- -
- 100%
- +
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.
• Chapter Two • Wilderness
DASH SIGNALED.
Jimmy took out his sword and ducked behind the boulder. Dash left his own position on the south side of the King’s Highway and dropped into a ditch that ran parallel to the road for several hundred feet.
The brothers had been riding for two days. The thaw had begun and there was actually some warmth in the sunlight when it came out from behind the seemingly constant cloud cover. But the temperature didn’t fall below freezing anymore, and the rain helped melt the snow. As Dash lay in the cold mud he wished for the ice again. The ooze slowed travel and he didn’t seem able to get dry, even when staying close to a fire at night.
They had heard voices in the woods ahead a few minutes ago, had dismounted, tied their horses, and advanced on foot. As the sound of approaching feet grew louder, Dash chanced a glance over the edge of the berm, and saw a ragged band of travelers looking about in a fearful manner as they moved eastward along the King’s Highway. There was a man and woman, and children, three of them, though one – Dash couldn’t tell if it was a girl or boy under the heavy hood – seemed almost of adult height.
Dash stood as Jimmy came from behind the boulder. The man in the van of the small party of refugees pulled a wicked-looking hand scythe from under his ragged cloak and held it in menacing fashion as the others turned as if to flee.
“Hold!” Jimmy shouted. “We’ll not harm you.”
The man looked dubious, the others fearful, but they halted their movement. Jimmy and Dash both put away weapons and slowly approached.
The man didn’t lower his scythe. “Who be you?” he said, his words heavily accented.
Jimmy and Dash exchanged glances, for the man spoke with the accent of one who had come from Novindus. This man at one time had been a soldier with the invading army of the Emerald Queen.
Dash held up his hands to show he was not holding any weapon, and Jimmy stopped moving. Jimmy said, “We’re travelers. Who are you?”
The woman ventured to step from behind the man’s protection. She was gaunt and looked weak. Jimmy glanced to the others and saw that the children were equally underfed. The tallest of the three was a girl, perhaps fifteen years of age, though appearing older for the deep dark circles under her eyes. Jimmy returned his attention to the woman, who looked at him and said, “We were farmers.” She pointed to the east. “We’re trying to reach Darkmoor. We hear there’s food there.”
Jimmy nodded. “Some. Where are you from?”
“Tannerus,” said the woman.
Dash pointed at the man. “He’s not from Tannerus.”
The man nodded. He motioned at himself with his free hand and said, “Markin. From City of the Serpent River.” He glanced around. “Long way from here.”
“You were a soldier of the Emerald Queen?” asked Jimmy.
The man spat on the ground and it looked as if the gesture was taking most of his strength. “I spit on her!” He started to wobble and the woman put her arms around him.
“He’s a farmer,” she said. “He told us his story when he came to us.”
Jimmy looked at Dash, then motioned with his head back toward the horses. Dash didn’t need to be told what was on his brother’s mind. He turned and walked back while Jimmy said, “Why don’t you tell us his story.”
“My man went to fight for the King,” said the woman. “Two years ago.” She glanced back at the three children and said, “My girls are fit to work; Hildi’s almost grown. We did all right for the first year. Then the soldiers came and took the town. Our farm was far enough away we weren’t troubled for a while.”
Dash returned leading the horses. He handed the reins to Jimmy, then went back and opened a saddlebag. He returned a moment later, unwrapping a bundle. Once opened, he revealed some heavy travel bread, thick with honey and nuts and dried fruit, and some jerked beef. Without hesitation the children passed their mother and grabbed what they could.
Dash glanced at Jimmy and nodded slightly. He gave the rest of the bundle to the man, who passed it along to the woman and said, “Thank you.”
“How did an enemy soldier come to be guiding your family to Darkmoor?” asked Dash.
The woman and man both nearly wept in gratitude as they chewed on the heavy bread. After swallowing, the woman said, “When the soldiers came, we hid in the woods, and they took everything. We had only what we had carried away. Then out of spite they burned the roof off our house and broke down the door. Sticks and thatch was all it was, but it was the only home the girls had known.”
She glanced about, afraid other threats might appear suddenly from the surrounding woods. “Markin found us when we were trying to rebuild our house. It was never what you’d call fine, but my man had spent years adding to it, making it more than just a hut. But the soldiers had burned it down and the girls and me had no tools.”
“I find them,” said Markin. “They needed help.”
“He came and he fought for us. Other men came, many with swords and bows, but he kept them from taking me or the girls.” She glanced at him with obvious affection in her eyes. “He’s my man now, and he’s a fair da’ to the girls.”
Jimmy sighed. To Dash he said, “We’ll hear stories like this one a hundred times before we’re through.”
“Why Darkmoor?” asked Jimmy.
“We hear the King’s there and there’s food for the asking.”
Jimmy smiled. “No, the King’s not there, though he was last year. But there’s food for work.”
“I work good,” said the foreign-born soldier.
“Can we go?” asked the woman.
“Yes,” said Dash, motioning for them to pass.
Markin said, “You soldiers?”
Jimmy grinned. “Not if we can help it.”
“But you noble man. Markin can tell.”
Dash said dryly, “I’ve known him all my life and can tell you he’s far from noble most of the time.”
The old soldier studied the two, then said, “If you try to look like common men, you don’t.” He pointed down to Jimmy’s feet. “Dirty, but nobleman’s boots.”
He motioned for the woman and girls to follow him and moved carefully on, not taking his eyes off the brothers until his small band was past. Then he turned and hurried along, taking his position in the van, against any other unexpected encounters.
“First time I regretted having comfortable boots,” said Dash.
Jimmy looked down and said, “Well, we may be muddy, but he’s right.” Glancing around, he added, “This is a place of little food and even less comfort.”
Dash remounted his horse. “I suspect by the time we get to Krondor we won’t look quite so prosperous.”
Jimmy also mounted, and said, “Maybe we should get off this highway.”
Dash said, “The north road?” He referred to an old road his one-time employer, Rupert Avery, used regularly to move goods, avoiding the tolls charged on the King’s Highway.
Jimmy shook his head. “No, that’s almost as busy as this one, and those woods are going to be full of deserters and bandits.”
“The south?”
“Slower going, but there are enough trails along the lakes if we don’t head too far into the southern hills.”
Dash said, “Since Kesh pulled south to the old border, everything from here to their nearest garrison is going to be wilderness.”
Jimmy laughed. “What’s the difference if we run into fifty deserters from the Emerald Queen’s army, or fifty bandits, or fifty Keshian mercenaries …” He shrugged.
Dash made a show of shivering under his heavy cloak. “Let’s hope whoever’s down there is hugging their fires. As any sane man would do.”
Dash urged his horse forward and soon the two brothers were riding south at a steady walk. “Why do we do these things?” he asked.
Jimmy said, “Because our King commands and we obey.”
Dash let out a theatrical sigh. “I thought it was something like that.”
Softly, Jimmy began to sing a very old song:
“To Kesh’s heartland or Queg’s harsh shore,
Our blood, our hearts, our lives and more,
For honor’s sake do we obey,
And go over the hills and far away …”
The sound of cracking ice rang through the cold morning air and both brothers pulled up just before entering a clearing. Using hand signals, Jimmy motioned for Dash to move south along the edge of the clearing while he circled north.
Dash nodded, dismounted, and tied his horse to the branch of a small birch tree. Jimmy did likewise and moved silently away.
Dash moved through the thinning trees, bordering a burned-out farm, he judged from the appearance of tree stumps nearby. The sound resolved itself into a repeated hammering at ice.
Dash saw a man in the distance.
A slender figure, he crouched over the frozen ice on a large pond, perhaps a hundred yards away from where Dash watched, hammering at the ice with a rock. Up and down the rock moved, and Dash couldn’t help but be fascinated with the sight.
Dash couldn’t get a good look at the man, but his clothing seemed a hodgepodge of rags and ill-matched garments. He might have worn boots, but all Dash could see was a collection of rags tied around each foot for warmth.
Dash saw movement in the woods beyond the pond and judged Jimmy was in place. He waited.
Jimmy walked slowly out of the woods and the man leaped to his feet with astonishing speed. He turned away as Jimmy shouted, “Wait! I won’t hurt you!”
Dash slowly took out his sword as the tatters-clad man hurried toward him, trying to keep his movement from alerting the ragged man. As the man reached the first line of trees, Dash stepped out, extending his foot, and tripped him.
The man went down in a tangle of clothes and turned over, scuttling backward as he shouted, “Don’t kill me!”
Dash moved quickly to put the point of his sword before the man’s face, as Jimmy caught up, out of breath.
Dash said, “We’re not going to hurt you.” To demonstrate his good intentions, he quickly sheathed his sword. “Get up.”
The man got up slowly as Jimmy leaned over, hands on knees, and said, “He’s fast.”
Dash grinned. “You’d have caught him had you had another mile or so to overtake him. You’ve always had endurance, if not speed.” Turning his attention to the figure on the ground, he said, “Who are you and what were you doing?”
The man slowly rose, as if ready to bolt at the slightest threat, and said, “I am called Malar Enares, young masters.” He was a slender man, with a hawk nose sticking out over a large rag wrapped around his face. His eyes were dark, and they shifted back and forth between the brothers. “I was fishing.”
Jimmy and Dash exchanged glances, and Dash said, “With a rock?”
“To break the ice, young sir. Then when the fish comes up to sun himself, I would strip bark and make a noose.”
Jimmy said, “You were going to snare a fish?”
“It is easy if you but have patience and a steady hand, young sir.”
Dash said, “I hear Kesh in your speech.”
“Oh, no, mercy, young sir. I am but a humble servant of a great trader of Shamata, Kiran Hessen.”
Jimmy and Dash had both heard the name. A trader with Keshian connections who did a great deal of business with the late Jacob Esterbrook. Since the destruction of Krondor, the boys’ father, Lord Arutha, had pieced together several accounts that had clearly indicated two facts, that Esterbrook had been a long-standing agent of Great Kesh, and that he and his daughter were both dead. Jimmy could see what Dash was thinking: if Esterbrook had been a Keshian agent, so then could Kiran Hessen.