King of Ashes [Book One]

by Raymond E. Feist

  Daylon said, ‘It gives him the excuse he didn’t have before.’

  Rodrigo said, ‘Daylon, you’re a king in all but name. You’ve taken this wonderful barony your father left you and made it richer, stronger, and more influential. You could declare yourself king and demand an equal voice to Lodavico; none of the remaining kings would oppose you openly.’

  Daylon laughed. ‘Just openly?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ amended Rodrigo.

  ‘And give Lodavico and Mazika an excuse to do here what they did to Ithrace? They’d need less manipulation and fewer lies. The blessing of the Church and the promise of tearing Marquensas apart would be enough for half the barons on Garn to line up alongside them.’

  ‘So what do you plan to do? We both know war is coming.’ Seeing Daylon’s expressionless mask, Rodrigo added, ‘So, you have a plan, but you’re not in a trusting mood, I see.’

  Daylon said, ‘We’ve been friends for many years and I trust you more than any man not of my blood, but some discussions are premature, and this would be one of them. Now, back to the question of finding you a decent weapons maker …’

  ‘Do you have one you’re willing to let me poach?’

  ‘Perhaps. You brought up Edvalt, and by coincidence one of his apprentices, now a master by rank, was here just a few days ago.’

  ‘Is he still in the city?’ asked Rodrigo, now very interested.

  Before Daylon could answer, Balven said, ‘No, he left the city.’

  Daylon looked at his half-brother and said, ‘He did?’

  Balven inclined his head slightly. ‘I knew you’d want some word of his whereabouts, so I had him followed.’ He nodded towards Rodrigo, but also in the direction of the far wall, with its maps, its journals, and all the notes the baron had compiled on the coming conflict.

  Daylon said, ‘So then, where has he gone?’

  ‘One of our agents overheard him speaking with a local rumour-monger, a woman named Kalanora, then he found a smith named Gildy. He’s heading to a newly vacant smithy in Beran’s Hill.’

  Daylon said, ‘Interesting choice,’ in a non-committal tone.

  Rodrigo said, ‘I’ll seek him there.’

  ‘Do me a favour?’ asked Daylon. ‘I don’t think he will take your service, as he has already rejected mine, but employ him while you seek another weapons master for your keep. I would welcome your judgement on the quality of his workmanship.

  ‘Now,’ said Daylon, rising, ‘I need to change out of these dusty clothes and ready myself for dinner.’

  ‘I could use a bath as well,’ said Rodrigo, standing up. ‘Could you send someone along …?’

  Daylon glanced at Balven, who nodded. ‘I’ll attend to that.’

  Daylon waved Rodrigo off, and his half-brother turned to escort the Baron of the Copper Hills to a guest room.

  Alone for a moment, Daylon Dumarch, the most powerful free baron on all of Garn, tried to order his thoughts. If Rodrigo was alarmed by the events occurring in the east – by Sandura flexing its muscle – then things were moving at a faster pace than he had anticipated.

  That posed two problems for Daylon: the first was that he wasn’t quite ready to openly challenge Lodavico, and the second, the far more worrisome involvement of the Church in politics. The order had been flirting with power since Daylon was a boy, but now they flaunted it. Why they might have allied themselves openly with Sandura was a mystery to Daylon. As soon as Balven returned they’d discuss what messages needed to be sent to their agents in the east.

  Still, better to have a problem at his doorstep than an army, Daylon thought as he moved towards his quarters and clean clothing.

  • CHAPTER SIXTEEN •

  Hints of Truth and Dark Designs

  The voyage aboard the Sasa Muti was uneventful, save for a little unseasonable rain on the second day. Reza had sent word ahead on a swifter boat, for they were fully loaded and slow, and he wanted Hatu’s report safely in his father’s hands should some misfortune befall them. Ten days after setting sail, they came within sight of Coaltachin’s main anchorage in the city of Corbara, known as Safe Harbour, but also by a variety of other names depending on who was sailing into the port. The locals simply called it ‘the Harbour’ or ‘the City’ when speaking to outlanders.

  Being vague was one of the many tricks employed by the people of Coaltachin to ensure uncertainty among potential enemies. Only trusted visitors and those of Coaltachin knew that Safe Harbour was part of Corbara.

  Hatu looked from north to south, taking in the details of the harbour, but found himself empty of any emotion regarding the place. It wasn’t a void, but he did feel an absence of any sense of home here, any loyalty or affinity. It was just a place to be, and only marginally safer than being out in the world.

  They made straight for one of the more important docks. Hatu was unsurprised, given which master was aboard. Two horses waited at the bottom of the ramp. Master Reza said nothing about the captain’s chest, so Hatu assumed the matter was settled and that it would find its way to whatever destination the Council considered appropriate.

  Reza spared Hatu a brief glance to see he was mounted and urged his horse forward. Hatu had ridden before but was hardly an expert, so he struggled to keep pace until Reza slowed to make his way through the press of the town.

  Hatu had passed through Safe Harbour several times, but he had never lingered here, so he was quickly lost and focused on keeping Master Reza’s back clearly in sight. They rode up a hill past some prosperous-looking shops and an inn, and then came to a winding road that led to a clearing. There stood a simple wooden post with an iron ring, and Reza dismounted and tied off his horse’s reins, Hatu following suit a moment later.

  Reza said, ‘We walk,’ as he pointed to a narrow path that vanished into a thick stand of trees.

  Hatu followed Reza up a narrow pathway that led to a slender bridge over a lively stream, past a small grove of fruit trees and a well, and ended at a three-step porch leading up to a modest building. It was little more than a large hut, perched on wooden pilings. Hatu entered through the door after Reza, who said, ‘Father, this is the boy, Hatushaly.’

  A man of late middle years looked up from where he sat on a cushion on the floor and set aside the document he had been reading. ‘Welcome home, my son,’ he said to Reza; then he motioned to Hatu. ‘Stand over here where I can see you better.’

  Hatu had met many masters, and travelled with a few, like Bodai, and felt he understood his position with them. But Master Zusara was a legend in Coaltachin.

  So Hatu was surprised to find him something of a disappointment. He had expected some figure of myth, a powerful man, perhaps even magical, but instead he saw a fairly nondescript man in his late fifties or early sixties before him, dressed in a plain grey tunic and trousers, with woven sandals on his feet, and sporting no rings or other jewellery. Had Hatu passed him in the market, he would have barely noticed Zusara.

  As he moved to the indicated spot, Hatu realised that was probably intentional, and part of his genius. He had been taught, when learning to mark targets in the market, that many men felt the need to call attention to themselves with fine clothing, ostentatious displays of wealth, and retinues of servants. But Master Zusara was not such a man. Hatu stood motionless, silently waiting.

  Looking at Reza, Zusara asked, ‘Has he reached manhood?’

  Reza shrugged, then said, ‘The day is to be upon him next month.’ Then he added, ‘Yet he appears but two years older than my youngest son.’

  Master Zusara nodded. ‘A little broader of shoulder, perhaps, but yes, they seem of like age.’ He silently looked at Hatushaly, then asked, ‘So, why is he here? Why bring me a child?’

  ‘A ship was lost and all hands, save one.’ He gestured to Hatu. ‘I think this is a story the Council needs to hear first-hand.’

  Zusara’s face showed a small expression of surprise, and Hatu reckoned this father put much faith in his son’s judgement. ‘Then we sha
ll summon the Council.’

  He put down the scroll he had been holding and said, ‘I read your message. It was even more cryptic than usual. Some of what you shared disturbed me …’ Zusara studied his son’s face for a moment. ‘I expect that what you didn’t share will prove even more disturbing. I sent word to the other members of the Council that you would be arriving soon and they should be ready to come at short notice, Most are at their homes, though …’ He glanced at Hatu. ‘It doesn’t matter where the other two are. Five may serve as well as seven if the Council needs a judgement. I shall send word and we will hear this story tomorrow morning.’

  He stood up stiffly, and Hatu realised Zusara was older than he had first thought, or perhaps suffering from injuries gained in years gone by. ‘Come,’ he said to Hatu. ‘I shall show you a room. You will dine with me tonight and meet the Council tomorrow.’

  Reza nodded and said, ‘We will need Master Facaria as well; I shall send word.’

  ‘That old woman? Very well, if we need him here, send for him. He’ll either preen like a peacock to the Council over the invite or complain about the need to travel all night. We shall see which Facaria appears tomorrow.’

  Reza inclined his head slightly in agreement and turned without speaking to Hatu. Hatu hesitated a moment, then entered a hallway behind the most powerful master on the island, and in the entire nation of Coaltachin, and heard a deep sigh escape from the old man.

  Towards the back of the house was a tiny room containing a mat with a simple cloth coverlet, a table, and an unlit candle in a holder.

  ‘Rest,’ instructed Zusara, motioning Hatu into the room. ‘It should be clean. If the water rises during the rainy season, this is the part of the house that gets drenched, and it can make things smell of mildew, but my wife …’ He smiled. ‘That’s for another time. Tonight, you will tell me your tale over supper and I shall craft your words for the ears of the Council so we may do what’s best.’ Turning his back, he said, ‘I shall send for you. Rest now.’

  Hatu wondered what was coming next but decided to take Zusara’s suggestion and lay down. He felt a familiar nervousness, a cross between concern, even a bit of fear, and frustration, which he willed away. He was tired to his bones, so sleep was quick to arrive.

  HATU AWOKE TO THE SOUND of footsteps and saw a woman move aside the curtains that had allowed the room a bit of privacy. She spoke softly and with a modest smile said, ‘My husband asks you to join him at supper.’

  Uncertain what to say beyond, ‘Thank you,’ Hatu rose quickly from the sleeping mat and moved past her, down the short hall to the room where he had first encountered Master Zusara.

  Zusara sat on cushions before a low table. A delicious smell rose from a large tureen resting upon it. Hatu glanced at Master Zusara, who indicated that the young man should sit as he moved to the opposite side of the table. A moment later, Zusara’s wife appeared with a tray of fruit, bread, and a large square of cheese.

  Master Zusara said nothing as she cut the bread and cheese into portions small enough to be eaten easily, left the fruit on the platter, and then ladled the soup into deep bowls. She left without a word having been spoken by anyone.

  Hatu watched her depart and said, ‘Your wife is not eating?’

  Master Zusara waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘She knows to leave men to men’s business.’

  Hatu let that remark sink in for a moment; he considered himself a man but still endured many people looking at him as if he was still a boy. And since he’d mixed with Hava and other strong girls his entire life, he wasn’t entirely sure what men’s business meant. Lacking anything intelligent to say, he smiled. ‘Sir,’ he finally said, as neutrally as he could manage.

  The old master smiled. ‘You have been away too long, I see.’ Hatu nodded. ‘You’ve picked up foreign ideas. We can discuss women later if you’d like.’

  The remark startled Hatu a little; his tone was almost fatherly.

  ‘You appear troubled,’ Master Zusara observed.

  ‘I … would like to say something to please you, sir, but in truth I am only now beginning to learn things a man should know.’

  ‘Ah.’ Zusara studied the young man’s face for a moment. ‘And what else?’

  ‘I would appreciate your wisdom on any subject, but this thing I …’

  ‘Survived? Endured?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hatu.

  ‘Tell me of it, then, and we’ll talk of other things later.’

  Hatu began his tale slowly, trying to frame every moment in such a way that he shared the horror without overstating it. He had been taught that the truth required no embellishment, but forgetting details was also a fault.

  When Hatu began recounting the part of the narrative when he had awoken in the cave next to the unconscious Donte, feelings started to rise within and he was forced to pause several times to collect himself. ‘I was terrified, if I’m to be truthful, master. I know I should have …’ He was on the verge of tears and forced himself to keep silent. Master Zusara’s face remained expressionless and he offered no comment; his silence gave permission to Hatu to take as much time as he needed.

  ‘I have thought about it again and again; was there something I could have done? I didn’t even know where they held Donte, and I don’t know what I could have done had I known. In the end, I just thought I must get home.’ He gulped back a sob and willed himself to calm. Zusara gave him further time to compose himself.

  ‘Home,’ said the old master quietly. There was something thoughtful about his tone.

  Finally, Master Zusara said, ‘You’ve had time to think on all this, obviously.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Hatu, nodding his head in agreement.

  ‘Why do you think you were spared?’

  Hatu shook his head and remained silent for a second before he said, ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Think on that some more, because tomorrow the Council will be here and you will need to tell the tale again.’ He narrowed his gaze and said, ‘And that will be the first question you are asked.’

  The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence as the sun lowered beyond the horizon. Zusara asked him a few questions about where he had travelled and what trades and skills he was familiar with, responding to his last answer with, ‘You’ve trained in more trades than most your age. Is there one that you preferred?’

  Hatu thought it was an odd question; the skills were simply part of the false identities he used when needed. He shrugged and said, ‘Perhaps being a tinker. I do like fixing things, working with my hands. It’s straightforward.’

  As he stood, Master Zusara said, ‘We need to take a short walk.’

  Hatu stopped himself from asking where they were going, because when a master told you something, you did not question it. He got to his feet as the old man moved to the door.

  ‘There are torches over there,’ Zusara told him, pointing to a large container just to the left of the door. ‘Fetch two.’

  When he had done as instructed, Hatu held them while the master struck flint and steel, showering one of the torches with sparks. It caught a small flame and Hatu turned it slowly, spreading the fire, then lit the second torch from the first. ‘Always keep a ready torch against the darkness,’ said Zusara. ‘Seep oil or light tar will alight with the tiniest ember.’

  He guided Hatu down the steps to the path that led to the town road, but instead of turning downhill, Zusara motioned for Hatu to follow him past where the road appeared to end. It did in fact continue but was used so little, the stretch beyond Zusara’s home was overgrown and hidden from view. The master casually pushed aside fronds and tall grasses that bowed over the narrow path, and after a few minutes, Hatu realised the road had truly ended, and they now followed nothing more than a track.

  As the sky darkened and the torches became the primary source of illumination, Hatu studied his surroundings, looking for his way out – a practice born of habit. It would be easy to lose one’s path in the darkness.
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br />   ‘So, about those foreign customs I spoke of. What do you know of women?’ asked Zusara, ending the silence.

  The question took Hatu aback for a moment, until he realised the master referred to his earlier question about why the master’s wife had left them alone.

  Hatu weighed his answer before speaking. ‘I remember the imposing matrons who raised me when I was tiny, and a few of the girls in class sometimes bested me in training. I see many powerful women when I travel. I see them in the village near the harbour here, and in all the other nations … I have heard the names of baronesses in North Tembria, women of position and authority, yet I have never heard of women of rank here in Coaltachin.’

  Master Zusara nodded and said, ‘Because we have none. In the outside world, women are never important in warfare, and in politics only to forge alliances between powerful families. At best, they are bargaining chips in an important game of chance. Oh, they can comfort a man and give him relief, but at worst they are distracting and dangerous. The only truly noble thing women are capable of is giving us sons.’

  Hatu nodded, having absolutely no idea what Zusara was getting at. He waited and then, after a long moment, said, ‘I am not certain I understand, master.’

  ‘Have you had a woman?’

  The young man found the question a little off-putting, though he couldn’t put a name to the reason. ‘Yes, master. A few times.’ The truth was Hatu had only been with one girl, a barmaid in Numerset, just days before the merchant’s murder. Later he had discovered that Donte had paid her to be his first. He was still embarrassed by the entire thing, yet knew boasting about women seemed to be an important pastime to the other young men. He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, though Master Zusara wasn’t looking at him. Hatu knew that there must have been something of consequence in this topic, even if he didn’t grasp much of what the master was saying, or the discussion wouldn’t have been causing him such discomfort.

  Zusara halted, turned, and looked at him appraisingly. ‘During your travels, have you desired many women?’