Читать книгу Shards of a Broken Crown - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 13

ARUTHA FROWNED.

Pug stood at the door studying the Duke of Krondor a moment, before he said softly, “May I speak with you a moment?”

Arutha glanced upward and waved him in. “Grandfather. Please.”

“You appear distracted,” said Pug, sitting in a chair across a large oak table Arutha used for work.

“I was.”

“Jimmy and Dash?”

Arutha nodded as he looked out a window at the warm spring afternoon. His eyes narrowed. They were deep sunk and had dark bags underneath, revealing the lack of sleep that had plagued him since sending his sons into harm’s way. There was grey in Arutha’s hair; Pug hadn’t seen so much just a month before.

Arutha looked at Pug and said, “You needed to see me?”

“We have a problem.”

Arutha nodded. “We have many. Which particular one are we discussing?”

“Patrick.”

Arutha stood and moved around the table to the door and glanced through. A pair of clerks outside were hunched over documents, reviewing reports and requests for supplies, lost in their work.

Arutha closed the door. He returned to his seat and said, “What do you propose?”

“I propose you send a message to the King.”

“And?” Arutha looked directly into the magician’s eyes.

“I think we need another commander in the West.”

Arutha sighed, and in that moment Pug could hear the fatigue, stress, worry, and doubt in the man, expressed in as eloquent a fashion as if an orator had spoken for an hour. Pug instantly knew the outcome of this discussion before Arutha said another word. Yet he allowed the Duke to continue. “History teaches us that we often do not get the best men for a particular job. It also teaches us that if the rest of us do ours, we’ll somehow manage.”

Pug leaned forward and said, “We are this close” – he held forefinger and thumb apart a scant portion of an inch – “to war with Great Kesh. Don’t you think it proper to finish the one we have before we start another?”

“What I think is immaterial,” said Arutha. “I counsel the Prince, but it’s his realm. I’m only allowed to manage it for him.”

Pug remained silent and stared at Arutha a long moment.

Suddenly Arutha allowed his temper to get the better of him, slamming his hand down on the table. “I am not my father, damn it!”

Pug remained silent for another moment, then said, “I never said you were …or that you should be.”

“No, but you were thinking, ‘How would James have dealt with this?’ “

Pug said, “It was your mother that read minds, Arutha, not I.”

Arutha leaned forward. “You’re my grandfather, yet I hardly know you.” He glanced upward toward the ceiling, as if collecting his thoughts, then said, “And that means you hardly know me.”

“You were raised on the other side of the Kingdom, Arutha. We saw each other from time to time …”

Arutha said, “It’s difficult growing up surrounded on all sides by legends. Did you know that?”

Pug shrugged. “I am not sure.”

Arutha said, “My father was ‘Jimmy the Hand,’ the thief who became the most powerful noble in the Kingdom. I was named for the man who is almost unarguably the most brilliant ruler the Western Realm has known.

“The King and I have discussed what it’s like to be the sons of such men, on several occasions.” He pointed his finger at the magician and said, “And you … you look like my son. You look younger now than you did when I was a child. You’re turning into a figure of mystery and fear, Grandfather. ‘Pug, the Eternal Sorcerer!’ The man who saved us during the Riftwar.”

Arutha stopped, weighed his words, and said, “Borric, before he became King, once told me that our roles would be far different than our fathers'. Arutha had been thrust into command in Crydee, a situation demanding action without hesitation, without doubt.

“Father was the brash boy who saved Arutha, then became his most trusted adviser and friend. Between the two of them there was always an answer.”

Pug laughed, and it wasn’t a mocking laugh. “I’m sure they would argue they had their share of doubts and mistakes, Arutha.”

“Perhaps, but the results were there. As a child I grew up hearing the stories in Rillanon, tales told to entertain the eastern nobles who had never seen Krondor, let alone the Far Coast. How Prince Arutha had saved Crydee from the Tsurani host, and had journeyed to Krondor where he found Princess Anita. How father had helped smuggle them both from the city, then later helped get Earl Kasumi to see the King.”

Arutha became more reflective. “I heard the story of the renegade moredhel, and the rogue magician from Kelewan, and I was told of the attack on the Tear of the Gods. I heard of the Crawler and his attempt to take over the Mockers, and the other stories of Father’s more reckless youth.” He looked at Pug. “I wasn’t a noble reading dry reports, but a boy hearing tales from his father.”

Pug said, “What are you telling me? That you don’t feel equal to the task?”

“No man can be equal to the task of putting the Kingdom right, Grandfather.” He narrowed his gaze. “Not even you.”

Pug took a deep breath, then relaxed. “So Patrick won’t give up Stardock?”

“He wants it all back, Grandfather. He wants this city rebuilt in his lifetime to a glory beyond what it was before. He wants Kesh completely out of the vale. He wants the Bitter Sea cleared of Quegan raiders and Keshian pirates, and when Borric finally dies, Patrick wants to go to Rillanon to take the Crown, to be known as the greatest Prince in the history of the West.”

Softly Pug said, “Save us from monarchs with vanity.”

“Not vanity, Pug. Fear.”

Pug nodded. “Young men often fear failure.”

“I understand his fear,” said Arutha. “Maybe if I had been given a different name, George or Harry, Jack or Robert, but no; I was named for the man Father admired above all others.”

“Prince Arutha was a very admirable man. Of all the men I’ve known, he was among the most gifted.”

“A fact of which I’m painfully aware.” Arutha sat back, as if seeking some comfort. “if Arutha were still Prince, and Father still Duke, perhaps Patrick’s dreams of returned glory would prove possible. As it is today …”

Pug said, “What?”

“We are lesser men.”

Pug’s expression turned dark. “You are tired. You are tired and you are worried about the boys.” He stood. “And about Patrick and the Kingdom and everything there is in this life to be worried and tired about.” He leaned over the desk and said, “But know this: you are able. And as long as you’re my grandson, I will not let you forget that. The boys are my great-grandsons. Gamina may not have been the daughter of my body, but she was the daughter of my heart, and I love all her children and grandchildren none the less for this.” He reached across the table and put his hand on Arutha’s shoulder. “Especially you.”

Moisture came unbidden to Arutha’s eyes. “Me?”

Softly Pug said, “You may not be as much like your father as you would wish, but you are more like your mother than you’ll ever know.” He removed his hand and turned to go. “I’ll leave you. Rest, and dine with me tonight when you’ve had a chance to refresh yourself.” He reached the door and said, “Try not to worry too much about the boys. I am sure they are safe.”

He opened the door and left, closing it behind him. Arutha, Duke of Krondor, sat silently and thought about what his grandfather had just said to him. At last he allowed himself the luxury of a long sigh, then turned to the work still before him. Perhaps he would take the opportunity to rest a bit before supper that evening. And as he regarded the report on top of the pile, he thought, The boys are able. Grandfather is most likely right, and the boys are safe.

Jimmy’s head snapped backward as the soldier stepped through the blow. Jimmy’s eyes watered from the pain and his vision turned red for a moment. His knees wobbled and he felt himself start to go, but the other two guards who held him kept him upright.

“All right,” said the interrogator, speaking the King’s Tongue with a very heavy accent. “Again.” He paused. “Let’s start again. Why were you sneaking into Krondor?”

Malar was held by another two soldiers. His nose bled and his right eye was puffy, as he had stood his turn at interrogation. Jimmy was now very pleased that he and Dash had told him nothing.

Jimmy shook his head to clear it, and said, “I told you. I’m a mercenary from the East, and this is my dog robber. I’m looking for work.”

“Wrong answer,” said the man, and he struck Jimmy again. Jimmy collapsed, unable to make his legs obey, and was held entirely by the two soldiers.

Jimmy spat blood, and through rapidly swelling lips said, “What do you want me to say?”

“Every mercenary outside the walls has been told to stay out of Krondor. If you were a freebooter you would know this.” He nodded and the two men moved to the wall, and let Jimmy slump to the floor. The man knelt, putting his own face down near Jimmy’s.

The soldier was a brutish-looking fellow, with a beetle brow and thick black hair that hung down over his shoulders. He sported a short black beard, and at this close quarter, Jimmy could see he bore an assortment of scars on his neck and shoulders. The man grabbed Jimmy’s hair and said, “Either you’re a fool or you’re a spy. Which is it?”

Jimmy paused for dramatic effect, then slowly he said, “I came looking for my brother.”

The soldier stood and motioned and the two other soldiers picked Jimmy up and moved him to a chair. They were gathered in a large bedroom of an inn, converted to a cell of sorts.

Jimmy and Malar had been dragged there the night before and the interrogation had started at once. For an hour they had been routinely questioned and beaten, then left alone. Just as they were able to relax, the door would open and the questioning would begin again. Jimmy knew the oddly timed schedule was deliberate, designed to unnerve them. Despite the overt brutality of the man questioning them, the entire process was very well thought out and subtle. It was designed to disorient him without rendering him incoherent. It was a methodical approach looking to ferret out mistakes and inconsistencies. Jimmy had fought to concentrate to the limit of his ability to prevent any such lapse; he was attempting to turn the situation to his advantage.

One fear of his was that they already had Dash in custody. If so, the admission he was searching for his brother might dovetail into Dash’s arrest if he was already here. In a way, it was the truth, and being the truth, it would prove far more convincing than the most artfully concocted lie.

“Your brother?” said the man, holding a fist cocked to deliver another blow. “What brother?”

“My younger brother.” Jimmy leaned back in the chair, letting his left arm hang over the chair back, keeping him upright. “We were jumped a few miles from the city by bandits and rode toward Krondor.” He paused for a long moment, then as the interrogator started to menace him with his fist, he blurted, “We got separated. The bandits chased him, so we doubled back and followed after. We dodged the bandits, as they came back our way, so we know they didn’t have him – couldn’t see any leading his horse, and it was a good horse so they’d have kept it.” He swallowed. “Can I have some water?” he croaked.

The man in charge nodded and one of the guards stepped out of the room and returned a moment later with water. Jimmy drank eagerly, then nodded toward Malar. The man who had been questioning Jimmy nodded and the servant was given a cup of water to drink.

“Go on,” instructed the interrogator.

“We checked all the camps outside. No one had seen him.”

“Maybe someone already cut his throat.”

“Not my brother,” said Jimmy.

“How do you know?” asked the interrogator.

“Because I’d know. And because whoever cut his throat would be wearing his boots if he was.”

The interrogator looked down at Jimmy’s feet and nodded. “Good boots.” He motioned to one of the men in the room, who ducked out and returned a moment later holding a sack. He opened the sack and dumped the contents on the floor. The interrogator said, “Are these your brother’s?”

Jimmy looked at the boots. He didn’t need to pick them up. They were identical to Dash’s: the same bootmaker in Rillanon had made them for the brothers. Jimmy said, “In the left one you’ll see the mark of the bootmaker, a small bull’s head.”

The man nodded. “I’ve seen it.”

“Is my brother alive?”

The man nodded. “At least he was until two days ago. That’s when he escaped.”

Jimmy couldn’t help but smile. “Escaped?”

“With three others.” The man studied Jimmy a moment, then said, “Bring them.” He turned and walked out of the room; Jimmy and Malar were hurried after him, a guard on each side.

They were taken to what had been the common room of the inn, and Jimmy finally recognized where he was. He was in what was left of a very palatial inn called the Seven Gems, not too far from the heart of the Merchants’ Quarters. He was a few blocks from Barret’s Coffee House, where most of the major financial business of the Western Realm had been conducted. Glancing around the room, Jimmy decided the inn had survived relatively intact. There was ample smoke damage and all of the tapestries that had decorated the place were gone, but the furniture was intact, and the rooms still able to be locked. He had been questioned in one of the back storage rooms, near the kitchen, and was now being led into the far corner of the commons, where a curtain separated a large booth from the rest of the room.

Sitting in the booth was a trio of men, all clearly military from their dress and manner. The man in the center was looking over a parchment, a report of some sort, Jimmy guessed. The interrogator moved to the front of the table and leaned over, speaking in a soft voice. He glanced up at Jimmy, nodded to the interrogator, who departed, leaving Jimmy standing alone with the three men. They seemed intent upon the paperwork before them, and left Jimmy standing for a long time before the centermost man’s attention returned to him.

“Your name?” asked the man in the center.

“I’m called Jimmy,” he answered.

“Jimmy,” repeated the man, as if testing the sound of the name. He studied Jimmy’s face, and Jimmy studied his.

He was a middle-aged man, probably in his late forties or early fifties. He still looked fit, though what once had been hard muscle had been thinned by hardships on campaign and a cold, hungry winter. He had the look of a fighter, from his greying dark hair tied back to keep it from his brown eyes, to the hard set of a jaw kept clean-shaven. Something about him looked familiar to Jimmy, and suddenly it struck him: in manner and voice the man resembled what he remembered of Prince Arutha from Jimmy’s childhood. There was a no-nonsense hardness to him, a calculating intelligence that would be fatal to underestimate.

The man said, “You are a spy, of that I am almost certain.” He spoke the King’s Tongue, but his accent was slight.

Jimmy said nothing.

“But the issue here is are you a bad spy or a terribly clever one.” He sighed, as if thinking on this. “Your brother, if that is really who he is, was a far better spy than I had thought. I had him under observation, yet he managed to escape. We knew of the sewers under the walls, yet didn’t know of that particular entrance. Once he was in there, he was gone.” The soldier looked at Jimmy, as if measuring him, then said, “I won’t make that mistake again.” He reached for a mug nearby and drank what appeared to be water. Jimmy was impressed by the man’s speech, for even with almost no accent, it was clear he had studied the language, for he spoke with the practiced precision of someone not born to the tongue.

He then said, “I have determined that those boots which you claim belong to your brother are made by a particularly well-regarded cobbler in Rillanon, your nation’s capital. Is this correct?”

Jimmy nodded. “It is.”

“Would it be unreasonable to assume that common mercenaries are not likely to acquire a matching set of such boots unless they are not, in fact, common mercenaries?”

“Not unreasonable at all,” said Jimmy. The man speaking to him motioned to one of his two companions, who left the booth, fetched over a chair, and allowed Jimmy to sit. Jimmy nodded his thanks, then said, “Would it be immodest to claim we are uncommon mercenaries?”

“Not in the least,” said the man. “Though it would smack of insincerity.”

Jimmy said, “I am at your mercy. If I’m a spy or not is of little matter. You can kill me at your whim.”

“True, but murder holds little appeal for me. I’ve seen far too much of it over the last twenty years.” He motioned to the remaining man who sat at his side, and the man rose from his seat and offered Jimmy a mug of water. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything more flavorful, but at least it’s clean. One of the major wells to the north has been cleared and is running fresh again. Your Duke James left nothing behind that provides much comfort.”

Jimmy feigned indifference to hearing his grandfather’s name, This invader was very well informed about things in Krondor and the Kingdom to know about Duke James and Rillanon’s better bootmaker.

“But we manage,” said the man. “Feeding the workers is difficult, but the fishing has been good and there are those willing to sell to us for the little booty we’ve found in Krondor.”

Jimmy was intrigued. He was also wary. This man was apparently unconcerned by what he said, and appeared to be someone of some importance among the invaders.

The man stood and said, “Can you walk?”

Jimmy rose and nodded. “I’ll manage.”

“Good. Then come with me.”

Jimmy followed the man out of the door of the inn. Outside the afternoon sun was brilliant and Jimmy squinted. “We must walk, I’m sorry to say. Horses are a staple of our current diet.” He glanced at Jimmy. “Though a few are maintained to carry messages.”

They walked along a busy street. While almost every man was armed and obviously a warrior, a few were workers and a few women were seen here and there. Everyone seemed occupied with some task, and none of the usual idle habitues of the city were in evidence: the drunks, prostitutes, confidence men, and beggars. Also noticeable by their absence, the street urchins who flocked in rowdy gangs through the poor and workers’ quarters of the city.

“If I may ask,” said Jimmy, “where’s my dog robber?”

“He’s comfortable,” said the man. “Don’t worry about him.”

The man who was walking beside him said, “Jimmy, if you are a spy, you’re most likely wondering what it is we’re doing here in Krondor.”

Jimmy said, “It is a question that has crossed my mind. I may not be a spy, but it’s obvious there’s more going on here than a simple staging for a spring offensive. You’ve got soldiers on the outside of the walls anxious to enlist and you’re not enlisting them. You have a great deal of work underway, but some of it” – he pointed to a nearby building where two soldiers were hanging a new door – “clearly not military in nature. It’s as if you’ve come to Krondor to stay.”

The man smiled, and again Jimmy was reminded of the old Prince, for this man had the same cryptic half-smile Arutha had evidenced when amused. “Good observation. Yes, we’re not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

Jimmy nodded, his head still ringing from the beating he had taken. He said, “But you’re turning away swords who will help you hang on to this place when the Prince’s army returns.”

“How many spies are among that band outside?” asked the man.

“I couldn’t begin to guess.” Jimmy shrugged. “Not many, I wager.”

“Why?”

“Because no man of the Kingdom can pass himself off as one of your own. We don’t speak your language.”

“Ah,” said the officer, “but you have. Some of your countrymen have been among us for years. We first became of aware of a group calling itself ‘Calis’s Crimson Eagles’ before the fall of Maharta. We now know they were Kingdom agents. We know they were with us from time to time.” They reached the walls and the man motioned for Jimmy to climb with him up a flight of stairs to the ramparts.

As they climbed, the man continued. “We who were commanding never had a clear picture of this campaign. To understand what we became, you need to know what we were before.” They reached the ramparts, and the man motioned for Jimmy to follow. They reached a section of the wall freshly refurbished, the stones set firmly in place with new mortar. The man motioned beyond the wall, toward the east. “Out there is a nation, your Kingdom.” He turned to regard Jimmy. “In my homeland we have no such nations. There were city-states, ruled by men who were petty or noble, who were acquisitive or generous, wise or foolish. But no ruler’s power existed beyond a week’s ride by his soldiers.” He motioned toward Jimmy. “You people have this thing in your mind. This idea of a nation. It is an idea I am most intrigued by, even captivated by. The notion that men who live more than a month’s travel from a ruler swear to that ruler, are willing to die for that ruler—” He stopped himself. “No, not the ruler, this nation. Now this is an amazing idea.

“I have spent much time this winter speaking with those among our prisoners who could teach me, men and women of some education or experience, who would help me understand this concept of this Kingdom.” He shook his head. “It is a grand thing, this nation of yours.”

Jimmy shrugged. “We tend to take it for granted.”

“I understand, for you have never known otherwise.” The man looked out over the wall. Below was a sea of tents and makeshift shelters, campfies and the sounds of humanity, laughter, shouts of anger, the voices of peddlers, a child crying. “But to me the notion of something larger than what I can take and hold – for my employer or for myself – that is a wondrous notion.”

The wind blew and the afternoon smelled of salt and charcoal. The man said, “Tell me, why is this city built here?” He glanced westward. “If there is a worse harbor in the world, I’ve not seen it.”

Jimmy shrugged. “The story says the first Prince of Krondor liked the view of the sunset from the hill upon which the palace was built.”

“Princes,” said the man, shaking his head. He sighed loudly. “We are dredging that terrible harbor. We have found those who call themselves ‘Wreckers’ and they are using their magic to raise hulks for us. We manage one every three days, and will have the harbor cleared before next winter.”

Jimmy said nothing.

“We know you marshal what’s left of your fleet down in Shandon Bay, in the village you call Port Vykor. We have no fleet, but we will have ships, and we will hold the city.”

Jimmy shrugged. “May I ask why?”

“Because we have nowhere else to go.”

Jimmy looked at the man and said, “If there was a way back to your home …?”

“There is nothing there.” He glanced toward the east. “There is my future, one way or another.” Then he looked toward the west. “Out there is a land ravaged by over twenty years of war. No city of size remains. Those few that do are small backwaters, barely more prosperous in their glory than Krondor is now in her ashes. They are city-states of tiny men with no sense of the future. One day is much like the next.”

He turned toward Jimmy and studied him a long time. “I’m fifty-two years old next Midsummer’s Day, lad. I’ve been a soldier since I was sixteen years of age. For thirty-six years I’ve been fighting.” He glanced at the city as the sun began to lower in the west. “That’s a damn long time to be dealing in blood and slaughter.” He leaned on the parapet as if tired. “For the last twenty I’ve served demons or black gods, I don’t know which, but I know that the Army of the Emerald Queen was made up of men beguiled by dark forces, lured by promises of wealth, power, and immortality.” His voice lowered. “Or propelled by fear.” He looked down, as if reluctant to look Jimmy in the eyes. “I was ambitious when I was young. I was anxious to make a name for myself. I formed my own company when I was eighteen. I was commanding a thousand men by twenty.

“At first I was glad to serve the Emerald Queen. Her army was the greatest my land had known. With conquest came booty, gold, women, more recruits.” He closed his eyes as if remembering. “But after a while the years slip by and you find the string of women hold no interest, and there’s only so much gold you can carry with you. Besides, there’s nothing to do with it but hire more men.”

He looked at Jimmy and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, to the north. “My old friend Noradan is up there, at my back. If I know Fadawah, I am to be left here to be ground to a fine dust by the returning army of the Prince of Krondor. I am to slow him down and bleed him, while Noradan builds up a barrier across the highway to the north of here, to stand at Sarth.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if somehow able to see to that distant town. “That’s a hell of a defensive position, that abandoned abbey. Once he’s dug in, it will take your Prince all year to dig him out.”

Looking again at Jimmy, he said, “Meanwhile, Fadawah is going to take your city of LaMut. He won’t go on to Yabon this year, being content to throw up a position south of that city and starve it for a year. He has the means to keep reinforcements and supplies from reaching the city while he repulses your forces from the south.”

Jimmy said, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Spy or not, I want you to carry a message for me to the Prince. I believe he’s still in Darkmoor, but have no doubt he has forces no more than a day’s ride to the east. I’ll arrange an escort to a likely point and turn you loose.”

“Why not just send a message?”

“Because I think you are a spy and I think you’re likely to be believed. If I send one of my own men, or a captive who wasn’t known to the Prince or his men, I think it might take too long to convince him of my intent. And time is a commodity neither of us has.”

Jimmy said, “You’re General Duko.”

The man nodded. “And I’ve been sent out by one of my oldest comrades to die. Fadawah and I have served in various campaigns together since we were hardly old enough to shave. But he fears me, and that’s my death warrant.”

“What do you want me to say to Prince Patrick?”

“I have an offer for him.”

“What’s the offer?”

“I wish to negotiate a settlement of our differences.”

“You’re willing to surrender?”

“Nothing that simple, I’m afraid.” The General smiled a half-smile that Jimmy found both reassuring and unsettling. “Patrick would likely throw me and my men into a camp and get around to shipping us back to Novindus when he found the means, and that could be years down the road.”

“You’re turning coat?”

“Not quite. Surrender or take his gold for service, either way I end up a man looking for a boat back to a land that has no place for me. No, Jimmy, I need a different solution. I need a future, for me and my men.”

“What do you wish me to tell the Prince’s men?”

“Tell them that I have handpicked the men with me here in Krondor. Tell them those I had reservations about were left behind with Noradan. I can vouch for my men.” He looked into Jimmy’s eyes a moment. “Tell your Prince of Krondor I will swear fealty to the crown, in exchange for land and titles. Grant me estates and income, and I will lead the army north to visit with my old friends Noradan and Fadawah.”

Jimmy was silent for a moment. He was both astonished at the suggestion and amazed at the logic behind it. He shook his head. “I don’t know what he will say.”

“If we knew what he would say, we wouldn’t have to send you, now, would we?”

Jimmy shook his head.

“Come, get something to eat, and leave at first light.” He led Jimmy down the stairs.

Jimmy watched the man’s back and considered what he wanted. In a single breath he had set a price: forgive the assault on the Western Realm, and more, grant the man a patent of nobility, name him Earl or Baron of some lands in the West, and give him the power to rule over those lands. Jimmy shook his head. Would Patrick do it, or would his temper doom men on both sides of the wall to more useless bloodshed?

Dash sipped at the watery soup and said, “So then what?”

“We stayed in that basement a week or more. Hard to judge being in the gloom all that time.” The old man motioned to put aside his bowl, held in a badly deformed hand, and the young woman moved to take it before it fell to the floor. “Thank you, Trina,” he said.

His voice was as scarred as his face, but after getting used to the sound of it, Dash understood him well enough.

The three men who had come with Dash were still missing, and only Dash, the old man, and the woman thief sat around the simple wooden table.

“What should I call you?” asked Dash.

“Your grandfather insisted on calling me Lysle. It was a name I hadn’t used in more score of years than I can count, but it serves. I’ve had so many in my life I barely know which one is truly mine.”

“Lysle, you were telling me about Grandfather and Grandmother.”

“James set fire to the oil he rigged in the sewers. We knew it would be a close thing and it was. I was in the escape tunnel ahead of them, and when the explosion came I shot from the mouth of the tunnel like a cork from a bottle of sparkling wine. I was badly burned, as you see, and had half my bones broken, but I’m a tough nut.”

The woman named Trina spoke. “And we found a healing priest who worked on him.”

“Damn near killed the man, making him do his healings over me, my merry band of cutthroats did. But they saved me before the poor brother of Killian passed out from exhaustion. He squeezed a few years more of life for me, while I set matters in Krondor right.”

“Grandfather and Grandmother?”

The old man shook his head. “James and Gamina were last in the tunnel, behind me. They never had a chance, boy.”

Dash had known his grandfather and grandmother were dead; his great-grandfather Pug had said so, but upon finding the Upright Man alive, a faint hope had been rekindled in Dash. Now it was extinguished again, and the pain was again felt.

Lysle said, “If it is any comfort, I know they died quickly, and together.”

Dash nodded. “Grandmother would never have wanted to live without Grandfather.”

“I never knew my brother well, Dash. We had met once as young men, and then again a few years ago.” The old man laughed, a dry chuckle. “He put me out of business, actually, and damn near got me killed by some of the more ambitious men in the Mockers.

“But those few days I spent with him and your grandmother, they were my chance to hear the stories. I’m sure you heard most of them. Prince Arutha and the journey to Moraline, the fall of Armengar, where he got the idea for that nasty fire trap that got himself killed. I heard how he had journeyed to Kesh, during that matter with the Crawler, and when Lord Nirome had tried to depose the Empress. He told me of his rise in power and the time he spent ruling in Rillanon.

“I had thought myself something of a man of some accomplishments. When my father had died, one of his most trusted lieutenants had seized control of the Mockers, naming himself the Virtuous Man. I in turn deposed him and called myself the Sagacious Man. And I returned to the name Upright Man to signal an agreement I had with your grandfather and create the false impression I had deposed myself with the members of the Mockers.

“But my accomplishments pale next to those of Jimmy the Hand. The thief who ruled in turn the two mightiest cities in the Kingdom. He who was the most powerful noble in the nation. What a man he was.”

Dash nodded. “When you put it that way, I see what you mean. To me he was Grandfather, and he had lots of wonderful stories. I sometimes forgot they were true.”

The Upright Man said, “Now, the question is, what to do with you?”

“Me?”

“You’re here spying for your father. That’s not a problem, in and of itself, but the fact is you’ve seen me, talked to me, and letting you go is a problem.”

“Would it make a difference if I swore to say nothing about you to anyone?”

The old man laughed his dry chuckle again. “Hardly. You’re who you are, boy, and things might remain on the square between us for a while, but eventually, when things return to something like before around here, the day will come when some Mocker will create a problem that will call a little too much attention to us. It happens from time to time. And then you’ll find yourself wondering just where your loyalties lie, to your Prince or your old Uncle Lysle. Considering our deep family bond, I have no doubt you’d turn me in the first chance you get.”

Dash stood up. “Grandfather taught me better.” He glanced at the girl, and then at his great-uncle. “Besides, the Mockers I’ve seen don’t exactly look a menace to the sovereignty of the nation at the moment, and then there’s the small matter that we don’t presently control Krondor.”

“That’s a matter of some weight, true. And it gives me pause about ordering your death. You don’t presently pose a threat. What do you think you can manage for us if we help you get free and back to your father?”

Dash said, “I can’t promise anything. I don’t have the authority. But I suspect with a little conversation, I can get Father to authorize a general pardon for any of your people who help us retake the city.”

“A little fighting for an amnesty?”

“Something like that. Having a few of you inside the walls at key locations at the right time could save a lot of lives under the walls.”

“Well, let me think on this, and then I’ll tell you what I’ll do tomorrow. Get some rest and don’t try to escape.”

“What of my friends?”

“They’re being cared for. I don’t know how important they are to you, but I’m counting on them having a little call on your loyalties, so I can keep you in line.”

Dash nodded and the old man hobbled to the door. “Trina will keep you company for the night.” Dash tried to look pleased, but the woman’s dark glare made it clear amusing byplay would be lost on her.

After the door closed, Dash sat down on a pile of straw in the corner, obviously his bed for the night. A long moment of silence passed as Trina sat on the chair by the table watching him. Looking at his guard, he said, “Well, then. Do we tell one another our life stories?”

Taking out her dagger, the woman began to clean her fingernails with the point. She put her feet up on the table and said, “No, Puppy. We do not.”

Sighing, Dash lay down and closed his eyes.