutha conDoin and James – the only man in history to be both Duke of Krondor and Rillanon; Jimmy the Hand!’

They drank and then the duke said, ‘This may be the end of us all, but not of the Kingdom if I have a damn thing to say about it.’

Ty nodded and shouted, ‘Hear! Hear!’

Hal looked at the old duke, glanced at his grandson, then simply asked, ‘What would you have us do?’

‘Many things, young Hal,’ said Lord James. ‘Eventually you’ll need to get married and father some sons, so that your name will continue. And perhaps one of them will rule here one day.’ He held up his hand. ‘And, one last time, Hal: no more mention of Lord Martin’s foolish, if noble, claim. It has no validity. And you need to retake your duchy. The Far Coast may be in chaos, but it is still king’s land. As I told you on the day of Gregory’s funeral, you need to find an ally, either Chadwick or Montgomery, and convince him of your loyalty to his cause in exchange for his loyalty to yours – the retaking of Crydee.’ James paused. ‘You’ll be lying, of course, because since the day that Crydee was lost, so much has changed.’ He glanced at a window, and everyone in the room knew he was speaking of Oliver’s army camped beyond the city. They had expected Prince Oliver to arrive with a retinue to press his claim, not an army. That changed everything.

As if reading their collective minds, James added, ‘And you must ensure that somehow Edward is crowned here, not that snake Oliver. We may have to persuade Edward to put himself forward as king, rather than backing Chadwick or Montgomery.’ He pointed at Hal. ‘You may be the deciding factor if he knows the fate of the Far Coast and probably much of Yabon, rests on this. You may very well be the one to tip the balance and save this nation.’

He sat back and sighed. ‘But to do any of that, you must, of course, stay alive.’

Jim nodded. ‘I’ll see that he does, Grandfather.’

Duke James put down his goblet and stood up. ‘Then I’ll bid you a good night and advise you this: outside this room there are few you can trust. Ensure you take wise counsel and be cautious of honeyed words laced with poison.’ He nodded to the brothers and Ty, then left the room.

As if by silent instruction, the other guests rose and one by one bid Hal, his brothers, and Jim good night. When the last was gone, only those five and the servants remained.

Jim looked around. ‘Another drink?’

No one objected, so the servants filled their goblets, and they partook of a particularly good wine, but the mood in the room could hardly be called festive.

Jim waved for the servants to depart. When they had gone, he said, ‘Ty knows what I’m about to share with you three.’ He glanced from face to face. ‘I am a loyal servant of the Crown, but I also work with the Conclave of Shadows, and you’d never heard of them until Ruffio told you of them for a reason. What I know, what I’m telling you, is because my loyalty, and yours at the moment, must extend beyond the borders of our nation. I tell you this because I trust the woman in charge of Roldem’s intelligence apparatus more at this moment than half the nobles in our Congress of Lords. I trust a few Keshians as well. But mostly I trust the dedication of the Conclave to the preservation of our entire world.

‘The recent conflict with Kesh was pointless.’

Martin seemed to be on the verge of speaking, but thought better of it.

‘It’s easy to get caught up in events without considering real causes. Kesh and the Kingdom had been at peace for a very long time, since a misguided adventure when they sought to take control of Krondor after the invasion of the Emerald Queen’s army. Since then there’s been the usual poking around in the Vale of Dreams and the occasional ship battle when one captain got a little too ambitious. But today we have half the Keshian army spread out along the Far Coast and mustered along their northern border to protect against a Kingdom retaliation; the Kingdom army either here on Rillanon protecting this very palace, or in Salador, or mustered in the Fields of Albalyn; most of the Kingdom fleet surrounding this island; the Keshian fleet at the bottom of the ocean; and Roldem’s fleet in a defensive position around their island. What do you think that means?’

Martin said, ‘That we went through a pointless exercise?’

Jim nodded. ‘Yes. What else?’

It was Brendan who answered. ‘No one is where they’re supposed to be.’

‘Exactly.’

Hal said, ‘So if another threat materializes, no one is in the correct position to deal with it.’

Martin calculated, then said, ‘The West.’

Jim nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I need to get back to Crydee!’ said Hal.

‘No,’ said Jim. ‘You need to stay here until my grandfather tells you to go somewhere else. Most likely to Prince Edward.’ He looked at Martin and Brendan. ‘You must return to Ylith and explain to the Keshian commander that he’s in the way and you need to go poking around. My intelligence tells me you’ve got a reasonable chance to have him agree for the right bribe – he is Keshian, after all, as long as you only go with a small patrol. If he doesn’t, you need to find a clever way to get around his objections without starting another war out there. Sneaking past his line should prove little trouble to a couple of bright lads like you.

‘But you need to get into the Far Coast, north of the garrisons at Carse and Tulan, so my best guess is somewhere near the taredhel and that city they’re building, perhaps near the dwarves.’

‘Who?’ asked Brendan. ‘Besides Keshian Dog Soldiers and elves and dwarves, who would be there?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jim. ‘That’s what I need your brother and you to find out.’

The brothers spent a long night with Jim Dasher discussing as much of the political situation with Great Kesh as could be extrapolated from what Martin and Brendan had seen during the defence of the city and after. They matched what they had seen with reports from the West that had reached the king’s court, which in this case meant Jim Dasher’s personal attention.

The long and short of it was that it was a mess. Kesh had withdrawn to the ancient borders of Bosania, so a few miles of road to the west of the City of Ylith were open to the crest of the foothills of the Grey Towers Mountains, as well as the southwest highway, leading to the Free Cities which were still currently occupied by Kesh.

By the time they were finished examining all their options and what needed to be done, the sun was rising in the east. Martin was convinced Jim Dasher was perhaps the cleverest man he had ever met, or at least the most cunning. And Martin was also convinced that Jim was correct: the entire war with Kesh and the plot behind it was designed to put both the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Great Kesh at a military disadvantage in the Far West.

No military action of any kind could quickly be mounted should a threat arise in the Duchy of Crydee or the Free Cities, or the Grey Towers Mountains. It might take days, or even weeks, for news of any outbreak of trouble in the west to reach Prince Edward on the Fields of Albalyn, and if he instantly dispatched some of the western lords’ commands to answer, it would be weeks before they reached any site of trouble. And that was dependent on being able to spare men with the possibility of a military confrontation with Prince Oliver looming. By sunrise, Jim and the brothers were convinced the Far Coast and the Western Realm were as defenceless as a day-old kitten.

Martin was a student of history and it didn’t take him more than an hour of looking at suggested Keshian deployment in the Far Coast and Free Cities to come to the same conclusion as Jim. The safest location from any counterattacks from the combined armies of the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Great Kesh that wasn’t on the bottom of some ocean or one of the moons, was in the centre of the Grey Towers Mountains; very close to the site of the original Tsurani rift into Midkemia.

As the cock crowed in the distance, the three looked at the now-empty carafe of coffee and wordlessly exchanged the shared opinion that they had reached a conclusion. ‘The Grey Towers,’ said Martin. ‘Neither Kesh nor the Kingdom nor the Free Cities can answer the kind of threat the Tsurani posed when they arrived …’

‘Where the Star Elves are building their city,’ continued Brendan.

Jim rose. ‘Well, the sun’s up and we’ve beaten this topic to death. It’s time to move and I think we’d best be getting on with it. It’s still before dawn in Krondor so you—’ he indicated Martin and Brendan, ‘—can still be leaving there at sunrise, once we get you there.’ To Hal he said, ‘You need some rest. You’re going to have to withstand a lot of charm, guile, and bald-faced lies before we’re done, but I’ll be at your side most of the time and your best course of action is to nod and say you’ll consider what’s been suggested. Edward’s enemies are not all on the field under arms. There are a lot of poisoned tongues still in the palace.’

Hal embraced his brothers and bade them a safe journey.

Jim took Martin and Brendan with him through a palace that was never truly asleep, as servants scurried to ensure that every resident’s needs were met before dawn.

Reaching Jim’s personal quarters, they entered a tidy office adjacent to his sleeping room and he quickly set about penning a travel document. He signed it with a flourish, poured wax and applied a seal to it.

‘Isn’t that the duke’s signet?’ asked Brendan.

‘It’s a twin,’ said Jim. ‘My grandfather gave it to me to reduce his own need to sign things; he finds it annoying.’

‘And did you just sign his name?’ said Martin.

‘Of course,’ said Jim as if this was quite normal. ‘Wait here.’

A short time later, he returned with a woman of middle years, with greying dark hair, and a no-nonsense demeanour. ‘This is Gretchen. She will take you where you need to go.’

Before Martin or Brendan could speak, Gretchen reached out and seized their wrists and suddenly they were in a different room. ‘Krondor,’ she said, and vanished.

Apparently the comings and goings of magicians in what was revealed as Jim Dasher’s private suite in Krondor were commonplace enough that the palace guards did not react when two men unexpectedly walked out of a room that had been empty only moments before.

The brothers had been in Krondor only twice before: a leisurely visit to Prince Edward’s court when Martin had been small (Brendan had still been a baby), and their hurried visit on the way to Rillanon just weeks before.

‘What now?’ said Brendan.

Martin shrugged. ‘Find someone in charge, I suppose.’

It took the better part of an hour to find the acting city commander, a man named Falston Jennings, hastily elevated from the rank of prince’s squire to baronet of the court, so that he could lawfully be considered a noble. He was obviously in over his head and anxious to see if what he said made sense to the brothers from Crydee, especially as they had introduced themselves as ‘Princes Martin and Brendan, the late king’s cousins’.

They had endured Jennings’s near-babbling conversation over as informal a break fast meal as the palace had likely seen in a century, for many of the key servants had travelled east with Prince Edward, attending his baggage-train and pavilion to ensure his comfort on the journey to Rillanon.

Martin left that meal with a jumble of facts he could barely make sense of, let alone organize into coherent intelligence. Brendan had been amused by the entire course of events, but of the three brothers he was the one most easily amused.

From what they could get from Jennings’s ramble, Kesh had withdrawn her ships to a point behind an imaginary line extending from a point halfway between Land’s End and Durbin in the south to the border between the Free Cities and the Kingdom, in the north. Kingdom ships were given free passage up to Sarth, but no captain dared sail farther north as the island kingdom of Queg had declared a state of emergency – a pretext for them to board and seize any ship that sailed ‘too close’ to their imagined ‘sphere of influence’, which at the moment meant from their beach to ankle-deep water on the Kingdom shore north of Sarth.

The Free Cities were essentially Keshian garrisons at the moment, and no ship had arrived from there since the truce had been declared. Also, no Free Cities ship in Krondor or Port Vykor was willing to attempt a run home, as their captains had no idea what to expect from their new masters. In sum, three fleets choked the waterways of the Bitter Sea, all ready for a fight at a moment’s notice, so Martin’s only recourse had been horseback.

After their hasty meal, Jennings led Martin and Brendan to the marshalling yard, where a patrol of Krondorian regulars waited. ‘Sergeant Oaks,’ said Jennings, ‘this is Prince Martin, the late king’s cousin.’

Oaks nodded a greeting and then Martin said, ‘My brother Brendan.’

‘Highness,’ said Oaks in greeting.

‘I think it better to have some proven soldiers rather than a pretty palace guard,’ said Jennings. ‘Sergeant, the princes need an escort to Ylith. Please see they arrive there without difficulties.’ He beat a hasty retreat, obviously relieved to see the brothers depart.

‘Without difficulties?’ said Oaks in neutral tones.

‘I think he means alive,’ said Brendan with a grin.

Oaks returned the smile. ‘We’ll do our best, Highness.’ He turned to his company of riders and shouted, ‘Mount up!’

The twenty soldiers of Oaks’s patrol mounted in orderly fashion, obviously a battle-trained company.

‘Well,’ said Brendan. ‘At least we don’t have to walk.’

‘There is that,’ said Martin. He signalled for the sergeant to lead the company out of the palace yard in Krondor and toward the northern gate, which would put them on the King’s Highway to Ylith.