Krondor: The Assassins

by Raymond E. Feist

  R A Y M O N D E . F E I S T

  than she milked cows. She can read, write, and do sums. She’s a smart lass.’’

  James nodded in appreciation. ‘‘Laudable. Though I doubt your average customer will appreciate those qualities as much as . . . the more obvious ones.’’

  Lucas’s expression darkened. ‘‘She’s a good girl, James. She’s going to marry a proper man, not some scruffy . . . well, you know the type. I’ll have a dowry set by and . . .’’ He dropped his voice so as not to be heard in the kitchen. ‘‘James, you’re the only one I know who knows some proper lads, being in the palace and all. At least since Laurie ran off and got himself named duke in Salador. Can you arrange for my girl to meet the right kind of boy? She’s been back in the city only a few days and already I feel as green as a raw recruit on his first day of training. With her brothers dead in the war, she’s all I’ve got.’’ He glanced around the well-tended but rough common room and said, ‘‘I want her to have more than this.’’

  James grinned. ‘‘I know. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll bring a couple of the more likely fellows down for a drink and let nature take its course.’’

  ‘‘But not Locklear!’’ said Lucas. ‘‘You keep him away.’’

  James laughed. ‘‘No worries. He’s probably riding out the gate this very minute, heading for a long tour of duty in Tyr-Sog.’’

  Talia came back into the room and said, ‘‘Everything is ready, father.’’

  ‘‘That’s a good lass,’’ he replied. ‘‘Open the door, then, and let anyone in who’s waiting for breakfast.’’

  As she moved off, Lucas said to James, ‘‘All right then. You didn’t get yourself almost killed sneaking in from the sewers to 56

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  gossip about my girl and the boys in court. What brings you here before sunrise?’’

  James’s face lost any hint of humor. ‘‘There’s a war underway in the sewers, Lucas. And someone’s killed some friends of mine.

  What’s going on?’’

  Lucas sat back and nodded. ‘‘I knew you’d come asking one of these days. I thought it would be sooner.’’

  ‘‘I just got back into the city last night. I was off with the Prince . . . doing some things.’’

  Lucas said, ‘‘Well, Arutha would do well to look closer to home for trouble, for he has heaps of it here free for the asking.

  I don’t know the truth of it, but according to the rumors men are killing freely in the sewers and along the waterfront. Citizens and Mockers alike are dying. I hear of Keshians setting up shops in buildings once owned by Kingdom merchants, and new bully gangs working along the docks. No one knows what’s going on, save the Mockers who have gone to ground and are hiding out. I’ve not seen one in a week. Most of my regulars come later and leave earlier, wanting to be home safe before dark.’’

  ‘‘Who’s behind it, Lucas?’’ asked James.

  Lucas looked around, as if afraid some invisible agency might overhear him. Softly he said, ‘‘Someone calling himself the Crawler.’’

  James sat back. ‘‘Why am I not surprised?’’ he muttered.

  57

  THREE

  RECEPTION

  m

  J

  AMES waited.

  A court page knocked upon the door, his youthful expression neutral as befitted a lad of twelve stationed just outside the royal apartments. An answering voice bid James enter, and he waited as two pages pushed open the ornate wooden doors. Inside, the Prince took breakfast with his family, the fractious twins poking at one another while attempting to avoid parental notice. A scolding look from their mother indicated their failure and they went back to a pretense of model behavior. The little Princess was happily singing a song of her own making while she purposefully put spoon to a bowl of hot breakfast mush.

  Princess Anita smiled at James as he presented himself to the family and bowed. ‘‘Our squire finally appears,’’ said Arutha dryly. ‘‘I trust we’re not inconveniencing you this morning?’’

  James smiled back at the Princess as he straightened, then turned to the Prince and said, ‘‘I was dressed in a quite inappropriate fashion for a meal with the royal family, Highness. I am sorry to be so tardy.’’

  Arutha indicated for James to stand at his right hand, where 60

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  he was expected to wait on his ruler’s pleasure unless out on some errand or another. James did so and took a moment to rest in the glow of the only thing in his life that felt like family to him.

  The Prince of Krondor and his squire enjoyed a relationship that was eccentric and unique. At times they were comrades as much as master and servant, while at other times their bond was almost brotherly. Yet there was always this one thing between them: James never forgot that Arutha was his Prince and he was Arutha’s loyal servant.

  ‘‘You look tired,’’ observed the Prince.

  ‘‘It’s been a long time since I enjoyed the comfort of a warm bed and a good night’s sleep, sir,’’ James replied. ‘‘Last night included.’’

  ‘‘Well, was it worth it?’’

  James said, ‘‘In one way, very much. In another, no.’’

  Glancing at his wife and children, Arutha looked at James and softly said, ‘‘Do we need to speak in private?’’

  James said, ‘‘I judge it inappropriate table conversation, if that’s the answer you seek, Highness.’’

  Arutha said, ‘‘Retire to my private office and wait. I will join you in a few minutes.’’

  James did as he was told and walked the short distance to Arutha’s private office. Inside he found it as it always was, ordered and clean. He eased his fatigued body into a chair near the Prince’s writing desk and sat back.

  James lurched awake as Arutha entered a short while later.

  ‘‘Sleeping?’’ asked the Prince with amusement as James came to his feet.

  ‘‘It was a very long and tiring ride home, Highness, followed by another night without sleep.’’

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  Arutha waved James back into his chair and said, ‘‘Relax a bit while you talk, but don’t nod off again.’’

  ‘‘Sire,’’ said James as he sat. ‘‘Three of my informants have gone missing.’’

  Arutha nodded. ‘‘From what the good sheriff tells me, we have a rash of killings here in Krondor again, and this time it looks as if there’s no pattern. But the disappearance of your informants tells us someone knows more about us than we do about him, and doesn’t want us improving our knowledge.’’

  James said, ‘‘I don’t see any pattern either.’’

  ‘‘Not yet,’’ said the Prince. There was a knock at the door, and Arutha called out, ‘‘A moment.’’ To James he said, ‘‘That would be Gardan with his retirement documents.’’

  ‘‘He is leaving, then?’’ asked James.

  Arutha nodded. ‘‘I’m sorry to see him go, but he’s earned his rest. He’ll go home to Crydee and spend his last years with his grandchildren, and I can’t think of a better fate for any man. And I suspect he’s correct in his accusation that I don’t leave him much to do, really. He suggests I appoint someone with administrative talents to the post rather than a military man as long as I insist on personally supervising the army. And this conversation stays in this room.’’

  James nodded silently.

  Pointing to the door, Arutha said, ‘‘Let Gardan in on your way out. Then go to your room and get some sleep. You’re excused from court duty this morning. You have a busy evening ahead of you.’’

  ‘‘More scouting the city?’’ asked James.

  Arutha said, ‘‘No, my wife’s arranged a homecoming ball, and you must attend.’’

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  James rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘‘Couldn’t I go crawl around in the sewers some more?�
��’

  Arutha laughed. ‘‘No. You’ll stand and look interested as rich merchants impress you with tales of their fiscal heroics, and their vapid daughters try to entice you with their marginal charms. That’s a royal command.’’ He fingered a document upon his desk. ‘‘And we have word of an eastern noble headed our way for an unexpected visit. So we must be ready to entertain as well. And murder in the streets does so take the joy out of things, don’t you agree?’’ he added dryly.

  ‘‘Yes, Highness.’’

  James opened the door and admitted Gardan, who nodded a greeting. After Gardan entered the room, James left, closing the door behind him.

  The court was nearly empty. In a few moments, de Lacy and Jerome would admit nobles, merchants, and other petitioners to the great hall. With a nod of courtesy to the two men, James hurried out of another side door and started back toward his quarters. He might not look forward to another of Princess Anita’s galas, but he did hear his bed singing a siren call to him right now. The last few weeks in the north, especially almost a week-long horseback ride abetted by mystical herbs to ward off fatigue, had taken its toll.

  As he reached the corner of two halls, he found a page and instructed the youth to awaken him one hour before the supper bell rang. James reached his room, went inside, and within minutes was fast asleep.

  The musicians struck up a tune and Arutha turned to his wife and bowed. Less formal than the royal court in Rillanon, the Prince’s 63

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  court in Krondor was no less bound by traditions. One such was that no one began dancing before the Prince and Princess.

  Arutha was an adept dancer. That didn’t surprise James. No one could be as nimble when wheeling a sword as the Prince of Krondor and not have a superb sense of balance and exquisite timing. And the dances were simple. James had heard that the court dances in Rillanon were complex, very formal things, while here in the far more rustic west the court dances were similar to those performed by farmers and townspeople throughout the Western Realm, just executed with a bit more restraint and less noise.

  James watched Arutha and Anita nod as one to the music master. He held up his bow and nodded to his musicians, a collection of stringed instruments, a pair of percussionists, and three men playing flutes of various sizes. A sprightly tune was struck up and Anita stepped away from Arutha, while holding his hand, and executed a twirling turn, which caused her ornate gown to flare out. She ducked skillfully under his arm, and James thought it was a good thing those silly large white hats the ladies wore this season were considered daywear only. He considered it improbable she could have got under Arutha’s arm without knocking it off.

  The thought struck him as amusing and he smiled. Jerome, standing nearby said, ‘‘Something funny, James?’’

  James’s smile vanished. He had never liked Jerome, that distaste going back to their first encounter when James had arrived in court. After Jerome’s first—and last—attempt to bully him, James had knocked down the older boy, informing him pointedly that he was Prince Arutha’s personal squire and not about to be bullied by anyone. James had emphasized the message with the point of a dagger—Jerome’s own—deftly picked 64

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  off his belt without Jerome noticing, and the message had never needed to be repeated.

  Jerome had remained wary of James from that day on, though he had occasionally tried to bully the younger squires. Since becoming de Lacy’s apprentice, and in all likelihood the next Master of Ceremonies, Jerome had outgrown his bullying behavior, and a polite truce had arisen between himself and James. James still considered him a fussy prig, but judged him far less obnoxious than he had been as a boy. And at times he was even useful.

  James said, ‘‘Just an odd thought about fashion.’’

  Jerome let a slight smile show itself before turning somber once more. He did not pursue the remark, but his slight change of expression indicated he appreciated James’s observation.

  The court was at its lavish best, with every guest adorned in the height of Krondorian fashion. James found these annual shifts in taste odd and occasionally ridiculous, but bore up under them stoically. This year the guards’ uniforms had been changed, at the Princess’s request, as the old gray tabards were now considered too dull.

  The honor guard along the walls wore light brown tunics—somewhere between copper and gold—marked with a black eagle soaring over the peak of a mountain. James wasn’t sure he liked the break with tradition, but noticed the Prince’s scarlet mantle of office still bore the old crest.

  Another group of guests arrived and filtered into the ballroom.

  Leaning toward Jerome, James quietly asked, ‘‘The usual guests?’’

  Jerome nodded. ‘‘Local nobles, rich merchants, a few soldiers of rank who have earned our Prince’s favor.’’

  ‘‘Any Keshians?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘A few,’’ said Jerome. ‘‘Traders.’’ He glanced over at James and asked, ‘‘Or did you have some particular Keshians in mind?’’

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  James shook his head a little as the dance came to a close.

  ‘‘No, but I wish I did.’’

  If Jerome was curious about the remark, he didn’t show it.

  James had come to admire his reticence, as a great deal of a Master of Ceremony’s time was spent dealing with idiots, many of them powerful and rich. The ability not to hear things convincingly was a skill James felt he lacked and needed to cultivate.

  A bit of a bustle at the far end of the hall began as the first dance ended. Arutha bowed to Anita and offered his hand, which she took, to escort her back to the dais.

  From the opposite end of the hall came the booming crack of de Lacy’s staff of office striking the floor heralding the arrival of someone of note. De Lacy’s old, but still strong, voice carried the hall, as he intoned, ‘‘Your Highnesses, Lord Radswil, Duke of Olasko!’’

  James said, ‘‘Radswil of Olasko?’’

  Jerome whispered, ‘‘Pronounced Rads-vil, you ignoramus. One of the Eastern Kingdoms—a duchy, actually.’’ Looking with mock disdain at James he said, ‘‘Study the map, my friend. The man’s the younger brother of the Grand Duke Vaclav, and uncle to the Prince of Aranor.’’ Dropping his voice even lower, Jerome said,

  ‘‘Which means he’s a cousin to the King of Roldem.’’

  A stir spread through the room as those who had occupied the dance floor parted to allow a large man and his retinue to cross to where Arutha and Anita were just sitting down. James studied the man and didn’t like what he saw.

  The duke was a bruiser, James could tell, despite his fine raiment. A large velvet hat of dark maroon, looking like an oversized beret, dropped off to one shoulder, a large silver brooch with a long white feather sweeping back from it. His black jacket was tailored to fit snugly, and James could see the 66

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  massive shoulders were not padded, but merely reinforced his impression that Lord Radswil could easily hold his own in the rougher inns of the city. Black leggings and stockings finished the ensemble, all of the finest make. The sword at his side was a rapier, much like the one Arutha wore, often used and a serious weapon. The only difference was that Radswil’s had a silver-and-gold-decorated bellguard.

  At his left hand walked a young girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing a dress to rival the Princess’s, though cut as daringly low as modesty permitted. James studied her face. She was pretty in a predatory way, with the eyes of a hunter. For a brief moment he gave thanks that Locklear was gone from the court. Since they were boys, James had joked that girls would get Locklear killed some day, and this one looked about as dangerous as any James had seen, despite her youth.

  Then James felt eyes upon him and glanced across. At Radswil’s right hand walked two young men, about James’s own age from what he could tell. The
one closest to the duke looked like a younger version of Radswil, heavy set, powerful of stature and full of confidence. The one farthest from the duke bore enough of a resemblance to be a younger brother, but he was leaner and his eyes had a menacing cast as he fixed them upon James. He was studying James as James had been studying the party, and intuitively James knew what that young man was doing; he was picking out potential enemies in court. James felt a chill run down his back as the duke bowed before Arutha.

  Jerome, now acting the part of his office as assistant to the Master of Ceremonies, stepped forward and said, ‘‘Your Highnesses, may I present Radswil, Lord Steznichia, Duke of Olasko.’’

  Arutha said, ‘‘Welcome to our court, my lord. Your arrival 67

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  catches us somewhat unprepared. We thought you would arrive later in the week.’’

  The duke bowed. ‘‘Apologies, Your Highness,’’ he said in a deep voice, his speech only slightly accented. ‘‘We caught favorable winds from Opardum and arrived in Salador a week before we were scheduled. Rather than linger, we pressed on.

  I trust we have caused Your Highnesses no undue inconvenience?’’

  Arutha shook his head. ‘‘Not at all. We just lack a fitting welcome, that is all.’’

  The duke smiled and James felt no warmth from that expression. The man was polished and his education was obvious, but at heart there was that brawler James had recognized at once. ‘‘I’m sorry, Highness, I assumed the gala tonight was to welcome us.’’

  Anita’s face froze for a moment, then the duke turned to her and said, ‘‘Highness, I jest. The matter is one of scant importance.

  We call only out of courtesy to your office and your husband’s.

  We are bound for the Keshian port of Durbin. From there we will venture into the Trollhome Mountains, where we understand the hunting is both plentiful and exotic. Any small gesture of hospitality on your part is a boon beyond our expectation.’’