Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer Page 5

  ‘Who is he?’ said Borric.

  ‘And why was he trying to kill you, Uncle Jimmy?’ said Erland.

  ‘Not me, you idiot,’ snapped James. He pointed at Borric. ‘He was trying to kill your brother.’

  A guard approached. ‘My Lord, the man struck by the dart is dead. He died within seconds of his wounding.’

  Borric forced himself to a nervous grin. ‘Why would anyone wish to kill me?’

  Erland joined in the strained humour. ‘An angry husband?’

  James said, ‘Not you, Borric conDoin.’ He glanced around the crowd, as if seeking other assassins. ‘Someone tried to kill the future King of the Isles.’

  Locklear opened the man’s robe, revealing a black tunic. ‘James, look here.’

  Baron James peered down at the dead man. His skin was dark, even darker than Gardan’s, marking him as Keshian by ancestry, but those of Keshian ancestry were common in this part of the Kingdom. There were brown- and black-skinned people in every strata of Krondorian society. But this man wore odd clothing, a tunic of expensive black silk and soft slippers unlike anything the young Princes had seen before.

  James inspected the dead man’s hands, and noticed a ring set with a dark gem, then looked for a necklace and found none.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Borric asked.

  ‘Old habits,’ was all Jimmy would answer. ‘He’s no Nighthawk,’ he observed, mentioning the legendary Guild of Assassins. ‘But this may be worse.’

  ‘How?’ asked Locklear, remembering all too well when the Nighthawks had sought to kill Arutha twenty years before.

  ‘He’s Keshian.’

  Locklear leaned down and inspected the ring. Ashen-faced, he stood. ‘Worse. He’s a member of the Royal House of Kesh.’

  The room was silent. Those who sat in the circle of chairs moved slightly, as discomfort over the attempt upon Borric manifested itself in the creaks of leather and wood, the rustle of cloth, and the clink of jewellery.

  Duke Gardan rubbed at the bridge of his nose. ‘It’s preposterous. What would Kesh gain in killing a member of your family? Does the Empress wish war?’

  Erland chimed in. ‘She’s worked as hard as anyone to preserve the peace, or at least all the reports say that. Why would she want Borric dead? Who—’

  Borric interrupted his brother. ‘Whoever wants war between the Kingdom and the Empire.’

  Locklear nodded. ‘It’s such a shallow lie; so transparent an attempt that it is not believable.’

  ‘Yet …’ Arutha mused aloud, ‘what if that assassin was chosen to fail? A dupe. What if I am supposed to withhold my envoy, keep my sons at home with me?’

  Gardan nodded. ‘Thereby insulting the Royal House of Kesh.’

  James, who leaned against the wall behind Arutha said, ‘We’ve managed a fair job already by dispatching a member of the Empress’s house. He was a very distant cousin, true, but a cousin, nevertheless.’

  Garden returned to rubbing the bridge of his nose, a gesture of frustration more than fatigue. ‘And what was I supposed to say to the Keshian Ambassador? “Oh, we’ve found this young fellow, who seems to be a member of your Royal House. We had no idea he was in Krondor. And we’re sorry to tell you he’s dead. Oh, by the way, he tried to murder Prince Borric.”’

  Arutha leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a tent before his face, absently flexing in a gesture that all in the room had come to recognize over the years. He glanced at last at James.

  ‘We could dump the body,’ offered the young Baron.

  Gardan said, ‘I beg your pardon?’

  James stretched. ‘Take the body down to the bay and toss it in.’

  Erland grinned. ‘Rough treatment for a member of the Royal House of Kesh, wouldn’t you say?’

  Arutha said, ‘Why?’

  James moved to sit on the edge of Arutha’s desk, as the Prince over the years had come to conduct very informal sessions with close advisors and family. ‘He’s not officially a guest in the city. We aren’t supposed to know he’s here. No one is supposed to know. The only Keshians who will know he’s here are those who know why he’s here. And I doubt any of them will inquire as to his well-being. He’s now the forgotten man, unless we call attention to his whereabouts.’

  Drily, Borric added, ‘And his condition.’

  ‘We can claim he tried to kill Borric,’ James acknowledged, ‘but all we have is a Keshian corpse, a blowgun, and some poisoned darts.’

  ‘And a dead merchant,’ added Gardan.

  ‘Dead merchants are a frequent enough commodity on any given day in the Western Realm, my Lord Duke,’ observed James. ‘I say we strip him of his ring and toss him into the bay. Let the Keshians who sent him wonder for a while. Should anyone inquire, we might gain an opportunity to learn more of who’s behind him. At worst, we can show considerable distress at his demise, insisting that had we but known he was in the city we would have made every effort to ensure his safety, but if bored royal visitors slip into the city incognito, and insist on frequenting the seedier parts of the city …?’ He shrugged dramatically.

  Arutha said nothing for a while, then gave one affirmative nod. James indicated with a jerk of his head that Locklear should use Royal Guardsmen for the job, and the other young Baron slipped through the door. After a short conference with Lieutenant William outside, Locklear returned to his seat.

  Arutha sighed. Looking at James, he said, ‘Kesh. What else?’

  James shrugged. ‘Hints, rumours. Their new Ambassador is … an odd choice. He’s what they call a “trueblood”, but not of the Royal House, the assassin would have been a more logical choice. The Ambassador is a purely political appointment. It’s rumoured that he may actually have stronger influence in Kesh’s court than many with royal blood. I can’t find any obvious reason why he should be given such an honour – save as a compromise, to appease different factions in court.’

  Arutha nodded. ‘While none of this makes apparent sense, still, we must play according to the rules of such games.’ He was silent for a while, and no one spoke as the Prince gathered his thoughts. ‘Send word to our people in Kesh,’ he instructed James. Years earlier, he had allowed James to begin creating a network of agents, starting inside the Principality, and slowly spreading through the Western Realm. Now Prince Arutha had operatives in the Royal Courts of Kesh and Queg and close to the most powerful men in the Free Cities. ‘I want our agents hard at work before my sons arrive. If someone seeks to suck us into war with Kesh, striking at the King’s nephews would be a logical choice. You will accompany the Princes to Kesh. There is no one I trust more to swim through these murky waters.’

  Baron Locklear said, ‘Highness?’

  Looking at the other young Baron, Arutha said, ‘You will accompany Baron James, as Master of Ceremonies, Chief of Protocol, and the rest of that idiocy. The Imperial Court is dominated by women. We will at last find a use for that infamous Locklear charm. Instruct Captain Valdis he will act in your place as Knight-Marshal. And have Cousin William take over the Household Guard as acting Captain.’ Absently he added, ‘He’s overdue for promotion, anyway.’ Arutha drummed his fingers on the table as he reflected for a moment. ‘I want you,’ he said to James, ‘shed of any office and protocol on this journey. Your only title will be “tutor”. You must be free to come and go as you need.’ He stood and the others followed suit. He looked at the boys and said, ‘Supper tonight.’

  The twins nodded their understanding and rose, assuming this meant they were dismissed. As Locklear and James followed suit, Arutha said, ‘James, abide a moment longer.’

  The twins exchanged glances, but said nothing, and left the room with Locklear a step behind. When only Arutha, James, and Gardan remained, the Prince asked, ‘What sort of intelligence are we getting out of the city of Kesh?’

  Ten years previously, Arutha had quietly asked James to begin creating an intelligence system, primarily as a means to counteract a very well established network of agent
s working for Kesh in the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles. James had begun with his already established contacts in the Krondorian underworld. Within a year he had informants watching every ship and caravan in and out of the city as well as having identified a dozen likely recruits in the region in other cities and towns, from Land’s End up to Ylith.

  A visit to Locklear’s father two years earlier had provided James with his best new agent on the border with Kesh. James had only been to Land’s End once, previously, as a boy, and used a very old acquaintance from that visit as his introduction around the city.

  Bram had been the illegitimate son of the Baroness of Land’s End and his claim on the title had not been upheld by the crown, the title and estates being given to Locklear’s father. But as a reward for service done the crown, a bit of black murder which few besides James knew about, Bram, and his wife Lorri, had been set up as very wealthy farmers. By the time James reacquainted himself with them, they had established lucrative trading concerns down into Great Kesh, and finally, after years of work, James had positioned an agent in the Imperial palace.

  James said, ‘I have someone as highly placed in the palace staff as possible without trying to recruit a trueblood.’ Both Arutha and Gardan knew that trying to recruit any trueblood Keshian into service for a foreign power would likely prove impossible. ‘The difficulty is sifting through rumour and gossip looking for useful information.

  ‘Here’s what we know,’ James continued, knowing both men had read every report he had prepared. ‘There are factions within the trueblood community with differing loyalties to the various claimants to the throne. The Empress has a daughter who is widowed, and who would normally be next in line, but for reasons we don’t yet understand is not openly acknowledged. She has a younger brother who is very popular with the military leaders. The Empress also has a granddaughter, who is very young, but who – if married to the right leader – would create even more division among the factions.’

  ‘Civil war,’ said Gardan. ‘If the Empress doesn’t clean up the question of succession before she dies, Kesh could be shattered.’

  Arutha nodded. ‘The Confederation is always looking for an excuse to rebel, and nothing would suit them better than the Royal House of Kesh being torn apart.’

  James said, ‘I’m still waiting for copies of the last year’s communications between our ambassador and your brother, Highness.’

  Arutha nodded. One of his frustrations was that while he had a great deal of autonomy in dealing with the Western Realm, the Kingdom was still ruled from Rillanon, a city thousands of miles away. And while Kesh often sent envoys and ambassadors to the Western Realm as a concession to necessity, Arutha had no formal reciprocation. And for reasons not clear after years ruling Krondor, he still had trouble getting copies of the communications between the Isle’s ambassador in Kesh and the King. ‘You’ll have to wait longer, I’m afraid. By the time you return from Kesh, I expect you’ll be more informed than Lord Dougrey.’ The Kingdom’s ambassador to Kesh was a minor Earl with a talent for entertaining and a distinct lack of other gifts. ‘For he has been recalled by the King, so when you get there, you’ll have to rely on your agent in the palace, and your own wits.’

  James sighed. ‘Well, at least that rids us of the problem of how to keep the ambassador busy and out from under foot.’

  Arutha said, ‘We have two possibilities to consider. Either, someone wants to keep the Empire together, and what better way to avoid a civil war than by plunging the Empire into a major war with a neighbour?’

  James finished. ‘Or, someone wants to use a war with the Isles or the threat of a war to pull the Empire apart.’

  Gardan said, ‘And the list of those who would delight in seeing Kesh collapse is not short.’

  Arutha stood. ‘I’m sending you into another mess, Jimmy. But this one has consequences as dire as any before if mistakes are made. I would not bother to inform you of the obvious, save this time you’re labouring with a grave handicap.’

  James smiled. ‘Borric and Erland will be kept on a short leash.’

  ‘Don’t let them start a war, please?’ Then without another word, he departed, the Duke following after.

  James had come to understand Arutha’s moods as well as any outside his family. A mind as complex and deep as the Prince’s was like a chess master’s; Arutha was planning every conceivable outcome as many moves in advance as possible.

  James left the room and found Locklear and the twins waiting for him outside the door. ‘We leave early in the morning,’ James informed them.

  Borric said, ‘We’re not due to leave for another three days.’

  James said, ‘Officially. If your Keshian friend has compatriots about, I would prefer they not know our plans.’ He glanced at Locklear. ‘We’ll slip out of the palace before dawn, and gather at a tavern. Horses and supplies will be waiting for us. A small mounted troop, twenty guards, dressed as mercenaries. Couriers leave in an hour by fast horses. Arutha’s sending word to Shamata we’re going to need fresh mounts and stores enough for two hundred escorts.’

  Locklear said, ‘We’ll be arriving in Shamata at the same time as any message and two hundred—’

  James cut him off. ‘We’re not going to Shamata. We want any Keshian agents who might be paying attention to think we’ll travel in state to Shamata. But we’re not going to Shamata. We’re going to Stardock.’

  • CHAPTER THREE •

  Stardock

  DUST SWIRLED.

  Twenty-four riders moved at a steady pace along the edge of the Great Star Lake. A week and a half of hard riding had taken them southward from Krondor, to Landreth on the north coast of the Sea of Dreams. Then, from where it entered the sea, the Star River led them further southward, the rugged mountains of the Grey Range always in sight as they entered the lush Vale of Dreams. Years of border wars between the Kingdom and the Empire had seen this rich farming land changing hands many times. Those who lived in this part of the world spoke the languages of the Southern Kingdom and the Northern Empire with equal fluency. And the sight of twenty-four armed mercenaries evoked no notice. Many armed bands of men rode the vale.

  At the midpoint of the river, near a small waterfall, they forded the currents, making for the south shore. Upon reaching the headwaters of the Star River, the Great Star Lake, they turned to track the shoreline southward, seeking that point closest to the island dominating the centre of the lake, Stardock. There they would find the ferry that provided passage from the shore to the island.

  Along the banks of the shore they passed tiny fishing and farming villages, often no more than an extended family, little groups of huts and cottages, but all looking prosperous and well tended. The community of magicians upon Stardock had grown over the years, and now other communities had developed to meet the demands for food of those upon the island.

  Borric urged his horse forward, as they rounded a small promontory of land, bringing them their first clear view of the large building upon the island. It nearly shone in the orange light of the sunset, while the advancing night behind turned the distant sky violet and grey. ‘Gods and demons, Uncle Jimmy, look at the size of that place!’

  James nodded. ‘I had heard they were building a massive centre for learning, but the tales never did it justice.’

  Locklear said, ‘Duke Gardan visited here many years ago. He told me they had laid a huge foundation for the building … but this is larger than anything I’ve seen.’

  Glancing at the falling light, James said, ‘If we hurry, we’ll make the island within the next two hours. I’d rather a warm meal and clean bed than another night on the trail.’ Setting heels to his horse’s sides, he moved on.

  Under a canopy of brilliant stars on one of the rare nights when all three moons had yet to rise, they passed through a small gap between hillocks and entered a prosperous-looking town. Torches and lanterns blazed at every storefront – an extravagance in all but the wealthiest of towns and cities
– and children ran after them, shouting and laughing in the general confusion. Beggars and prostitutes asked favours or offered them respectively, and ramshackle taverns stood open to provide the weary traveller with a cool drink, hot meal, and warm company.

  Locklear shouted over the noise, ‘Quite a prosperous little metropolis growing here.’

  James glanced about at the dirt and squalor. ‘Quite. The blessings of civilization,’ he observed.

  Borric said, ‘Perhaps we should investigate one of these small pubs—’

  ‘No,’ answered James. ‘They’re certain to offer you refreshments at the Academy.’

  Erland smiled ruefully. ‘A sweet and slightly feeble wine, no doubt. What else would one expect from an assemblage of old scholars, poking around in musty piles of manuscripts.’

  James shook his head. They came to what was obviously the crossroads of the two main streets in the town and turned toward the lake. As James expected, down near the waterfront a large pier had been constructed and several ferries of differing sizes waited to haul goods and people to the island. Despite the late hour, workers still stacked sacks of grain against the need of hauling them the next morning.

  Reining in, James called down to the nearest ferryman, ‘Good evening. We seek passage to Stardock island.’

  A face, dominated by a hawk-beaked nose, with ill-cut bangs almost hiding the eyes, was revealed as the man glanced over his shoulder and said, ‘I can make one quick run across, sir. Five coppers a man, sir, but you need stable your horses here.’

  Jimmy smiled. ‘How about ten gold pieces for the lot of us, including the mounts?’

  The man returned to his work. ‘No bargaining, sir.’

  Borric rattled his sword a bit as he said, half-jokingly, ‘What, you turn your back upon us?’

  The man turned again to face them. Touching his forehead, in slightly sarcastic tones, he said, ‘Sorry, young sir, but no disrespect was intended.’

  Borric was about to respond, when James tapped his arm with a gloved hand and pointed. In the gloom, just out of the light of a guttering torch, a young man in a plain robe of homespun sat at the dockside watching the interplay calmly.