Читать книгу Shards of a Broken Crown - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 9

THE WIND HAD died.

Dash waited. The frigid bite of the air still brought tears to his eyes as he scanned the road below. The reconstruction of Darkmoor had been tedious, slowed by continuous snows and rain, as the winter proved a fickle one. If slippery ice wasn’t making footing treacherous for those workmen attempting to rebuild the walls around the western portion of the city, then knee-deep mud stalled wagons carrying needed supplies.

Now it was icy again, but at least Dash was thankful there was currently no snow. The sky was clear, the late afternoon sun hinting at warmth that wasn’t really there. Dash knew it was his mood as much as the weather, but this particular winter seemed to have lasted longer than any in his young life.

The sounds of the city carried through the still, icy air as the day wound down. With luck the new gate would be finished before sunset, and an extra modicum of security would be added to the sum of things that needed to be done yesterday.

Dash was tired, fatigued beyond anything he could remember in his twenty years of life. Part of it was from the seemingly endless list of things that needed attention, and the rest was from worry; his brother Jimmy was overdue.

Jimmy was acting the part of exploring officer, a scout behind enemy lines. Prince Patrick of Krondor had decided to move hard and fast against a threat of Keshian expansion into the southern flank of the Kingdom in the spring. That meant that the retaking of lands lost during the invasion the previous summer would be left to Owen Greylock, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, and Erik von Darkmoor, Knight-Captain of the Crimson Eagles, an elite mobile force of handpicked men.

Which had meant the Prince needed information on what the invaders were doing between Darkmoor and Krondor. And Jimmy had volunteered to go see what was going on.

He was now three days overdue.

Dash had come to the edge of the patrolled area, a series of burned-out walls that marked the western edge of the foulbourgh of Darkmoor. The Prince’s army in the city insured that there was little danger within a day’s ride of the city, but these partial walls and piles of tumbled masonry provided ample cover for ambush and had been refuge to more than one band of scavengers or outlaws.

Dash scanned the horizon, watching for his brother. The sounds of the winter woodlands below were few and infrequent. An occasional rustle as snow fell from tree branches, or the crack of ice some miles away as the thaw began. A bird call or the rustle of some animal in the brush. Sound carried for miles in the winter cold.

Then Dash heard something. A faint sound, coming from far away. It wasn’t the sound of hooves striking hard dirt and rock Dash had hoped to hear. Rather it was the rolling crunch of ice underfoot. And whoever made the sound was coming toward him with a methodical step, even and unhurried.

Dash flexed his gloved fingers and slowly pulled his sword from his scabbard. If the previous conflict had taught him nothing else, it was to always be ready. There were no safe positions outside the fortress that was the city of Darkmoor.

In the distance he detected motion, and he focused on it. A single figure trudged along the road. He was moving at a plodding walk, and as Dash watched, he hurried to a slow trot. Dash knew he was walking one hundred paces, then trotting one hundred paces, a practice drilled into Dash and his brother by their arms teachers as boys. For a man without a mount it could cover almost as much distance as a horse could in a day, more over the course of weeks.

Dash watched. The figure resolved itself into a man wrapped, in a heavy grey cloak; clothing designed to make it difficult to see the wearer from any distance in the gloom of winter. Only on the bright days when the sky was clear would the wearer be easy to spot.

As the man on foot came closer, Dash saw he was without a hat, but had his head covered in a thick cloth, a scarf or torn remnant of another piece of clothing. He carried a sword at his side, and his hands were clad in mismatching gloves. His boots were filthy with mud and ice.

The crunching of snow under his tread became louder by the moment, until he stood before Dash. He stopped and looked up, and at last he said, “You’re in my way.”

Dash moved his mount aside and swung the horse’s head around toward Darkmoor. He put his sword away, urged the animal forward and walked beside the man on foot. “Lose your horse?” he asked.

Jimmy, Dash’s brother, hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “Back there.”

“That was pretty careless,” said the younger brother. “That was an expensive horse.”

Jimmy said, “I know. But I didn’t feel like carrying him. He was dead.”

“Pity. That was a really good horse.”

“You don’t miss him nearly as much as I do,” said Jimmy.

“Would you like a ride?” asked Dash.

Jimmy stopped, turned, and regarded his brother. Neither son of Lord Arutha, Duke of Krondor, resembled the other. James looked like his grandmother, slight, blond, and possessing features that could only be called finely drawn, with sapphire eyes. Dash looked like his grandfather, with tight curls of light brown hair, dark eyes, and a mocking expression. In nature, they were as alike as twins. “About time you offered,” said Jimmy, reaching up to take Dash’s hand.

He swung up behind his brother and they rode slowly toward the city. “How bad was it?” asked Dash.

“Worse,” said Jimmy.

“Worse than we thought?”

“Worse than anything we could have imagined.”

Dash said nothing more, knowing his brother would report directly to the Prince, and that Dash would hear every detail.

Jimmy took the hot cup of coffee, sweetened with honey and made rich with cream, and nodded his thanks. The servant quickly departed, closing the door behind him. Jimmy sat in the Prince’s private chamber, while the Prince, the Knight-Marshal Owen Greylock, Duke Arutha of Krondor, and Erik von Darkmoor patiently waited for his report.

Patrick, Prince of Krondor and ruler of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, said, “Very well. What did you find?”

Jimmy finished his first sip of the hot drink, and said, “It’s far worse than we feared.”

Patrick had detailed five men to ride into the West, toward Krondor, his capital city, and only three of them had returned so far. The picture he was having painted for him could be called nothing but bleak. “Go on.”

Jimmy put his cup down on the table and started removing his heavy cloak as he said, “I got to Krondor. It took some doing, but most of the remaining soldiers between here and there are nothing more than bandits. After a couple of months of snow, rain, and sleet, they are dug in, hugging their fires and trying hard to stay alive.”

“What of Krondor?” Patrick asked.

Jimmy said, “It’s almost deserted. There were a few people around, but no one wanted to talk to me, and frankly, I wasn’t anxious to strike up many conversations myself. Most of those I caught a glimpse of were soldiers, foraging for what they could find in the rubble.”

Jimmy stretched, as if tired. He took another sip of coffee. “Though what they could possibly find is beyond me.” He looked at Patrick. “Highness, Krondor looks like nothing I’ve seen before or could dream of in my worst nightmare. Every stone blackened, and almost no board unburned. The smell of char still lingers in the air and it’s been months since the fires. Rain and snow have yet to cleanse the city.

“The palace—”

“What of the palace?” asked Patrick, his voice anxious.

“Gone. The outer walls stand in place, but great breaches exist. The inner palace is little more than a huge pile of blackened rubble – the fire was so hot the timbers burned through and some inner walls collapsed. Only the ancient keep still stands, if you use the term ‘stands’ generously. It’s a blackened shell of stones. I climbed the stone steps inside, for no wood remains untouched, and reached the roof. From there I could see the entire city and some distance to the north and west.

“The harbor is a sea of sunken ships, their masts blackened and rotting. The docks are gone. Most of the first street after the docks has been leveled. All the buildings in the western third of the city have been gutted or reduced to rubble, as if the fires burned the hottest there.”

Arutha, Duke of Krondor, nodded. His father, Lord James, who had preceded him in his office, had fired the city to trap the invaders inside the flames, and had died, along with his mother, in doing so. Arutha knew the placement of Quegan fire oil in the sewers below the city would have concentrated the damage where his father would have judged it most appropriate, at the docks, near the ships unloading troops, then throughout the maze that had been the poor quarter of the city, then the merchant quarter.

“The central third of the city is seriously damaged, but there may be a building or two that can be salvaged on every street. The rest will have to be razed before any construction can begin. The easternmost third is also heavily damaged, but many of the buildings there can be restored.”

“What of the outlying estates?” asked Erik, thinking of his friend Rupert’s large house, a day’s ride to the east of Krondor.

“Many burned to the ground; others were sacked and left empty. A few of them were being used as headquarters for what I took to be companies of the invaders, so I didn’t get too close,” answered Jimmy. He sipped at his coffee.

“I was about to leave when things turned interesting.” Patrick and Arutha looked at Jimmy expectantly. Jimmy took another sip of coffee, then continued. “A command of at least a hundred men rode past where I was camped—” He glanced at his brother. “That little inn up the street from Weavers’ Road, where you got into that fight?” Dash nodded. Looking back at the Prince, Jimmy continued, “It’s atop a little rise, and had an intact roof, which was welcome, and best yet, provided an unobstructed view of High Street and Palace Road, as well as several other byways from the north gate.”

“The men?” prompted Owen Greylock.

“If I understand the markings used by the mercenary companies, General Duko is now on his way to Krondor or is already there.”

Erik swore. Then he glanced at Patrick and said, “Sorry, Highness.”

Patrick said, “I understand. All the reports I’ve read tell me Duko is a worthy foe.”

Erik said, “He’s more than a handful. He kept constant pressure on our northern flank along Nightmare Ridge, without wasting soldiers. He’s the closest thing the invaders have to a Kingdom general in his knowledge of tactics and deployment.”

Owen nodded. “If he’s in Krondor, and ordered to hold it, our job just became a great deal more difficult.”

Patrick looked worried but stayed silent a moment. Then he said, “Why would they move into Krondor in strength? There’s nothing left, they don’t need it to protect their southern flank. Could they know of our new base down at Port Vykor?”

“Perhaps,” said Owen. “Or they simply wish to keep us from using Krondor as a forward base.”

Patrick suddenly looked tired, and worried, thought Jimmy. After another long silence, the Prince said, “We need more information than we have.”

The brothers exchanged glances, each acknowledging what the other knew: they were among those most likely to be sent ahead to get that information.

Patrick asked James, “How long did you stay?”

“Long enough to see them start to secure the area, so I made for the eastern gate to get free before they spotted me. I got out of the city, but ran right into a patrol between Krondor and Ravensburg. I managed to get loose from them in the woods, but they killed my horse.”

Patrick said, “Patrol? That far east?”

Owen nodded and said, “Erik?”

Erik’s expression showed he was as perplexed as anyone else in the room. “We’ve gotten reports from refugees that General Fadawah might be pushing south again, or at least is making his presence known. If Duko’s in Krondor, those rumors are true. But to have patrols already that far east means they’re quickly deploying to welcome us should we march home.”

Patrick said, “It’s icy hell out there. What’s he up to?”

“If we knew that,” said Dash dryly, “we wouldn’t have to go slogging about in that icy hell.”

Owen smiled. Duke Arutha tried to hide his own amusement, but failed.

Patrick said, “True,” ignoring the breach of protocol. The winter shared in close quarters had turned this group into a fairly informal band of friends when court wasn’t in session.

The invaders had been defeated at the Battle of Nightmare Ridge, but the destruction done to the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was unimaginable. As spring approached, and with it the ability to move his forces, Patrick was desperately trying to imagine what had happened to his principality.

Patrick turned to Greylock. “How soon can you move?”

“Highness?” asked Owen.

“How soon before you can move to retake the city?”

Owen said, “I can marshal the men and have them ready to march in under a week. We’ve got some of the garrison scattered along the ridge and down toward the Vale of Dreams, but most are near enough to muster, though from what I’ve seen, we’ll need better information than we have to know what strength we’ll face.”

Patrick sat back. “I was hoping for better intelligence.”

Jimmy glanced at his father, who shook his head slightly, warning him from making any comment. Dash allowed his brother the confirmation that what the Prince had just said was thoughtless by raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.

Patrick said, “We’ve got a massive front to the south, and all the major units of the Army of the East are ready to answer any invasion from Kesh, but we have limited resources to reclaim the Western Realm.”

Jimmy said nothing.

Finally the Prince noticed Jimmy, nodded and waved his hand. “Dismissed. Get some clean clothing and bathe. We’ll discuss this again at length after the evening meal.”

Jimmy left, finding his father and brother following him out of the room. They paused just outside the door. Arutha said, “I’ve got to get back inside, but I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“I’m fine,” said Jimmy, with a faint smile of appreciation for his father’s concern. With the death of their grandparents, Arutha’s features had taken on a drawn, haggard edge, from too much worry and too little sleep. “Just some cold toes.”

Arutha nodded, squeezed his son’s shoulder a moment. “Get some food and rest. This isn’t half over, and while Patrick may be ready to storm the enemy, we need a great deal more information.” He opened the door and returned inside to the Prince’s council. Dash said, “I’ll go with you to the kitchen.”

Jimmy said, “Fine.”

The two brothers walked down the long hall.

Erik entered the kitchen. He waved across the large stone room to Milo. The innkeeper from his hometown of Ravensburg had been put to work in the castle’s kitchen, along with his wife, so they could be close to their daughter, Rosalyn, mother of the next Baron of Darkmoor. She and her husband Rudolph the baker lived in the castle where they took care of the baby baron.

Erik’s own mother now lived in one of the buildings close by the castle – the long history of animosity between her and the Dowager Baroness made it prudent to keep the two women separated. The Baroness had been humiliated publicly for years by Erik’s mother Frieda over Erik being the illegitimate son of the late Baron Otto. Erik’s stepfather, Nathan, was furiously working in the Barony’s smithy, readying weapons and other iron goods for the coming spring campaign. It was a socially awkward situation at times, but Erik enjoyed having his family close by.

Erik sat. “You all right?” he asked Jimmy.

“Just tired. Came close to not making it once, but it’s not much of a story. I had just lost my horse and had to hide from a patrol for a while, and damn near froze hiding under a log. The snow was falling so they didn’t track me after I had crossed some rocks, but I could barely move when they finally left.”

“Frostbite?” asked Erik.

“Don’t know,” said Jimmy. “I haven’t taken my boots off. My fingers are fine.” He wiggled them.

“We have a healing priest here. The Temple of Dala, at Rillanon, sent one to provide advice to the Prince.”

Dash grinned. “You mean the King bullied them into having one close by in case Patrick was wounded.”

“Something like that,” admitted Erik as he returned the smile. “Have him look at your feet. It wouldn’t do to have you going toeless.”

Jimmy chewed, then swallowed. “Why am I suspicious you’re motivated more by my fitness for duty, Captain, than out of any concern for my well-being?”

Erik shrugged theatrically. “Because you have a reasonable comprehension of how things work in court?”

Jimmy suddenly looked very tired, as if letting down his mask. “How soon?” he asked.

Erik looked sympathetic. “The end of this week. Three, four more days.”

Jimmy nodded. He stood and said, “I’d better find that priest.”

“Down the hall from the Prince’s quarters, next to my own. His name is Herbert. Tell him who you are; you look like a rag-picker.”

Dash watched his brother leave and said, “As his feet thawed he could barely walk. I think that priest is going to earn his keep.”

Erik took a cup of coffee from Milo, said thanks, then turned to Dash. “He already has. I’ve got a score of men fit for duty who would still be laid up if it wasn’t for that priest. And Nakor.”

“Where is that scrawny lunatic?” asked Dash. “I haven’t seen him in a week.”

“He’s out in the city, gathering converts for his new faith.”

“How goes the summoning of the Blessed to spread the word of Good?”

Erik laughed. “Recruiting those willing to work on behalf of good in the midst of winter, after a war has reduced the population to near starvation, is nearly beyond even Nakor’s conniving ways.”

“Any takers?”

“A couple. One or two are earnest, the others looking for a meal.”

Dash nodded. “Is this next mission something I could do? Jimmy could use a rest.”

“We all could,” said Erik. Then he shook his head. “But you’re not being spared, my friend, for we’re all going.”

“Where?” asked Dash.

“Krondor. Patrick can’t sit here forever. And if what your brother has reported jibes with the other reports we’re getting, the longer we wait, the stronger Fadawah’s forces are going to get in Krondor. We may have to hit them with everything we have sooner than we’d like.

“With Kesh threatening our southern border, Patrick’s been reluctant to return the Armies of the East. Well, the King has ordered some elements back. Seems some of the Kingdom’s eastern neighbors are getting fractious now there isn’t a large standing army or huge fleet there to keep them in line. So Patrick’s in a hurry to retake Krondor before King Borric orders more soldiers home to the East.”

Dash said, “So how many of us are going to Krondor?”

“The Eagles,” said Erik, naming the special command of soldiers that had been gathered and trained by Dash and Jimmy’s grandfather Lord James, the late Duke of Krondor. “We’ll have some auxiliaries, Duga’s crew” – he named a large force of former mercenaries who had come over to the Kingdom’s side during the invasion – “and we’ll be working with Captain Subai’s Pathfinders.”

“That’s all?” asked Dash.

“That’s all to start,” said Erik. “We’re not trying to conquer all of the Principality in the first week.” He sipped at his coffee. “We were going to find a likely place to hold so we can stage, then we ride in and secure Krondor.”

“Sounds easy,” said Dash in a sarcastic tone. “If there wasn’t another army already there.” He studied Erik’s face. “There’s something else going on. Why is Patrick in such a hurry to secure the city? I can think of a half-dozen better places from which to stage a retaking of the West if I didn’t care about Krondor; we could cut it off and starve out whoever’s there, staging from a camp to the east.”

“I know,” said Erik, “but part of it is pride. It’s Patrick’s city, the capital of his realm. He was Prince of Krondor for only a short while before it was lost. And he followed a legend in that office.”

Dash nodded. “Growing up in Rillanon, Jimmy and I met Prince Arutha only a few times; when I was old enough to appreciate him, he was getting on in years. But what my father and others said about him made him impressive, even then.” He looked at Erik a moment, then said, “You think Patrick’s of the notion that Arutha would somehow have held the city?”

“Something like that,” said Erik. “The Prince doesn’t confide in me. But there’s more to it than just wounded pride. The other part of it is logistics. That harbor is going to be useless for years. If we had the manpower and equipment we had before the war in Krondor, all the workers, dredges, and a few cooperative magicians, even, it would still take a year to clear the harbor, maybe more. As it is now, I have no idea if Krondor will ever become the shipping center it once was.

“But we have a new port south of there, in Shandon Bay, Port Vykor, and for it to be any use to us, we have to insure we have a clear trade route between there and the rest of the West, which means Krondor needs to be secured. We don’t need it, but we certainly can’t have Fadawah’s generals using it as a base to attack us.” He lowered his voice, as if not wishing for a perverse fate to overhear. “If we get cut off from Port Vykor, we may never reunite the Eastern and Western Realms.”

Dash nodded. “That makes sense.”

Erik put down his now empty mug and said, “That’s about all that does.”

Dash nodded in agreement as Erik stood. Looking up at the tall, powerfully built captain, he said, “I haven’t seen my sometime employer about lately. How fares your friend Rupert?”

Erik smiled. “Roo is hauling some ridiculous amount of goods through mud and ice to be first into Darkmoor with what we need.” Then Erik laughed. “He told me he’s the richest man in the world, according to his accounts, but has almost no gold left, so his only hope for recovery is to insure the Kingdom survives long enough to pay him back.”

“An odd kind of patriotism, wouldn’t you say?”

Erik smiled as he nodded. “If you knew Roo as well as I, you’d judge it entirely in keeping with his nature.” Pausing for a moment as if considering a second cup of coffee, Erik looked with a faint show of regret at the empty mug. After a moment of silence, he said, “I’d best get back to see what Owen wants done.”

He departed. Dash pondered what had been said there, amidst the bustle of the kitchen, then rose to find Jimmy and see how he fared.

The priest was just departing Jimmy’s quarters when Dash arrived.

Sitting on the bed next to his brother, who lay under a heavy wool blanket. Dash said, “That was quick.”

“He gave me something to drink, washed my feet in an unguent, then told me to get some sleep.”

“How bad are they?”

“I was going to lose toes, at least,” said Jimmy, “if he hadn’t been here.” With a nod of his head he indicated the departed priest.

“You paint a pretty bleak picture of what’s out there.”

Jimmy sighed. “I saw places where men had stripped the bark off of trees to make soup.”

Dash sat back. “Patrick’s not going to be happy.”

“What’s happened here while I was gone?” asked Jimmy, stifling a yawn.

Dash said, “We’ve got reports that things are stable up north, though no one has seen sign of that bastard Duko lately.”

Jimmy said, “If Fadawah is sending Duko south, Krondor could be very difficult to seize.”

“Yes,” agreed Dash. “Kesh is not happy about what went on down in Stardock, and we’ve got elements of the garrison of Ran and half of the King’s Own down near Landreth, just waiting for an excuse to move south. Kesh has pulled away from Shamata, but they’re a lot closer than Patrick likes, and the vale is once again a no-man’s-land. Negotiations are underway, even as we speak.”

“The East?” asked Jimmy, this time unable to stop the yawn.

“We won’t know until the spring, but some of the smaller kingdoms may get playful. Patrick and the King have exchanged messages, and I get the impression Borric wants some of his Army of the East back as soon as the thaw starts.”

“What’s Father say?”

“To me?” asked Dash. Jimmy nodded. “Not much,” said Dash with a smile that reminded his brother of their grandfather in his more playful moods. “He’s pretty closemouthed about things.”

“Mother?” asked Jimmy.

Dash nodded again. “I get the feeling it may be a long time before Mother visits us. She seems to find court life in Roldem preferable to living in a tent in the burned-out remains of Krondor, irrespective of the rank of Duchess.”

Jimmy closed his eyes. “She and Aunt Polina are most likely shopping right now, or having gowns fitted for a banquet or dance.”

“Most likely,” agreed Dash. “But it’s hard on Father. You’ve been away for most of the winter, and the few times you’ve been here you’ve seen him when he’s busy.”

“Grandfather and Grandmother?” asked Jimmy.

“Yes,” said Dash. “When he’s alone and thinks I don’t notice, he broods. He knows there was nothing he could do, but he silently rages about it. I hope once spring comes and we start the campaign he’ll snap out of it, but he’s drinking more than he used to and seems withdrawn most of the time.”

When Jimmy said nothing, Dash glanced at his brother and saw his chin on his chest, his eyes half-closed as he fought to remain awake. Dash quietly stood up and moved to the door. He took a long look at his brother, and for a moment saw an echo of their dead grandmother in his features, the pale skin and nearly white blond hair. Finding a tear coming unbidden to his eyes, Dash quickly left, silently closing the door behind, while he said a silent prayer of thanks to Ruthia, the Goddess of Luck, for the safe return of his brother.

“Erik!”

Dash turned to see Rosalyn hurrying down the corridor, and stood aside to let the young woman pass. Dash knew the girl felt overwhelmed at times by being the mother of the next Baron – she was Gerd’s mother because of her rape at the hands of Erik’s half-brother – and Erik was her closest friend. They had been like brother and sister as children, and he was the first person she turned to when in distress. Dash watched as she came to the Captain’s door and started knocking.

Erik opened the door and said, “What?”

Dash hesitated a moment, then continued to walk past as Rosalyn said, “It’s the Baroness. She’s refusing to let me bathe my own son! It’s just one more thing she’s taken from me! Do something!”

Dash stopped and said, “Excuse me.”

Both Erik and Rosalyn turned to the young man. “Yes?” asked Erik.

“I hesitate to intrude on the basis of overhearing a conversation I’m not party to, but to avoid any embarrassment, may I make an observation?”

“What?” said Rosalyn.

“Given her somewhat … forceful nature, the Dowager Baroness has actually been rather leisurely in acquainting your son with his new office.”

Rosalyn shook her head. She had been a pretty girl growing up in Ravensburg with Erik, but the birth of two children, hard work in her husband’s bakery, and the travail of the recent war had put premature grey in her hair and robbed her face of the softness Erik had known in his youth. Her eyes were now hard, and she was leery of hearing anything from Dash that would further remove her from her son.

“Gerd is now Baron von Darkmoor,” said Dash, trying to be patient and instructive without sounding patronizing. Rosalyn might be an untutored common woman, but she wasn’t stupid. “For the rest of his life, many of the things you did for him will be done by servants. Had you been Baroness, you would never have bathed him, nor changed his diapers, nor perhaps even nursed him.

“It’s time for you to begin his education as Baron.” Dash waved around, indicating the castle. “This is now the frontier of the Kingdom, until the West is retaken, and may continue to be a critical stronghold for years, far into Gerd’s adulthood. Gerd is almost five years old, and soon will spend most of his day with tutors and instructors. He needs to learn to read, to write, the history of his people, riding, weapons, court protocol …”

Erik nodded, putting his hand on Rosalyn’s shoulder. “Dash is right.” The young woman looked defiant and Erik felt her shoulder tense under his hand. He smiled. “But there’s no reason you can’t stand nearby and watch as the servants care for him.”

Rosalyn said nothing for a moment, then nodded and turned off to retrace her steps to where her son was housed in the Baron’s quarters of the castle. Erik watched her retreating back, then turned to Dash. “Thanks for pointing things out.”

“I hesitated to insert myself into your conversation, but it’s only the truth.”

Erik glanced down the hall to the corner where Rosalyn had turned out of sight and let his eyes fix on the distant space. “So many changes. We all have so much to adjust to.”

Dash said, “Again, I don’t mean to presume, Captain, but if you require any assistance …”

Erik smiled. “I suspect I will. And I will count on you and your brother. If you haven’t heard yet, you’re both being assigned to my command.”

“Oh?” said Dash.

“It’s your father’s idea. He’s going to take a hand personally in this coming campaign.”

Dash nodded. “He’s his father’s son.”

Erik said, “I didn’t know your grandfather well, I must say, but well enough to know that’s a compliment.”

Dash grinned. “If you had known him better, you might not think so. Ask my mother if she ever decides to return to the West.”

“Anyway,” continued Erik, “the King has his hands full in the East, with most of his army absent and his navy sunk, in keeping the Eastern Kingdoms from starting trouble. The Prince has Kesh in the South, so that leaves it to our merry little band to reclaim the West.”

“Why does that not fill me with joy?” asked Dash rhetorically.

“I believe you would be in need of a healing priest if it did. You would obviously be bereft of your senses.”

“When does this campaign begin?” asked Dash.

“When you hear the first sound of ice breaking in the West, start packing.”

Dash said, “I heard ice break this morning.”

“Well, get packing,” said Erik. “We leave for Krondor within the week.”

Dash nodded. “Very good, Captain.”

As Dash turned away, Erik said, “One other thing.”

“What, sir?” asked Dash.

“Your office as Court Baron does you no good in the army, so you and James are both being given the rank of Knight-Lieutenants.”

“Thank you, I think,” said Dash.

“Tomorrow head down to the quartermaster and draw uniforms for yourself and James.”

“Sir,” said Dash with a weak salute, then he turned and walked toward his own quarters. Muttering to himself, he said, “Damn. I’m in the army.”

Jimmy tugged at his ill-fitting black tunic. “Damn. I’m in the army.”

Dash laughed. He gently elbowed his brother, indicating the Prince was about to speak.

“My lords, gentlemen,” he began, addressing the gathering in his audience hall, formerly the Baron von Darkmoor’s. “The King requires the presence of most of the Army of the East along the Keshian border and to the east. That leaves it to what is left of the Armies of the West to drive the remaining invaders from our shores.”

Dash whispered to his brother, “Perhaps we shouldn’t have sunk all their ships. It makes the trip home so much more difficult.”

Arutha, Duke of Krondor, threw his younger son a dark look, and Dash fell silent, while Jimmy attempted not to laugh aloud. One thing James admired about his younger brother was an ability to find something funny in almost any situation, no matter how bleak.

Prince Patrick said, “Of course it does,” looking directly at Dash.

Dash had the good grace to blush before his Prince.

“But we can arrange to transport them home at a later time. First they must surrender.”

Dash tried to wish himself invisible.

Patrick continued. “Intelligence confirms that this General Fadawah is seizing the opportunity created by the Emerald Queen’s defeat to fashion a little Empire for himself.”

He walked to a map and took a pointer and indicated the area between Krondor and Ylith. “From Sarth to Ylith, Fadawah’s forces are in complete control.” The pointer swept to the east. “They control the forests up to the mountains, and most of the passes to Nightmare Ridge. We have a stable front along the ridge.

“To the north” – the pointer moved north of Ylith – “he’s run into some stern opposition at LaMut. Earl Takari’s holding the city, but barely. Only the harsh winter kept Fadawah from taking the city.” Looking at Arutha, he said, “Tell me of Duke Carl.”

Arutha said, “The Duke is a boy. He’s barely seventeen. Earl Takari is only three years older.”

The men in the room knew the fathers of the two nobles mentioned had died in the invasion. Arutha continued, “But Takari is Tsurani stock, and has been studying under his Swordmaster since he could walk. He’ll hold LaMut until the last man if needs be.

“Carl may be a boy, but he’s surrounded by a strong, if small, army.” Arutha nodded to a man standing behind Erik von Darkmoor, a tall, dark-haired man wearing a kilt and sporting a longsword hung over his back. Dash and Jimmy knew him to be the leader of a company of Hadati hillmen from Yabon, by name of Akee.

Akee said, “Most of my people are serving in Yabon. Fadawah will not take Yabon.”

Almost to himself Patrick said, “But come spring he’ll be inside the walls of LaMut, and all the Tsurani honor in that city won’t keep him from doing it.” Patrick was silent a moment, then said, “Can Duke Carl’s forces save LaMut?”

“Yes,” said Owen. “If we can assume we’ll have no trouble from the Brotherhood of the Dark Path” – he used the common term for the moredhel, the dark elves who lived to the north – “and count on the elves and dwarves, and the Free Cities keeping the western front stable, then Carl can strip his garrison, leaving what he must along his eastern flank, and move the bulk of his men south to LaMut. He should be able to hold Fadawah under those circumstancs.”

“If he does, can he then retake Ylith?” asked Patrick.

Akee glanced at Erik and Arutha, both of whom nodded to him. Akee looked at Patrick and said, “No, he cannot. He would need three times the number of swords he has at his call to stand a chance of retaking Ylith. He can hold where he is, unless this General Fadawah turns his entire force northward – which he won’t do if he’s moving soldiers south to hold Krondor – but Duke Carl cannot retake Ylith.”

“My lords and gentlemen,” said the Prince, “LaMut is, by necessity, the anvil.” He looked at Owen Greylock and said, “My Lord Marshal, your army must by needs be the hammer.”

Owen said, “It’s a small hammer, Patrick.”

The Prince said, “Indeed, but Kesh is arrayed in force along our southern border, what’s left of our fleet is keeping Queg and the Durbin pirates at bay, and some of the eastern kings are getting ambitious. You’ll have to make do with your current force.”

Owen said, “That’s barely twenty thousand men, against how many? A hundred thousand?”

Patrick said, “We can’t just let them keep what they’ve taken until we resolve these other issues, can we?”

His question was greeted by silence.

Patrick looked from face to face in the room. “I’m not ignorant of the flaws of my own ancestors. We took every inch of land from somebody else to make the Western Realm. Only Yabon joined the Kingdom willingly, and that because we saved them from the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, else they would have fallen.

“But the only reason there’s a Baron von Darkmoor in the first place is the bandit ancestor of your own Captain Erik was too tough a nut to crack, and it was easier to make him a Kingdom noble and let him keep the land he had already taken than it was to kill him and put some king’s idiot nephew here in his place.” Patrick’s voice began to rise. “And several other accommodations have been made over the years, allowing former enemies to become valued vassals.” Now his voice was raised to the point of yelling. “But I’ll be damned to the Seventh Hell if I let some murdering bastard set himself up as ‘King of the Bitter Sea’ and rule over my Principality. If Fadawah does, it will be with one foot on my dead body!”

Dash and James exchanged glances. They didn’t need to say anything. The message was clear. Owen Greylock and Erik von Darkmoor, and what remained of the Armies of the West, would have to retake the Principality without any outside assistance.

Owen cleared his throat. Patrick glanced at his Knight-Marshal of Krondor and said, “Yes?”

“Is there anything else, Highness?”

Patrick was silent a long moment, then said, “No.” To the men in the room he said, “My lords and gentlemen, you are all under Marshal Greylock’s command from this moment on. Treat his orders as if they are my own.”

He lowered his voice. “And may the gods smile on us,” he said. And left.

The nobles in the room began muttering comments to one another, then Owen said, “My lords!”

Silence returned to the hall.

Greylock said, “We move in the morning. I expect to have advanced units in Ravensburg by nightfall, and scouts to the walls of Krondor by the end of the week.” He glanced from face to face, then said, “You know what to do.”

The men began to file out of the room, and Erik came to stand before Dash and James. “You’re with me,” he said, turning and walking toward a small door off to one side.

The brothers found their father waiting in the room already, and in a moment Greylock entered, closing the door behind. “I just wanted to let you two know,” said Owen, addressing the brothers, “that you’re going to be given the dirtiest, most thankless job we’ve got.”

Dash smiled. “Smashing!”

Jimmy threw his brother a dark look, and said, “What is it?”

“Jimmy, you’re in charge of our special advance unit.”

“Special advance unit?” asked Jimmy.

Arutha nodded. “Him,” he said, pointing to Dash.

Dash rolled his eyes heavenward but said nothing. He had long ago accustomed himself to being under his older brother’s direction whenever they were working together.

Arutha said, “Owen said he needed a couple of sneaky bastards to operate behind enemy lines.” He smiled at his sons. “I told him your parentage wasn’t in doubt, but that you were sneaky enough for the job.”

“When do we leave?” said Jimmy.

“Now,” said Erik. “There are a pair of horses waiting for you by the postern gate, with supplies for a week.”

James said, “A week? That means you’ll want us inside of Krondor when your scouts reach the walls?”

Owen nodded. “Or close by. Leave those uniforms here and dress like a couple of free swords. If you get caught, tell them you’re Valemen looking to enlist.”

Dash grinned, but his tone was mocking. “Oh, joy. We’re playing at spies again.”

Jimmy again looked at his brother as if he were crazy, and said, “You do find the oddest things entertaining.”

Arutha looked at his two sons and said, “We just got confirming intelligence that Duko has come south.”

“That’s the stick in the anthill, isn’t it?” said Dash.

Arutha nodded. “Indeed. If Duko gets established in Krondor before we do, he threatens Port Vykor. Cut off Vykor and we have no communications with the fleet; cut off the fleet, and we have no chance to resupply from the Sunset Islands and the Far Coast.”

Owen said, “It might be a feint, with Sarth being his real objective. But there’s a report that a second force moves south along the road from Hawk’s Hallow under the command of Nordan, Fadawah’s second.”

“That’s a lot of soldiers slogging through the ice and mud,” said Jimmy.

Arutha said, “Krondor’s harbor is useless; Fadawah knows this. We don’t know if he knows of Vykor’s harbor down in Shandon Bay, but if he does, then this isn’t a feint.”

Jimmy glanced at his brother, then said to his father, “So you want us to find out which?”

“If possible,” said Arutha. “If he’s just trying to slow down our march, so he can reinforce Sarth, we have to know.”

Dash looked around the room, then asked, “Anything else?”

Arutha said, “Stay alive?”

Jimmy smiled. “We always plan on that, Father.”

Arutha came and embraced his sons, Dash first, then Jimmy.

Dash said, “Come on, we have some riding to do this night.”

Jimmy resumed looking dubious as they left the room.