Читать книгу Shards of a Broken Crown - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 11

PUG FROWNED.

The Keshian Ambassador’s smile was forced, almost painful, as he finished his latest message from his government.

“My Lord Gadesh,” said the Kingdom’s representative, Baron Marcel d’Greu, his own smile just as false. “That’s impossible.”

Pug glanced at Nakor, who sat to his right. The latest round of negotiations between the Kingdom and the Empire of Great Kesh was proving to be a simple restatement of the last round.

Nakor shook his head and said, “Why don’t we take a small recess, my lords, and give ourselves time to ponder these requests?”

Kalari, a Tsurani Black Robe who was representing his government, the Empire of Tsuranuanni, as a neutral observer, said, “Excellent idea, my friend.”

The two ambassadors retired to the quarters that had been provided to them, and Pug led Nakor and Kalari to another room, where Miranda waited next to Kalied, the leader of the most powerful of the three factions of magicians in Stardock.

Kalied appeared to be older than Pug, despite the fact Pug was nearly twenty years his senior. Pug appeared to be a man in his mid-twenties, his rejuvenation courtesy of the freed life energies that had been trapped in the Lifestone.

Miranda, looking like a woman in her mid-twenties, smiled at her husband. “Any joy?”

“None,” said Pug, taking a mug of ale offered by a student who was acting as servant to those representing the interests of Stardock in the negotiations between the Kingdom and the Empire of Great Kesh.

“I must confess,” observed Kalari, “these negotiations seem far more ritualistic than I anticipated.” He sipped at a hot cup of coffee and nodded in appreciation at the flavor of the brew. He was a bald-headed man of middle age, still slender and fit and possessing a penetrating pair of blue eyes. “Is it my unfamiliarity with the nuances of the King’s Tongue, or some lack of insight into the Keshian culture, or is this simply a restating of previous claims and demands?”

“No,” said Nakor, “there is nothing wrong with your appreciation of this situation.”

“Then what is the point?” asked Kalari. “My own Empire’s traditions include negotiations, but usually it’s between Tsurani Lords. I’m afraid your notion of diplomacy is a little foreign to me.”

Kalari had been sent by the Assembly of Magicians on Kelewan, to insure that whatever interests Tsuranuanni had in Stardock were represented. Trading between the former enemies, the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Tsuranuanni, had been cyclical over the years. For nearly fifty years a major upheaval in Tsurani society had resulted from the rise to prominence of House Acoma and their innovative leader, the Lady Mara, the Servant of the Empire. Her son, Justin, had ruled the Empire despite several political plots to return the Empire to the older traditions Mara had set aside. Turmoil had resulted from many of the changes, at various times limiting trade between the two worlds to a trickle, but currently a stable period had endured almost ten years, and the Empire wished to see nothing disrupt their commerce with Midkemia.

Pug said, “Well, if you consider us to be Thuril, but with more swords, you might consider the needs we face.”

Kalari nodded. Thuril had been the only nation to resist his empire on the homeworld, and had forced the Empire to a guarded peace. “Well, since the Servant of the Empire overturned so many of the Assembly’s prerogatives, we’ve had to constantly relearn things. I think endless babble around a table to no point, though, may be a difficult process to master.”

Nakor laughed. “Actually, it’s really easy. That’s why diplomats do it so much.”

Kalari regarded the strange fellow. Nakor had been given his seat at the negotiations by Pug. Known as Milamber on the Tsurani homeworld, Pug was a figure of legend, almost as awe-inspiring as the Lady Mara. That fact alone had blunted some of the Tsurani Great One’s astonishment at Nakor being included in these sessions. To all outward appearances, the self-styled “High Priest” of some unknown order was nothing more than a ragged vagabond, perhaps a confidence trickster who played the fool. Yet there was something about the odd little man that made Kalari cautious of judging him too quickly. Behind his constant irreverent humor an intellect of great scope was at work, and every fiber of Kalari’s being told him a man of great magical ability also wore the guise of a common gambler recently turned man of religion. He might claim powers that came from the Gods, or merely “tricks” as he often commented, but Kalari sensed this was a being of power second only to Pug’s at the table.

Kalari put aside his nagging suspicions about Nakor. Whatever else, he did find the man from the nation of Isalan in Great Kesh amusing and amiable. “Well, then,” said the magician, “you’ll have to brief me on how best to proceed with this pointless wrangling.”

Nakor said, “Find someone else. I think them just as tedious as you do.” Nakor took a sip of ale. “Besides, the matter of how things end up has already been decided.”

“Really?” said Pug. “Care to share with us your reasoning?”

Nakor grinned, as he always did when about to share the gift of his perceptions and insights with the others. “It’s easy.” He pointed around the room. “You could figure this out, too, if you tried.” Miranda exchanged wry smiles with her husband. Nakor continued, “The Kingdom was hurt, but not fatally. Kesh knows this. They have spies. They know that while the King wants troops back in the East, it’s not because there’s any real trouble there. If Kesh makes trouble, the King orders the Prince to keep the soldiers. And if Kesh waits until the Armies of the East leave, that gives Patrick more time to dig in, get ready, and deal with any Keshian adventures.”

Nakor shook his head. “No, Kesh knows that they lost what the Kingdom gave them when they tried to press their advantage. They know the best they can do is maybe some trade concession or another, but they’ll never get back what they were granted for protecting the Kingdom’s southern flank.” He glanced from face to face. “They’re trying to figure out how to admit publicly they were stupid without admitting they were stupid.”

Kalari laughed. Even the usually taciturn Kalied was forced to smile. Pug said, “So it’s a matter of honor?”

Nakor shrugged. “More a matter of avoiding punishment back home. Generals Rufi ibn Salamon and Behan Solan have much explaining to do to their Emperor when they return to the City of Kesh. They’ve got to be given a really good story to explain how they lost by getting greedy what they had gained by the Emperor being generous. You know they had no authority from Kesh to try to grab all of the vale, don’t you?”

Pug fixed Nakor with a narrow gaze. “And how do you know that?” asked Pug.

Nakor said, “I move around. I listen to things. Generals may keep their mouths shut, but soldiers talk. Soldiers serve in the General’s tent, then they talk to traders and camp girls, and the traders and camp girls talk to wagon drivers, and pretty soon everyone knows what the General’s doing.

“Kesh doesn’t want a war, even if the Kingdom is weak. They’ve never fully pacified the southern nations below the Girdle of Kesh. The Keshian Confederacy would rise up again at any excuse, and your King knows this. So, the Empire doesn’t want war, and the Kingdom doesn’t want another war – they’re busy with the one they have now – and we all sit around while the outcome is already known.”

“Save one thing,” said Pug.

Nakor said, “Stardock.”

Kalied said, “That matter is settled.”

Pug shrugged. “I know it is. I told Nakor to make whatever deal necessary to get you to help save the Kingdom; the threat of you acting against Kesh if they turned aggressor tipped the balance in our favor. But there’s still the matter of explaining to the King how I managed to give away one of his duchies.”

Kalied said, “I am dining with the members of the council. As Robert de Lyes has decided to continue serving in Darkmoor with the Prince, we need to replace him on the council.” He rose and said, “But keep in mind, Pug, despite your legendary power and our abiding respect for what you founded here, Stardock is no longer your personal fiefdom. We have Nakor’s pledge that you would honor the arrangements he made to gain the Kingdom our aid. The council now governs, not on your behalf while you’re off somewhere, but on behalf of all those who reside here. You are entitled to no more or less a voice than any other member of the Academy.”

Pug was silent for a moment, then said, “Very well. I will honor that pledge and insure the Kingdom acknowledges your autonomy.”

“Autonomy?” said Kalied. “That’s an interesting choice of words. We prefer to think of it as independence.”

Nakor waved away the remark. “Don’t be stupid. Pug can convince the King to let you govern yourself, but don’t expect him to make the King accept the proposition of an independent entity located entirely within the boundaries of the Kingdom. Besides, while you protect the Kingdom from Kesh, the Kingdom also protects you from Kesh. Do you think for a moment the Emperor would be as generous?”

Kalied said nothing for a long moment, then said, “Very well. I will present this to the council, and I am sure they will choose not to be ‘stupid’ in this matter.” With a dark look directed at Nakor, he bowed to the others in the room and departed.

Kalari turned to Nakor and said, “I assume your earlier comments on diplomacy are more in the theoretical area rather than from practice?”

Miranda laughed. Pug joined in. “Well, I still have a lot to explain to the Prince, and I think there’s no putting that off. I suspect that Patrick will be even less enchanted with the idea of an autonomous Stardock within his borders than Kalied.”

Miranda said, “We go to Darkmoor?”

Pug nodded. “Nakor?”

Nakor nodded. “I’m done here. The Blue Riders are again ensconced among the students, to make sure magicians who train here don’t get too stuffy. Besides, I need to spend some time with Dominic and some of the other Ishapians who have ended up next to the Prince. Let me fetch Sho Pi, and we’ll all go together.”

He left, and Kalari said, “Pug, a question.”

Pug turned to regard the Tsurani Great One.

“Since coming to Stardock on behalf of the Emperor, I’ve pieced together a view of how things stood here. I’m curious as to why you, yourself, didn’t come to the Assembly and seek our aid in dealing with the threats from this Emerald Queen.” He lowered his voice. “I’m not sure what fully transpired here, but I get the strong impression that a great deal more was at stake than most people understand.”

Miranda and Pug exchanged glances, and Pug said, “Yes, but I am not free to share details.

“As for why we didn’t seek Tsurani aid, our relationships with the Empire have never been the same since Makala.”

Kalari said, “Ah,” and nodded in understanding. A Tsurani Great One, Makala had come to the Prince of Krondor’s court years before, ostensibly to act as a liaison between the Assembly on Kelewan and the Prince, but in fact had come as a self-appointed spy determined to discover the secret of what truly happened at Sethanon at the end of the Riftwar.

He had been motivated by loyalty to the Empire and the fear of some Kingdom plot or weapon of great power, and had actually discovered the secret of the Lifestone. Through agents who chanced upon one another near Sethanon, he had become a party to a conspiracy involving the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. Only the intervention of a renegade moredhel chieftain had prevented a major catastrophe.

Makala and four of his allies from the Tsurani homeworld had ensorceled the great dragon oracle that lived below the city of Sethanon, and were on the verge of unlocking the Lifestone when Pug and his companions had arrived. That secret had died with Makala and his four companions, deep in the chamber below the city. His betrayal of the trust given him had strained relationships between the Kingdom and Empire for a decade. Only members of the Assembly on Kelewan and a few trusted advisors to the Prince of Krondor knew of the incident; it served as a cautionary tale on both sides of the rift. Since then, all business between the Empire of Tsuranuanni and the Kingdom of the Isles had been conducted in the most formal, cautious of fashions. More than once it had been suggested that the rift between the worlds be permanently closed, yet trading between them continued. But it was now limited to the one rift located on Stardock, hence the Empire’s presence at these negotiations. They were anxious that this one passage between the worlds be kept open.

“Yet,” said Kalari, “it seemed prudent to you to request our help in that display of might we arranged for the Keshians?”

Pug shook his head and shrugged. “Nakor.”

Kalari returned the smile. “He is the most unusual fellow.”

Pug agreed.

Miranda said, “What will you tell Patrick?”

Pug let out a long, tired sigh. “Many things; none of which he will enjoy hearing.”

Prince Patrick appeared on the verge of rage. His normally light complexion reddened and his voice rose. “Autonomous? What is that supposed to mean?” he shouted.

Pug sighed. Unlike his predecessor, Prince Arutha, Patrick lacked vision. Pug reminded himself that in most ways the Prince was a young man, and unlike Prince Arutha, who had leadership thrust upon him, a young man untempered in the cauldron of war. While his city had been destroyed, Patrick had been safe in the East, at the King’s insistence. Pug suspected much of Patrick’s ill humor came from frustration and his inability to do other than his father’s bidding.

With even tones, Pug said, “The magicians at Stardock require—”

“Require!” shouted Patrick. “They require?” He stood up from his throne, formerly the state chair of the Baron of Darkmoor, and took a step down to stand directly before Pug. “Let me tell you what their King requires. He requires their unswerving loyalty and obedience!”

Pug looked at his grandson, the Duke Arutha, who gave his head a slight shake, indicating there was little use in talking to the Prince when he was in a rage. Pug didn’t care. He was three times the Prince’s age and had seen more than most men did in a dozen lifetimes and he was tired. “Patrick,” he said evenly. “Sometimes you lose.”

“These are our citizens! They live within the borders of the Kingdom.”

Nakor, who had been silently standing to one side with his student, Sho Pi, said, “Only if the old borders are still there, Highness.”

Patrick’s head came around and he said, “Who gave you leave to talk, Keshian?”

Nakor returned an insolent grin. “Your King, many years ago, if you remember? And I am Isalani.”

Wearying of the scene, Pug said, “Patrick, what’s done is done. It’s an unhappy solution, but at least it’s a solution. You can’t deal with the invaders to the west, Kesh to the south, and the magicians at Stardock. You must start somewhere; Stardock is the easiest. With the community there guaranteed their autonomy, Kesh will have to remove itself back to the old border. That’s two problems solved. Then you can reclaim the West.”

Patrick said nothing, forcing himself to calm down. “I do not like it.”

Nakor said, “The King won’t like it much either, but he’ll understand. Prince Erland spent time in Kesh. He saved the Emperor and knows the Empress well. Very well,” he added with a grin. “Erland will go down and visit again and soon things will be back to normal along this border.”

“Except I’ll have lost Stardock.”

Pug said, “You’ll lose a great deal more unless you agree.” He looked the young prince squarely in the eyes. “Sometimes ruling is hard choices, between bad and worse. Agree that Stardock can rule itself, and you defeat Kesh.”

Pug’s wording made the young Prince pause. After a moment he spoke. “Very well. Prepare documents, my lord duke,” he said, using Pug’s formal rank as Duke of Stardock. “It is your duchy we’re losing. I’m sure Father will have another office or something for you. After all, he did explain you were some sort of royal cousin and need to be treated as such.”

Pug glanced at his wife. She returned a slight shrug. He was young, she seemed to say in agreement with his own thoughts. Pug started to turn away, but Patrick continued to speak. “I think, though, that you’d best explain directly to the King what is at hand here.”

Pug turned back to face Patrick. “You wish me to prepare a report for the King.”

Patrick’s expression showed his temper was still getting the better of him. “No, I wish you to use whatever magic arts you have to take yourself to Rillanon. In fact, I command you to do so, my lord duke! Perhaps being wiser than I, the King can discern how this isn’t some sort of treason.” He glanced at Miranda. “If your wife isn’t an agent of the Empire, I’ll be astounded.”

Pug’s eyes narrowed and he remained silent.

“You’ll need to demonstrate that loyalty I currently find lacking, magician, if you’re to regain this court’s favor.”

“Demonstrate?” said Pug softly. “I have labored to my utmost to prevent the destruction of all we hold dear.”

Patrick said, “I’ve read the reports. I’ve heard the tales. Demons and spawn of the lower hells. Yes, magic to warp the world to darkness, and all the rest of it.”

Arutha looked from one man to the other, saying, “Highness! Grandfather, please! We have much to do and contention in our ranks does us no good.”

Pug looked at his grandson, and slowly he said, “I am not attempting to contend, Arutha. My only purpose has been, from the first, to serve.”

He stepped forward and his voice was filled with menace. “If you command, my prince, I will obey. I will take the time to visit with the King. If you are not satisfied with my performance in recent months, perhaps he will be persuaded that the price I paid demonstrates my commitment.”

“Perhaps!” said Patrick. He spat hot words. “You gave away a duchy that by all reports you have neglected, and I have a city lying in ruins, as well as my entire Principality to the west in thrall to hostile forces. Who between us has lost the most?”

Pug’s throat burned as color rose in his cheeks. In a hoarse whisper he said, “Lost? You dare speak to me of loss?” Stepping up so that he was mere inches from the Prince, Pug looked up at the taller, younger man. “I lost nearly everything, you child! I lost a son and a daughter, and the man she loved who was as another son to me. William, Gamina, and James gave their lives for Krondor and the Kingdom. You sit this throne for a few years, Patrick. When you’ve lived as long as I have, should you be that fortunate, remember what you said here.”

Patrick appeared embarrassed as he realized he had overlooked the death of Pug’s family in the war. Still, his temper got the best of him, and as Pug turned to walk away, Patrick’s voice thundered, “I will not be addressed in that manner, magician! Duke or not, royal cousin or not, you will come back here and beg my pardon!”

Pug spun. Before he could speak, Arutha turned and stood directly before his Prince. “Highness!” He put a restraining hand on Patrick’s shoulder. In a whisper he said, “This brings nothing good! Calm yourself and we’ll revisit this tomorrow.” Whispering, he added, “Patrick, your father will not be pleased at this.”

Before the Prince could speak, Arutha turned and said, “Grandfather. If you and your lady would dine with me tonight, we can discuss exactly what sort of communication with the crown shall be undertaken.” To the remaining courtiers in the hall, he said, “That will be all today. This court is adjourned.”

He hustled Patrick through a door to the apartment set aside for him during his stay in Darkmoor, not allowing the Prince to further inflame the situation. Pug turned to Miranda, who said, “That boy needs some training.”

Pug said nothing, merely offering his arm to his wife and leading her to the rooms put aside for them. He knew his grandson would come to see them as soon as the Prince had been placated.

Arutha looked like a man aged years in a few hours. His eyes, normally bright and alert, were now deeply sunk with dark circles under them. He sighed and nodded thanks as Miranda handed him a goblet of wine.

“The Prince?” asked Pug.

Arutha shrugged. “It’s difficult. During the war he seemed content to follow Father and Uncle William’s lead. The preparations for the city were underway by the time he arrived in Krondor, and he simply agreed to whatever Father wanted.

“Now, he’s out of his element. He is being asked to make decisions that would have taxed the wits of the best generals in this Kingdom’s history.” He sipped his wine. “Partly it’s my fault.”

Pug shook his head. “No, Patrick is responsible for his own actions.”

“But Father would have—”

Pug interrupted. “You are not your father.” He let out a slow sigh. “No one is James. James was unique. As was Prince Arutha. The Western Realm may never again see men as able as them gathered together at one time.” Pug grew reflective. “It all began with Lord Borric. I have never known a man his equal. Arutha was his equal in many ways, perhaps his superior in some, but on the whole, Borric raised two sons the Kingdom needed.

“But from there we are seeing a diminution of the line. King Borric was seasoned in his travels to Kesh, but nothing like his father the Prince.” Pug looked out a window at the distant torchlight along the palisades of the castle. “Perhaps it’s just the years passing, the ability to think back with history’s perspective, but at the time of the Riftwar there was a sense in the West that eventually we should prevail. Now I realize that came from Prince Arutha, your father at his brashest and most reckless, others who led and those who followed.”

Looking at his grandson, Pug said, “You must step forward, Arutha. You will never be the man for whom you were named, and you will never be your father, but nature didn’t intend for you to be either of those men, no matter how worthy they were. You must become the best man you are capable of. I know the war took as much a toll on you as it did me. You alone of all those here know what I feel. Men like Owen Greylock and Erik von Darkmoor must rise to meet the needs of the nation.” He smiled as he added, “You are more capable than you think. You will be a fine Duke of Krondor.”

Arutha nodded. His mother, Gamina, was Pug’s daughter by adoption, but he had loved and treasured her as much as he had his son, William. To lose them both within days of one another had been terrible. “I know that it was worse for you, Grandfather. I mourn my parents. You mourn your children.”

Pug said nothing, swallowing hard and gripping Miranda’s hand. Since the end of the war he had been revisited time and again by a wave of profound sorrow and pain, and as much as he hoped for the sense of loss to pass, it didn’t. It grew muted at times, even forgotten for hours at a stretch, but in any quiet, reflective moment, it returned.

Even his marriage to Miranda had been hastily conducted, as if any delay might steal moments away from them. Pug and his new wife had spent as much time together as possible, dealing with the revelations of their past lives and the need to discuss their future. Yet every moment together, no matter how joyous, was overshadowed by the sense of loss, the sense of work yet undone, and the sense that nothing could ever return to them that which was lost.

Pug nodded at his grandson’s words. He sighed. “Arutha, you and I have never had the opportunity to be close. After my first wife’s death I distanced myself from your mother. Watching her grow old was a fate I tried to avoid.” He looked deep into his grandson’s eyes. “There is much of both your parents in you. I know your father trained you from birth to serve, and your life was never your own, but I also know he would have found a less demanding role for you had he found you lacking; you would not be allowed to follow after him had you been less a man than what you are. So, again I say, you must step forward. Patrick may prove a worthy ruler someday, but that day is not here yet. And it has often been our history that one in the role of advisor limited the choices placed before the rulers.” Remembering the rule of mad King Roderic, Pug said, “Perhaps we could have used more of such men in the past.”

Arutha said, “I’ll try, Grandfather.”

Miranda said, “I don’t presume to advise, as I’ve never done well with obeying rulers in my day, but you’ll have to do more than try before we’re done.”

Arutha looked as if he was ready to wilt. “I know.”

A servant announced supper was ready, and they adjourned to the next room. As Pug preceded his grandson, he knew one of the reasons Arutha was so fatigued: from worry over the whereabouts of his own sons.

Jimmy looked around. A series of patrols had been coming through the area for the last two days. They had tried to enter the city and discovered that no one was being allowed through the established checkpoints. Whoever was in charge inside Krondor, General Duko or someone else, had decided that Kingdom infiltration was a serious threat and had sealed the city.

Those mercenaries and traders who had gathered outside the city walls were not troubled, as long as they didn’t cause trouble. A brawl had erupted the night before at a large bonfire some distance away, over a gambling debt, woman, or insult, Jimmy didn’t know, but it had quickly been quelled by a detachment of warriors from the city who rode out and scattered everyone in sight. There had been nothing gentle or orderly about it, a simple raid to disperse, conducted with speed and efficiency. A half dozen men lay dead, while others were moaning and nursing injuries as the strike force returned to the city, but order had been restored. Most of the men outside the walls had come for booty, the opportunity to loot, or to gain steady pay, not to storm a well-fortified city.

Jimmy had judged the city fairly easy to retake should Patrick and his army be sitting outside the walls, but they weren’t. They were in Darkmoor or en route, and by the time they reached Krondor, the fortifications would be reaching daunting proportions. Workers – freemen or prisoners, Jimmy didn’t know which – were up each day at dawn, repairing the damage from the final assault on the city the previous summer.

He had chanced a leisurely ride past the main eastern gates, and saw that they had been successfully replaced. While not as grand as the originals, the new gates looked stout and well crafted. Accomplished carpenters were among those working for the invaders, as most every man of fighting age on the distant continent of Novindus had been pressed into the army.

It was nearly sundown on their second day when Malar asked, “Young sir, are we to find a safe place to sleep?”

Jimmy shook his head. “I think I’ve seen enough outside. It’s time to go inside the city.”

“Forgive my ignorance, but if each gate and breach is manned in the fashion we have observed so far, how do you propose to do this thing?”

Jimmy said, “There are more ways in and out of Krondor than are apparent. My grandfather knew them all, and he made sure Dash and I knew of every one of them before we left.”

“Is your brother likely to find a similar entrance?”

He motioned for his “servant” to follow him, and they walked slowly past a group of sullen-looking fighting men, getting ready to settle in for another cold night around a campfire with little food or prospects. “Knowing Dash, he’s already in the city.”

Dash sat with his back against the dirty stone wall. The other prisoners did likewise. Men crowded together on both sides, but he didn’t object; the weather was still cold and his captors spared no fuel to keep the slave pen heated. He wore only his undershirt and trousers. His boots, jacket, cloak, and all the other possessions he had carried were taken from him.

He had managed to evade the patrol that had followed him and had ridden to the edge of Krondor. There he had found a thriving community of traders, thieves, camp followers, and others assembled outside the gates of the city. The invaders had closed the city to anyone not among their own forces and an odd truce existed along the eastern wall.

With many breaches in the walls, the peace was kept by patrols riding among those gathered outside the walls: a mix of Kingdom deserters, displaced farmers, workers, and mercenaries looking for employment. Among the invaders and Kingdom soldiers no small number of Keshians, Quegans, and fighters from the Free Cities of Natal were in evidence.

Dash had made the mistake of attempting to sneak into Krondor. If a man could enjoy freedom outside the walls, inside the walls only those who had served in General Duko’s army were freemen. He had managed to stay out of sight for a day, but had run into a patrol and while being chased had ducked into a seemingly empty building which in reality had housed a half-dozen armed soldiers who were off-watch. They held him until the patrol caught up and, without even asking his reasons for being in the city, had beaten, robbed, then incarcerated him.

That had been three days before. Dash was letting his bruised and aching body recover; he had no doubt that given half a chance he could escape, and this time he wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking the city was deserted. It wasn’t. In fact, it was turning into something far more lively than he would have thought from Jimmy’s report.

He had spent two days working on restoring a fortification on the north wall. He had tried to overhear the guards’ gossip, but the fact was he could barely understand them. His brother had the gift for language. Dash could speak passable Keshian and Roldem, after having both languages drilled into him as a boy in the King’s court in Rillanon.

But he had barely been exposed to the Quegan, Natalese, and Yabonese dialects which, although descended from Keshian, were almost other languages to his ear. And this common tongue of Novindus was even more removed from Kesh than those.

Still, he was able to judge that something odd was happening or about to happen. The soldiers on patrol and those inside the city seemed as concerned about what was taking place to the north as they were concerned about what might be coming from the east.

“Time to go,” said a voice next to Dash.

Dash nodded to the man as he stood. The man was named Gustaf Tinker, though his last name suggested a grandfather’s trade, for he had been a mercenary soldier from the Vale of Dreams. Dash had found out the first night that most of the prisoners were hapless locals, townspeople, fishermen, and farmers from nearby. Gustaf was something of an oddity, as the Kingdom soldiers had been segregated from the other prisoners. They didn’t get worked, but they weren’t executed either. Dash had no idea what General Duko thought he might do with them; use them for hostages, perhaps. But as a result of the segregation, Gustaf and perhaps one or two others among the fifty or so men herded nightly into a room designed for a half dozen might prove useful allies when Dash made his break for freedom.

Another of the men, Talwin, was almost certainly a thief, but Dash had avoided too much conversation with him. Once into the sewers of the city, a local thief might prove a useful guide, but as long as they shared a cell together, Talwin would just as likely turn Dash in to the guards as a Kingdom spy as not for an extra ration.

The door opened and the men gratefully left the cramped room and shuffled out into the hallway. They were housed in a half-burned tannery in the North Quarter of the city. Most of the rank-smelling businesses – slaughterhouses, dyers, fish mongers, among others – were clustered here, so the area provided two benefits to invaders: large relatively undamaged buildings, and a close proximity to an area of the wall which badly needed repair. In the East Quarter, Dash suspected the workers were being housed in abandoned stables and sheds.

The guard motioned and the first man in line moved out of the hall, into the cold morning light. As Dash came out into the light, he blinked, and was startled to discover the almost ever-present cloud cover had moved inland. The day promised to be warm, which was a mixed blessing. During the day he barely felt the cold, given the amount of work he was required to do, but at least the next night might be more forgiving.

He followed along and waited until the boy who took care of food and water appeared, and as anxious as his companions, he grabbed the single slab of bread offered. It was a coarse and unappetizing meal; the grain was so illground that men had been known to break teeth on husks or small pieces of gravel. The water ration had been cut with a small amount of wine. Some men had come down with the belly flux a day or two before Dash’s capture, and the invaders were certain a little wine kept it from spreading.

All too quickly the morning meal was over, and they were off to work. Dash joined four other men attempting to move a large wall stone that had fallen during the battle of Krondor. They were to get it over to a makeshift crane, built by an invading engineer more adept at engines of war than civil engineering. Yet Dash had seen the wooden contraption lift larger stones several times in the last two days and he was certain that it would continue to serve for a while.

Why was there so much urgency in the rebuilding of Krondor? For Duko to deny the city to Patrick made sense. For Duko to attempt to hold it for any length of time made little sense. Dash smelled a mystery, and as much as he wanted to escape, he also wanted to discover what exactly was taking place around here before doing so.

A man grunted and the stone was lifted; quickly a net was pulled under. Dash used the moment gained while the other men tied off the net to the crane to turn to Gustaf and ask, “You anxious to stick around?”

The soldier, a quiet man of middle build, showed the slight smile which was his most dramatic expression, and said, “Of course. There’s such an opportunity for advancement.”

Dash said, “Yes. Another dozen deaths and you’ll be first in line for bread and water in the morning.”

“What do you have in mind?” whispered Gustaf.

Noticing they were being watched by Talwin, Dash said, “I’ll tell you later.”

Gustaf nodded and made no comment as the crew moved over to repeat their labors with another large stone.