Martin and Arutha saw the ballista crew readying their weapons. The Huntmaster sent a flurry of arrows at the pursuing ship’s bow, one arrow following the last before it was halfway to the target. The first struck a man in the leg, felling him, and the other men dove for cover.
“Fog dead ahead, Captain!” came the shout from above.
Amos turned to the helmsman. “Hard to port.”
The Sea Swift angled to the south. The Royal Griffin came hard after, now less than four hundred yards behind. As they changed course, the wind died. Approaching the fog bank, Amos said to Arutha, “The winds fall off to less than a bilious fart in there; I’m reefing sails, so the sound of flapping canvas doesn’t give us away.”
Abruptly they entered a wall of grey, murky fog, quickly becoming black as the sun sank over the horizon. As soon as the warship vanished from sight, Amos said, “Reef sails!”
The crew hauled in sails, quickly slowing the ship. Then Amos said, “Hard to starboard, and pass the word for silence.”
Suddenly the ship became graveyard quiet. Amos turned to Arutha and whispered, “There’s currents here running to the west. We’ll let them carry us away from here and hope Radburn’s captain is a Kingdom Sea man.
“Tiller to midships,” he whispered to the helmsman. To Vasco, he said, “Pass the word to lash down the yards. And those aloft are to remain motionless.”
Suddenly Arutha became aware of the quiet. After the clamor of the chase, with the fresh north wind blowing, the ropes and sheets singing in the yards, the canvas snapping constantly, this muffled fogbank was unnaturally silent. An occasional groan of a yard moving, or the snap of a rope, were the only sounds in the murk. Fear dragged the minutes out in the seemingly endless vigil.
Then, like an alarm ringing out, they heard voices and the sounds of a ship. Creeking yards and the snap of canvas as it moved in the faint wind echoed from all quarters. Arutha couldn’t see anything for minutes, until a faint glow pierced through the murk to the rear, passing from northeast to southwest, lanterns from the pursuing Royal Griffin. Every man aboard the Sea Swift, on deck and above, stayed at his station, afraid to move for the noise that would carry over the water like a clarion. In the distance they could hear a shout from the other ship, “Quiet, damn it! We can’t hear them for our own noise!” Then it was suddenly still, save for the rippling of canvas and ropes from the Royal Griffin.
Time passed without measure as they waited in the blackness. Then came a hideous grinding sound, ringing like a thunder peal, a tearing, cracking shriek of wood being crushed. Instantly the cries of men could be heard, shouts of panic.
Amos turned to the others, half-seen in the darkness. “They’ve shoaled out. From the sound, they’ve torn the hull right out from under. They’re dead men.” He ordered the helm put over to the northwest, away from the shoals and reefs, as sailors hurriedly set sail.
“A bad way to die,” said Arutha.
Martin shrugged, half-lit by the lanterns being brought up on deck. “Is there a good way? I’ve seen worse.”
Arutha left the quarterdeck, the faint, pitiful cries of the drowning men still carrying across the water, a grisly counterpoint to Vasco’s more mundane shout to open the galley. He closed the door to the companion-way and shut out those unhappy sounds. He quietly opened the door to his cabin and saw Anita lying asleep in the faint light of a shuttered candle. Her red-brown hair looked nearly black as it lay spread about her head. He started to close the door, when he heard her say, “Arutha?”
He stepped in, finding her watching him in the dim light. He sat on the edge of the berth. “Are you well?” he asked.
She stretched and nodded. “I’ve been sleeping soundly.” Her eyes widened. “Is everything all right?” She sat up, bringing her face close to his.
He reached out and put his arms around her, holding her close. “Everything is fine. We’re safe now.”
She sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for everything, Arutha.”
He said nothing, suddenly caught up in strong emotion, a protective feeling, a need to keep Anita from harm’s way, to care for her. For long moments they sat this way, then Arutha regained control over his surging feelings. Pulling away a little, he said, “You’d be hungry, I’d think.”
She laughed, an honestly merry sound. “Why yes, as a matter of fact I’m famished.”
He said, “I’ll have something sent down, though it will be plain fare, I’m afraid, even compared to what you were given by the Mockers.”
“Anything.”
He went on deck and ordered a seaman to the galley to fetch something for the Princess, then returned to find her combing her hair. “I must look a mess,” she said.
Arutha suddenly found himself fighting the urge to grin. He didn’t know why, but he was inexplicably happy. “Not at all,” he said. “You look quite nice, actually.”
She stopped her combing, and Arutha marveled at how she looked so young one minute, so womanly the next. She smiled at him. “I remember sneaking a peek at you during Father’s court dinner, when you were last in Krondor.”
“At me? What in heaven’s name for?”
She seemed to ignore the question. “I thought you looked nice then as well, though a bit stern. There was a boy there who held me up to see. He was with your father’s party. I’ve forgotten his name, but he said he was apprentice to a magician.”
Arutha’s smile faded. “That was Pug.”
“What ever happened to him?”
“He was lost in the first year of the war.”
She put aside her comb. “I’m sorry. He was kind to a bothersome child.”
“He was a kind lad, given to doing brave things, and he was very special to my sister. She grieved for a long time when he was lost.” Fighting back a gloomy mood, he said, “Now, why did a Princess of Krondor want to sneak a look at a distant and rural cousin?”
Anita watched Arutha for a long moment, then said, “I wanted to see you because our fathers thought it likely we would marry.”
Arutha was stunned. It took all his control to retain his composure. He pulled over the single chair and sat. Anita said, “Didn’t your father ever mention it to you?”
For want of anything clever to say, Arutha merely shook his head.
Anita nodded. “I know, the war and all. Things did get quite frantic soon after you left for Rillanon.”
Arutha swallowed hard, finding his mouth suddenly dry. “Now, what is this about our fathers’ plans for…our marriage?”
Arutha looked at Anita, her green eyes flickering with reflected candlelight, and something else. “Matters of state, I’m afraid. Father wanted my claim to the throne bolstered, and Lyam’s too dangerous a match, being the older. You’d be ideal, for the King would not likely object…or wouldn’t have then, I guess. Now, with Guy set upon having me, I suppose the King is in agreement.”
Arutha became suddenly irritated, though he wasn’t certain why. “And I suppose we’re not to be consulted in the matter!” His voice rose.
“Please, it’s not my doing.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s only I’d never given much thought to marriage, and certainly not for reasons of state.” The wry grin reappeared. “That is usually the province of eldest sons. We second-born as a rule are left to get by as best we can, an old widowed countess, or a rich merchant’s daughter.” He tried to make light of it. “A rich merchant’s beautiful daughter, if we’re lucky, which we usually are not.” He couldn’t manage a light tone and sat back. Finally he said, “Anita, you will stay at Crydee as long as need be. It may prove dangerous because of the Tsurani for a time, but we’ll see that through, somehow; send you down to Carse, perhaps. When this war is over, you’ll go home in safety; I promise you. And never, never shall anyone force you to do anything against your will.”
The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a seaman entered with a steaming bowl of chowder, har
d bread, and salted pork on a platter. As the seaman placed the food on the table and poured a cup of wine, Arutha watched Anita. When the sailor was gone, Anita began to eat.
Arutha spoke of little things with Anita, finding himself once more captivated by the girl’s open, appealing manner. When he finally bade her good night and closed the door, he was abruptly aware the idea of a state marriage was causing him only a little discomfort. He went up on deck; the fog had lifted, and once more they were running before a light breeze. He watched the stars above and, for the first time in years, whistled a happy air.
Near the helm Martin and Amos shared a wineskin and spoke low. “The Prince seems unusually cheerful tonight,” said Amos.
Martin blew a puff of smoke from a pipe, which was quickly carried away on the wind. “And it’s a good bet he’s not even aware why he feels so cheerful. Anita’s young, but not so young he’ll be able to ignore her attentions for very long. If she’s made up her mind, and I think she has, she’ll have him snared within the year. And he’ll be glad to be caught.”
Amos laughed. “Though it will be some time before he owns up to it. I’m willing to wager young Roland is hauled up before the altar sooner than Anita.”
Martin shook his head. “That’s no wager. Roland’s been caught for years. Anita has some work to do yet.”
“You’ve never been in love, then, Martin?”
Martin said, “No, Amos. Foresters, like sailors, make poor husbands. Never at home long and spending days, even weeks, alone. Tends to make them a brooding, solitary lot. You?”
“Not so you’d notice.” Amos sighed. “The older I get, the more I wonder what I’ve missed.”
“But would you change anything?”
With a chuckle Amos said, “Probably not, Martin, probably not.”
—
AS THE SHIP put in at the quayside, Fannon and Gardan dismounted. Arutha led Anita down the gangway and introduced her to the Swordmaster of Crydee.
“We’ve no carriages in Crydee, Highness,” Fannon said to her, “but I’ll have a cart sent for at once. It’s a long walk to the castle.”
Anita smiled. “I can ride, Master Fannon. Any horse that’s not too spirited will do.”
Fannon ordered two of his men to ride to the stable and bring one of Carline’s palfreys with a proper sidesaddle. Arutha asked, “What news?”
Fannon led the Prince off a short distance and said, “A late thaw in the mountains, Highness, so there has been no major Tsurani movement as yet. A few of the smaller garrisons have been raided, but there is nothing to indicate a spring offensive here. Perhaps they’ll move against your father.”
“I hope you’re right, for Father’s received most of the Krondorian garrison.” He quickly outlined what had occurred in Krondor, and Fannon listened closely.
“You did well not sailing for your father’s camp. I think you judged things correctly. Nothing could prove more disastrous than a major Tsurani offensive against Duke Borric’s position as he was marshaling to march against Guy. Let us keep this to ourselves for a time. Your father will learn what has occurred soon enough, but the more time it takes for him to discover Guy’s treachery, the more chance we have of keeping the Tsurani at bay another year.”
Arutha looked troubled. “This cannot continue much, longer, Fannon. We must soon see an end to this war.” He turned for a moment and saw townspeople begin to gawk at the Princess. “Still, we at least have a little time to come up with something to counter the Tsurani, if we can but think of it.”
Fannon thought a moment, started to speak, then stopped. His expression became grim, almost painful. Arutha said, “What is it, Swordmaster?”
“I have grave and sorry news to greet you with, Highness. Squire Roland is dead.”
Arutha was rocked by the news. For a brief moment he wondered if Fannon made some tasteless joke, for his mind would not accept what he had heard. Finally he said, “What…how?”
“News came three days ago from Baron Tolburt, who is most sorely grieved. The Squire was killed in a Tsurani raid.”
Arutha looked at the castle upon the hill. “Carline?”
“As you would expect. She weeps, but she also bears up well.”
Arutha fought back a choking sensation. His face was a grim mask as he moved back to Anita, Amos, and Martin. Word had spread that the Princess of Krondor was upon the wharf. The soldiers who had ridden with Fannon and Gardan formed a quiet ring around her, keeping the townsfolk at a respectful distance, while Arutha shared the sad news with Amos and Martin.
Soon the horses arrived and they were in the saddle, riding toward the castle. Arutha spurred his horse on and was dismounted before the others had entered the courtyard. Most of the household staff awaited him, and with little ceremony he shouted to Housecarl Samuel, “The Princess of Krondor is guesting with us. See rooms are made ready. Escort her to the great hall and tell her I will join her shortly.”
He hurried through the entrance of the keep, past guards who snapped to attention as their Prince strode by. He reached Carline’s suite and knocked upon the door.
“Who is it?” came the soft voice from within.
“Arutha.”
The door flew open, and Carline rushed into her brother’s arms, holding him tightly. “Oh, I’m so glad you are back. You don’t know how glad.” She stepped back and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I was going to ride down to meet you, but I just couldn’t seem to gather myself together.”
“Fannon just told me. I’m so very sorry.”
She regarded him calmly, her face set in an expression of acceptance. She took him by the hand and led him to her chambers. Sitting upon a divan, she said, “I always knew it might happen. It was the silliest thing, you know. Baron Tolburt wrote a very long letter, the poor man. He saw so little of his son and was stricken.” Tears began to come, and she swallowed hard, looking away from Arutha. “Roland died…”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
She shook her head. “It’s all right. It hurts….” Again tears came, but she spoke through them. “Oh, it hurts, but I’ll get over the pain. Roland taught me that, Arutha. He knew there were going to be risks, and should he die, I’d have to keep living my own life. He taught me well. I think because I finally learned how much I loved him, and told him so, I gained the strength to cope with this loss.
“Roland died trying to save some farmer’s cows.” Through the tears, she smiled. “Isn’t that like him? He spent the entire winter building up the fort, and then the first time there’s trouble, it’s some hungry Tsurani trying to steal some skinny cows. Roland went riding out with his men to chase them away, but got shot by an arrow. He was the only one hurt, and he died before they could get him back to the fort.” She sighed long. “He was such a jester at times, I almost think he did it on purpose.”
She began to weep, and Arutha watched in silence. Quickly she regained control over herself and said, “No good comes from this, you know.” She rose and looked out a window and said, quietly, “Damn this stupid war.”
Arutha came over to her, holding her tightly for a moment. “Damn all wars,” he said.
For a few more minutes they were quiet, then she said, “Now tell me, what news from Krondor?”
Arutha gave her a brief account of his experiences in Krondor, half his attention on her. She seemed much more accepting of Roland’s loss than she had when grieving for Pug. Arutha shared her pain, but also felt certain she would be all right. He was pleased to discover just how much Carline had matured over the last few years. When he finished telling of Anita’s rescue, Carline interrupted. “Anita, the Princess of Krondor, is here?”
Arutha nodded, and Carline said, “I must look a fright, and you bring the Princess of Krondor here. Arutha, you are a monster.” She rushed to a polished metal mirror and fussed with her face, daubing at it with a damp cloth.
Arutha smiled. Under the mantle of mourning, his sister still showed a spark of her natural spirit.
Combing her hair out, Carline turned to face her brother. “Is she pretty, Arutha?”
Arutha’s wry smile was replaced by a grin. “Yes, I’d say she is pretty.”
Carline studied Arutha’s face. “I can see I’ll have to get to know her well.” She put down her comb and straightened her gown. Extending her hand to him, she said, “Come, we can’t keep your young lady waiting.”
Hand in hand they left the room and walked down the stairs to the main hallway, to welcome Anita to Crydee.
8
Great One
An abandoned house overlooked the city.
The site upon which the house had been constructed had once seen the lights of a great family manse. On top of the highest of many rolling hills surrounding the city of Ontoset, it was considered the choicest view of the city and the sea beyond. The family had come to low estate, the result of being on the losing side in one of the Empire’s many subtle but lethal political struggles. The house had fallen into disrepair and the property been ignored, for while it was as fine a building site as any found in the area, the association of ill fortune with the property was too real for the superstitious Tsurani.
One day news reached the city that some kula herders had awakened to the sight of a single black-robed figure walking up the hill toward the old house. They all acted with haste to avoid him, in the socially correct fashion for their station. They stayed within the area, tending their animals—the source of their meager income: kula wool—when, near midday, they heard a great noise, as if the heavens above them had erupted with the grandfather of all thunder peals. The herd scattered in terror, some running up the hill. The herders were no less terrified, but true to their trade, they put aside their fears and chased after the animals.
One herder, a man named Xanothis, came to the top of the once-famous hill to be greeted by the sight of the black-robed magician he had seen earlier, standing upon the crest. Where the run-down great house had stood moments before, a large patch of smoking land was laid bare, several feet below the level of the grass that surrounded it. Fearing he had intruded upon some business of a Great One, Xanothis started to back away, hoping to avoid detection, for the Great One’s back was to the herder and his cowl was drawn over his head. As he took the first step backward, the magician turned to face him, fixing him with a pair of unsettlingly deep brown eyes.
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