A Crown Imperiled

by Raymond E. Feist

  The magician in brown said, ‘I am distressed that so many of our brothers and sisters are determined to continually revisit the same points without any apparent progress in reaching a conclusion we can, at least, debate. So, I will make this proposal and ask the Administration to put it before the membership and call for a vote.

  ‘I ask that we agree that Pug would not have come to us save in the face of the most dire threat and that time must be counted as a critical issue. Moreover, without a clear purpose as to where we can best lend our talents to protect our world from the demon threat and the Dread—,’ the young magician glanced at Pug with an expression that suggested he wasn’t willing quite yet to believe that such a horror could exist, let alone threaten this world, ‘—we should consider making a plan to answer any call Pug might make and how best to do that.’

  The room erupted in comments and chatter. Several members voiced the opinion that it was too soon to be coming to any sort of vote on any issue, while others suggested the young magician overstepped his bounds. The Chairman stood and held up his hands for silence. He was a portly magician from one of the Eastern Kingdoms, by the name of Eslon Makov; he possessed a sense of gravitas well suited to moments like these. He said, ‘A question has been put to the vote of the members. To restate the question—’

  Pug let the restatement fade into the background as he saw the young, brown-robed magician move in his direction, climbing the steps of the circular hall to where he sat. ‘A moment, if you don’t mind,’ he said.

  Pug nodded and rose to follow the young magician up a few steps to the top tier of the Academy’s main hall, then out of the door to the antechamber.

  The young magician said, ‘I am called Ruffio, Pug. I’ve not had the honour of meeting you before.’

  Pug smiled. ‘I appreciate your support in there.’

  The young man shrugged and smiled hesitantly and Pug was suddenly struck by Ruffio’s resemblance to himself at a much younger age. He had a thick shock of dark hair and a similar build and carriage. ‘It was an obvious point to make, I thought. And if dire events do transpire as you fear, it might make it easier for this august body to reach a conclusion and act before we all die of old age.’

  Pug laughed as they walked past a pair of older magicians who cast them a quick glance and continued on their own way.

  Pug and Ruffio exited the antechamber and walked down a wide set of steps to a walled garden. When they were alone, Ruffio said, ‘I think if there are members of some unknown agency embedded here, they’ve blended in successfully. For a week now I’ve reviewed every discussion I’ve been involved in, overheard, heard of, and I’m forced to admit . . . nothing.’ He looked Pug in the eye. ‘It may be that the very nature of this society of magicians is exactly what our opponents desire: a tendency to wish to do nothing.’

  Pug nodded. ‘We have traitors in the Conclave, Ruffio. Otherwise how could so many things have gone so dreadfully wrong in the last few years?’

  The younger magician nodded, remembering the assaults on Sorcerer’s Isle that should never have succeeded, the worst of which had cost Pug the lives of many, including his wife and son. ‘Still, that doesn’t mean they’ve infiltrated here.’ He looked unhappy. ‘We should return. The vote on the motion should begin soon.’

  ‘Thank you for putting it forward.’

  ‘A necessary step.’ The young magician was thoughtful as they reached the entrance to the meeting hall. ‘The Academy lacks the exceptional talents of the Conclave, but we have many powerful men and women in our ranks. If the need arises there are enough of us in the uncommitted faction to force through a vote to help.’ He smiled. ‘Even the most conservative member of the Hands won’t oppose preventing the world from ending.’ His smile broadened. ‘At least I don’t think they would.’

  Pug stood alone for a moment and said quietly, ‘I hope you’re right, but sometimes I wonder.’

  Considering what Ruffio had said about the talent in the Academy, Pug wondered if he had been too strict in keeping those in the Academy ignorant of the Conclave’s existence, save his own agents of course. He stood hesitant. He needed to return to Amirantha and Sandreena soon, but thought before he returned he would do well to spend a few days informing a few key members of the Academy of some of what might be a threat in the days to come. He turned and began moving towards his old quarters, always kept ready for him, and decided he’d send word to Magnus to work with Amirantha and Sandreena on what they found on the Isle of the Snake Men, and then join them later. He once more felt he had too much to do and not enough time to do it in.

  • CHAPTER SEVEN •

  Alarm

  THE WARNING BELLS SOUNDED.

  Martin was already out of his bed and dressed and on his way to the kitchen for breakfast. Buckling his sword belt around his waist, he met his brother coming out of the kitchen.

  ‘Damn,’ said the commander of the city. ‘I’m famished.’

  Brendan smiled. ‘Just ate! If you don’t get yourself killed, have them fetch you something.’ Playfully smacking his brother’s stomach with the back of his left hand, he added, ‘Besides, the last week’s quiet is making you fat.’ Before Martin could respond, Brendan was off at a run towards the wall.

  Martin indulged in a momentary expression of exasperation that went unnoticed by anyone, then set off after his brother. Brendan was at the top of the wall by the time Martin got there. He pointed out into the harbour.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Martin.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  In the centre of the harbour the water was roiling, bubbling and capped with foam, as if the water below was beginning to boil.

  Martin shouted up to the northern tower, ‘What do you see?’

  From above the reply came, ‘Just a lot of dirty water bubbling, sir. It’s been that way for a good five or more minutes.’

  ‘What could it be?’ asked Martin quietly, turning back to watch.

  After another few minutes Lady Bethany and Lily appeared, both sporting what Martin had come to think of as their ‘fighting togs’: leather breeches, woollen shirts, and leather vests and boots. Both carried bows, though Bethany was the only true archer. She had been giving Lily lessons with the bow and the girl was now able to draw and loose a shaft, though Brendan – who’d watched closely since he’d taken an interest in the girl – didn’t think she stood much chance of hitting anything save by chance, as he had confided in his brother. And since Brendan was probably the only archer who exceeded Bethany’s skills in the city, Martin took his judgment at face value.

  Brendan’s close attention of Bethany had caused a great deal of agitation in young Captain George Bolton, now third-in-command of the city, who obviously had a deep infatuation with the mayor’s daughter. Brendan’s interest was more passing, given the lack of attractive young women in the city to compete with Lily; almost all the rest had been sent north to Zün for safety. She had refused to travel north and stayed in the city with her father, as he felt obliged to stay and defend his city.

  Bethany looked excited as she asked, ‘What is it, Martin?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I know,’ he snapped.

  Her eyes widened; then she realized the strain was finally taking its toll on him.

  Martin called up to the lookout above, ‘What do you see?’

  ‘The same, sir. Just bubbles and silt.’

  ‘Should we send someone out to investigate?’ asked Brendan.

  Martin was silent for a moment, then said, ‘No, we wait.’

  ‘Wait for what?’ asked his brother.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Martin replied.

  The four figures at the corner table were quiet, and while the room had cycled from an almost-sullen silence to a near riot of noise and back again over the previous day, these four were unnaturally silent.

  Arkan had found little to divert his attention since reaching Ylith, so he spent his time studying the customers in the inn, jammed cheek-by-
jowl as they were before him. It was a little like hunting, thought the moredhel chieftain, sitting in a hide observing the game through the swaying trees.

  There were no rooms for rent, and every available floor space from the basement to the attic was occupied by exhausted workers and stranded travellers. So Miranda, Nakor, Calis, and Arkan had been content to stay at their table, occasionally leaving to use the public jakes out back.

  Arkan and Calis were of elf stock, so silence was not difficult for either. The two demons in human form reflected the nature of their human identities, Miranda’s moods being manifold. Nakor was by nature ebullient, but he could also embrace solitude and quietude, so idle conversation had withered hours before.

  Now all four of them sat and covertly studied the other four men. They were rather ordinary looking, apart from the unnatural silence they observed. Had they been monks of some contemplative order, they couldn’t have been less talkative. Still, that wasn’t the only thing about them that caught the attention of Calis and the others.

  The Prince of Elvandar had lived among humans more than the other three, even though the two demons possessed Miranda and Nakor’s memories. All questions about how the two supposedly dead friends had reappeared in Ylith had been deflected, and Calis had dropped his enquiry, assuming he would learn the truth in good time. Like his mother’s people, he had greater patience than humans.

  It had been Arkan who had first noticed the four quiet men. He had simply said, ‘There’s something off about those four.’ He indicated the four men at the table in the corner on the other side of the rear door.

  ‘Off odd, or off dangerous?’ asked Calis, taking an interest.

  ‘I’m not sure, which probably means dangerous,’ said the moredhel chieftain. ‘They are trying to appear to be strangers, sitting at the same table by happenstance, yet despite the differences in their attire, each sports the same fashion of hair, as if they are members of the same clan.’

  Nakor grinned. ‘Monks, perhaps?’

  ‘Not likely,’ said Miranda.

  ‘No visible weapons, so they are either harmless or have other means to protect themselves,’ continued Arkan. ‘Magic would be my best guess, as there are no obvious guards nearby.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Calis, glancing at Miranda. ‘Anything?’

  Miranda knew what the elf prince was asking, but she hadn’t told him yet that she wasn’t who he remembered and lacked the original Miranda’s ability to detect magic. She glanced over at the men and said only, ‘Nothing useful.’ She felt a familiar, distant sensation being near these four men, like almost remembering a name, or trying to place a faint aroma, maddeningly familiar but just beyond recall.

  Nakor grinned. ‘I could go and poke at them.’

  ‘I don’t think that is wise,’ said Miranda.

  ‘Why?’ asked the little man.

  ‘I think they’re waiting for something. It might prove futile to do anything until that moment arrives.’ Her tone and expression communicated to Nakor that she was on the verge of recognition. He turned his head slowly and studied the four men, then his eyes widened slightly. He turned back and nodded almost imperceptibly. He now felt it too.

  ‘It might be too late,’ suggested Arkan. ‘I have spent little time among humans, save when trading in Raglam or Caern, but I have fought them and dealt with human prisoners.’ He lowered his voice. ‘These have the look of prisoners condemned to the mines.’

  ‘Not hopeless,’ said Nakor. ‘Resigned to their fate.’

  ‘They expect to die,’ said Calis. ‘Here, in this inn?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ offered Miranda. ‘How much mischief can they start here?’

  ‘A nice brawl?’ asked Nakor with an evil glint in his eye.

  ‘As amusing as that might prove to be,’ said Calis, ‘Miranda is right. If those four are up to something, it’s not here. At some point I expect one or more to leave the inn.’

  ‘So we wait until they leave?’ asked Nakor.

  ‘And follow them,’ said Arkan.

  ‘What’s your interest?’ Nakor ask the moredhel.

  ‘Anything that gets me out of this reeking inn is my interest.’

  Nakor raised his eyebrows in amusement and inclined his head as if he understood.

  ‘So we wait a bit longer,’ said Miranda with her first hint of impatience.

  An hour wore on as the bubbling in the harbour continued. Martin finally grew bored with watching it and said to his brother, ‘If it’s a threat, it’s not immediate.’

  Brendan nodded. ‘Though I wouldn’t discount it being a sudden one if whatever is going on out there is finished.’

  ‘What could cause such a thing?’ asked Bethany, standing at Martin’s side. She glanced at Brendan and Lily.

  Lily said, ‘I’ve lived here my entire life and have seen nothing like it.’ Then her expression grew thoughtful. ‘But I know someone who might know.’

  She vanished from the wall and a few minutes later returned followed by an old man. ‘This is Balwin,’ she said. ‘He’s the old harbourmaster.’

  ‘You ever see that before?’ asked Martin.

  The old man was slender, but not frail. He looked wiry and fit for someone who appeared to be eighty or more. He squinted against the afternoon sun, now gleaming off the water in the distance and said, ‘No, but I’ve heard of its like.’

  Suddenly Martin was interested. ‘Really? What?’

  ‘Story told me when I was a boy.’ Balwin grinned as he remembered, his leathery face wrinkling in amusement. ‘If I remember this right, it was the old imperial governor in LiMeth was behind it.’

  LiMeth was the westernmost coastal city, little more than a convenient port for pirates and smugglers, in the Empire along the coast of the Bitter Sea.

  ‘Somebody or ’nother was foolish enough to go looking for gold up in the Trollhome Mountains.

  ‘Now, anyone who knows anything about the Trollhome knows there’s a reason they call it that. Mountain trolls everywhere, so it doesn’t matter how much gold is up there; you’re not going to get it unless you’ve got more guards than miners.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘So the governor decides he’s going to tunnel up from beneath the water, starting off shore and moving up through the bluffs to the west of LiMeth, right up into the guts of the Trollhome.’

  ‘What happened?’

  The old man laughed. ‘Lot of miners drown is what I heard. But for a while it worked. Got some sort of magic-user to make some sort of air bubble and the men worked in that until they got up into the ground where they could drive an air shaft to the surface.’ He rubbed his chin as he remembered. ‘Thing was, water goes where it wants to go and seeks its own level, so as I heard it told, tide collapsed the lower end and the whole thing fell in on itself. Doubt the Governor even got enough gold out to pay for the cost. Anyway, the thing was when the magician had that air bubble in place, it leaked a bit and you could see bubbles rising to the surface. That’s what this reminds me of, that story.’

  Martin and Brendan looked at one another. ‘Crossing the Bitter Sea underwater?’ asked Brendan.

  ‘Is it even possible?’ wondered Martin. ‘I mean, a stationary bubble. Men diving into the bubble then working up the mountain . . .’ He sighed. ‘I find that story hard enough to believe. Where are they tunnelling from? They’d have to start somewhere over there.’ He pointed to the south-west then leaned forward, behind the merlons on the wall, as if to see better. ‘We’d have seen anyone on the shore attempting any sort of mining.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a wonderful tale, my friend, but even this close to the city, tunnelling under the Bitter Sea is more than an army of dwarves could achieve in this short a period of time.’

  ‘Army of dwarves?’ said the old harbourmaster. ‘Never met a single one myself.’

  Martin said, ‘I have, but that’s beside the point. If I could wish up a tunnel . . .’ He snapped his fingers.

  Brendan said, ‘Magic tunnel?’
r />   Martin looked concerned.

  ‘We really need a magician around, don’t we?’ asked Brendan.

  Martin glanced at his brother then nodded. ‘Time was the Dukes of Crydee had one on staff for a reason.’ He peered out at the water. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a diver in town we can send down for a look?’

  Harbourmaster Balwin said, ‘No, not many around here, and the few we had went off with the Duke’s army to the south. You’re free to try to find someone but most won’t dive that close to the city. Waters are too rough: got that tide-race to the south-west, and nothing but rocks to the south-east once you get past the beach over there. No reason to dive, ’cept salvaging. Even then not much visibility. But I may have a way for you to take a look if you’re willing to row out there.’ He paused, then smiled suddenly. ‘I’ll be right back.’ The old man turned and hurried away.

  Less than ten minutes later he returned holding what looked to be a large wooden bucket. ‘This might help,’ he said, presenting it to Martin.

  Martin turned it over and saw that it had a clear bottom. ‘What is this?’ he said, tapping on what looked to be clear glass but gave back a dull sound when struck.

  ‘Don’t rightly know. Some sort of crystal. Much tougher than glass. A salvager named Pevy used it outside the harbour, along the tide-race, when a ship went down. Very handy. Other lads would be diving off the side of their dinghies, searching, while Pevy and his boys would row around, looking down through this thing until they saw something, then the boys would dive right under it.’

  Martin and Brendan exchanged glances, and the younger brother said, ‘I’ll go.’

  Martin nodded. All three brothers had been raised on the coast, and by Crydee tradition had been apprenticed for a short while at every trade in the duchy, including fishing. Hal was the best sailor, Martin best at boat repair and gauging the weather, and Brendan was the best fisherman and diver.

  Balwin said, ‘Get a little boat and launch off that beach down there—,’ he pointed to the south-east, towards the old fortification, ‘—and you won’t have to navigate through all those burned-out pilings and rubbish.’