The scout considered the signs, ‘Many men, milling about. A murder, there.’ He pointed to a dark spot upon the already dry ground.
‘Murder!’ said Locklear. ‘How can you be certain?’
‘Blood, m’lord,’ answered the scout. ‘Which would not be unusual after a struggle, save this is in a large pool, with no signs of a wounded man approaching this spot. See the large splatter on those rocks there? I would guess a throat was cut.’ He pointed to two lines of faint scratches in the dust leading from the bloodstain to the rockfall. ‘Two heels as someone was dragged to where the rocks were pushed.’ He pointed again to the top of the gully. ‘One climbed there.’ He glanced about once more, then scampered up the incline to where his horse waited. ‘They move south, to the Oasis of the Broken Palms.’
Locklear said, ‘How do you know?’
The guard smiled. ‘It is the only place they can go, m’lord, for they move into the desert, and without baggage horses they cannot carry enough water to see them through to Durbin.’
‘Durbin!’ Erland almost spat the word. ‘That rat hole. Why would they risk the dangers of the desert to go there?’
‘Because,’ James answered, ‘it is a safe harbour for every cutthroat and pirate from every nation bordering the Bitter Sea.’
‘And the best market for slaves in the Empire,’ said the scout. ‘In the heart of the Empire, slaves are plentiful, but up here very difficult to find. Only Kesh and Queg have open markets for slaves. In the Free Cities and the Kingdom, the practice is discouraged.’
Erland said, ‘I don’t follow.’
James turned his horse toward the direction the scout had indicated and said, ‘If only two guards,’ quickly he added, ‘or Borric and one guard remain alive, there’s enough profit at the Durbin slave auction to make the raid profitable. If they are taken into the Empire, the money is less than a third what it is in Durbin, and then the leader has an angry crew to govern, and that can be dangerous.’ James spoke with authority.
Erland said, ‘Then why wouldn’t Borric just tell them who he is? He’s certainly worth more in ransom than he’d ever fetch as a slave.’
James looked out thoughtfully across the wastelands at the late afternoon sun. Then he said, ‘If he is alive, I would have expected a message from the raiders, something telling us he is well and for us not to follow, and that a ransom demand would be made within a short time. It’s what I would have done … I would have made sure I didn’t have a company of soldiers dogging my heels.’
The Keshian scout ventured, ‘These raiders may not be as clever as you, m’lord. Your Prince, should he live, may feel it dangerous to tell them who he is. They might cut his throat to avoid trouble and flee into the wastes. He may be unconscious, yet not injured enough for them to abandon. There may be other answers, m’lord.’
Erland said, ‘Then we must hurry.’
The scout said, ‘We must proceed cautiously to avoid ambush. Highness.’ He pointed into the sandy landscape. ‘If slavers attack the road, then out there at an oasis or in one of the wadis a slave caravan gathers. Many raiders with many guards will bring their catch to be taken to Durbin – many more fighters than we could face, even had my Sergeant remained – more than both our companies could face. Perhaps a hundred guards.’
Feeling the heavy weight of despair begin to descend upon him, Erland said, ‘We’ll find him. He isn’t dead.’ But his own words sounded hollow in his ear.
The scout scrambled up the wall of the gully to where his horse waited. ‘If we ride quickly, m’lord, we shall reach the Oasis of the Broken Palms at sundown.’
James detailed two guards to accompany the two wounded men back to the inn where they would recuperate until they were ready to return to the Kingdom. He did a swift calculation and realized he now had only a dozen healthy soldiers. Feeling vulnerable and somewhat foolish, he ordered that small band into the desert.
The sun was touching the horizon when the scout rode at a gallop toward the Islemen. James signalled a halt. Reining in his mount, the scout said, ‘In the Wadi al Safra, a caravan gathers: one hundred guards, maybe more.’
James swore. Erland said, ‘Any sign of my brother?’
‘I could not get close enough to tell, my Prince.’
‘Is there any place nearby where we could get close to the camp?’ asked Locklear.
‘A shallow ravine courses along one side of the wadi, and at the far end it becomes a gully running close to the camp, m’lord. Four, maybe five men could approach unobserved, be they stealthy. But it is dangerous. At the far end it becomes shallow enough for a standing man to see into the camp, but it is also close enough for a standing man to be noticed.’
Erland began to dismount, but James said, ‘No, you’ll clank like an armourer’s wagon in that chain. Wait here.’
Gamina said, ‘I should go, James. I can tell if Borric’s in the caravan if I can get close enough.’
‘How close is close enough?’ asked her new husband.
‘A stone’s throw,’ answered Gamina.
James asked the scout, ‘Can we get that close?’
The scout said, ‘We shall be close enough to see if any of the pigs have boils upon their faces, m’lord.’
‘Good,’ said Gamina, picking up the hem of her riding gown so it stayed clear of the ground. She tucked it in her wide leather belt, in the fashion of the Stardock fisherwomen when they waded into the shallows.
James ignored the unseemly display, exposing two slender white legs very high up on the thighs, as he attempted to think of a good reason to object to her coming along; he couldn’t. It’s the problem with having a logical mind and giving women the same credit for ability as men, he mused to himself as he dismounted. You can’t contrive reasons to keep them safe.
Locklear signalled a pair of guards to accompany James, Gamina, and the scout and the five set out down the trail on foot. They moved slowly, as the sun fell below the western horizon. By the time they approached the near end of the ravine, the sky was slate grey and the desert was alive with highlights of crimson and pink as the reflected sunlight off the clouds over the distant sea bathed the landscape in rose twilight.
Noise from the caravan echoed through the deepening gloom and James glanced around to see if everyone had stayed close. Gamina touched his arm lightly and her thoughts came to him. I can sense many minds in the wadi, my love.
Borric? he asked silently.
Nothing, she admitted. But I must get closer to be certain.
Gripping the scout’s arm, James whispered, ‘Can we get closer?’
Whispering back, he answered, ‘There is a bend ahead, and if we follow it, we shall be close enough to urinate upon the dogs. But be cautious, my lord, for it is a likely place to dump offal and garbage and there may be guards nearby.’
James nodded and the scout led them into the gloom.
James could remember several times in his past when he had taken short journeys that seemed to take for ever, but none seemed to take so long as it took to travel the short distance to the end of the gully. As they reached it, the voices of the guards could be heard in soft conversation as they walked easily along the perimeter of the camp. Not only was the journey nerve-wracking for the danger, but the end of the gully was being used as a garbage dump and privy trench; the Islemen had to creep through garbage and waste, both human and horse.
James stepped in something wet and soft and from the odour which hung in the ravine like a noisome fog he was certain he didn’t want to know what it was. He could guess. He signalled to the scout who signalled back that they were as close as they dared get.
Cautiously James peeked over the edge of the gully. Standing no more than ten paces away, two silhouettes stood outlined against the campfires. Huddled near them for warmth were at least thirty miserable-looking people, but nowhere in the group could James see Borric. Not every face could be seen, but James was certain his red hair would be easily noticeable in the sea of dark heads,
despite the flickering firelight.
Then a man in a purple robe approached the two guards and for a moment, James’s chest constricted. But it wasn’t Borric. The wearer of the robe had the hood tossed back and the darkly bearded face that scowled at the two guards was one James had never seen before. He wore a sword at his hip, and ordered the two men to cease their chatter and move on.
The robed man turned as another joined him, a large man in a leather vest, wearing the caste mark of the Durbin slavers on his arm. It was a mark James hadn’t seen since he was a boy, but like all members of the Mockers, Krondor’s Guild of Thieves, he knew it by reputation. The Durbin slavers were not men to trouble lightly.
James chanced another glimpse of the camp, then hunkered down next to his wife. Her eyes were closed and her face was set in an expression of concentration as she sought out Borric among the prisoners in the camp. Finally she opened her eyes and her mind’s voice came to James. There is no thought I recognize as Borric’s in the camp.
Are you certain? he asked.
Sadly, she said. If he were in that camp, as close as we are, I would find him. Even were he sleeping, I could sense his presence were he in that camp. She silently sighed and he caught the echoes of sorrow in her mind. There can be no explanation for it save he lay buried beneath the rubble back where we found the boot. There was a moment of silence, then she said. He is dead.
James was motionless for an instant, then he motioned to the scout. By sign he gave the order to return the way they had come. The search was over.
‘No!’ Erland’s face was harsh as he refused to accept Gamina’s pronouncement. ‘You can’t know for certain.’
James recounted his observations for the third time since returning to where Erland and the balance of the company waited. A campfire had been started and the men were busy preparing an evening meal. James dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to a solider, who led the animal away. ‘We saw another bandit wearing the robe, so we can assume that it’s possible they took the boots from him as well, I grant that. But there was no sign of him in the camp.’ To the Keshian scout he said, ‘Is there any chance the bandits who raided us were not part of this slaver caravan?’
The scout shrugged, as if to say anything was possible. ‘Probably not, my lord. By carrying off some of your men it is unlikely it was but a coincidence you were raided. Any of your men who remain alive are for certain in that camp.’
James nodded. ‘If he had been alive, Erland, Gamina would have been able to speak to him.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
So that all in the camp could hear her, Gamina said, I have control over my talents, Erland. I can choose how many or few I wish to speak to, and once I touch a mind I can recognize its thoughts. Borric’s thoughts were not among those in the camp.
‘Perhaps he was unconscious.’
Gamina shook her head sadly. ‘I would have sensed his presence, even if he were unconscious. There was an … absence of him. I can’t explain it better than that. He was not among them.’
The scout said, ‘My lord, if I may remain with you this night, I shall have to move on to find my Sergeant. He will wish to know of these Durbinites. The Governor of Durbin is little better than a pirate and renegade himself, and sooner or later, word of this outrage will reach the Court of Light. When the Empress, blessings be upon her, at last decides to act, retribution shall be forthcoming, and it shall be terrible indeed. I know it can not ease your burden, but to assault the person of a royal family en route to her Jubilee is beyond insult. The Empress, blessings upon her name, will no doubt take it as a personal affront to the Empire’s honour and act to revenge your family.’
Erland’s anger was not soothed in the least. ‘What? The Governor of Durbin reprimanded? Then a formal letter of apology, I suppose.’
‘More likely she will order the city surrounded and burned to the ground with all the citizens within, sire. Or if she is feeling merciful, perhaps she will only send the Governor of Durbin, with his family and retainers of course, to your King for punishment, sparing the city. It will depend upon her mood at the time she decides.’
Erland was overwhelmed. The shock of Borric’s apparent death at last setting over him and the blasé attitude of the guard as he recounted such power on the part of one woman, conspired to render him without wit. He just nodded dumbly.
James, seeking to turn talk away from the terrible diplomatic situation that would arise out of Borric’s death, said, ‘We shall ask you to bear letters to be forwarded back to the Prince of Krondor, so that we may mitigate any difficulties between our two nations.’
The scout nodded. ‘As one who serves along the border, I would do so gladly, m’lord.’
James said, ‘See to your mount and picket her with our own; the boys in the luggage will feed and water her. Then get some food and find a place to sleep.’
The scout saluted, and left to see to his horse. James nodded at Locklear, who in turn motioned with his head toward Erland. Both young nobles moved away to speak in private.
As the fading light of day fled over the western hills, Locklear knelt on the other side of the fire and said, ‘This is a fine mess.’
James also sat, trying to relax. He saw Gamina move to Erland’s side, as if to comfort him. ‘Well, we have faced difficulties in the past. This is what we were trained for, to make choices.’
Locklear said, ‘I think we should consider returning to Krondor.’
James said, ‘If we do, and Arutha orders Erland back to the Jubilee, we risk insulting the Empress by arriving late.’
‘The festival will last more than two months,’ Locklear pointed out. ‘We would be there before it’s over.’
‘I still would rather have us there at the beginning.’ He glanced around at the black night. ‘Out there something’s going on. I can’t help feeling that.’ He put a finger on Locklear’s chest. ‘It’s just too much a coincidence that we were the ones raided.’
‘Perhaps,’ agreed Locky in part, ‘but if we were the target for a raid, then those behind it were those who attempted to assassinate Borric in Krondor.’
‘Whoever they are.’ James was silent for a long moment, then said, ‘It makes no apparent sense. Why would they wish to kill the boy?’
‘To start a war between our Kingdom and the Empire.’
‘No, that’s obvious. I mean why would anyone wish war?’ The question was rhetorical.
Locklear shrugged, choosing to answer it anyway. ‘Why does anyone ever wish to start one? We must discover who within the Empire will profit most from a destabilized northern border, and that is our likely culprit.’
James nodded. He stared out into the gloom, away from the firelight, and said softly, ‘We will not be able to do that in Krondor.’
Locklear agreed. ‘Yes, and doing insult to the Empress coupled with Borric’s disappearance may have the desired effect. Arutha has the coolest head on his shoulders that I’ve ever encountered, but he’s also a man whose lost a son – and more, the Heir to the throne of the Isles – and if ever his judgment gets cloudy, it’s when the lives of those he loves are at risk.’
James nodded, remembering how he behaved when on the quest for Silverthorn, when Princess Anita lay at death’s threshold. ‘Still, he’s a lot older now than then, and—’ James didn’t finish.
Gamina’s thoughts came to him. I can give him no comfort husband. Do what you can for him.
Turning to find Erland alone, facing out into the desert night, as Gamina returned to the campfire, James motioned to Locklear to give the two of them some privacy. He stood and crossed to stand beside him. In quiet tones he said, ‘You must come to terms with this, Erland. Your grief must quickly be abandoned and you must accept the change in circumstances fate has forced upon you.’
Erland blinked in confusion, as one suddenly thrust into the light. ‘What?’
James turned and stood before him. With firm hand upon the younger man’s shoulder,
he said, ‘I know you, as I know myself. I’ve spent as much time with you and Borric as any man living, and I understand you both. You will hold to this thing like a terrier with a rat, worrying it and shaking it, and trying to make it not true, but it is true.
‘You are now Heir. You will be our next King. And you will carry the fate of your homeland with you when we ride to Kesh.’ James gently squeezed Erland’s shoulder. ‘This night you must grieve, and you will battle that grief from now until we reach the City of Kesh, but the moment you step before the Empress Lakeisha you must be Heir to the Throne of the Isles. You can not be a grieving brother or an impulsive and angry child. You must become the man your father expects you to be.’
Erland seemed not to hear him.
James tightened his grip on the young man’s shoulder. ‘You have no choice, Erland. The fate of nations depends on you.’ James turned and walked back to the campfire.
The Prince said nothing as he returned his gaze to the west, to the distant slaver caravan somewhere out there under the shroud of darkness. After an hour standing motionless, he turned and walked back to where the others were waiting. Nothing was said as Erland sat and took a plate of food offered to him by a soldier. He quietly ate and became lost in his own dark and painful thoughts. For he knew that James was correct, and that he must come to grips with his loss, for tomorrow they would resume their trek southward, into the heart of Great Kesh.
• CHAPTER SEVEN •
Captive
BORRIC AWOKE.
He lay motionless, straining to hear through the confusion of voices and sounds that were ever-present in the camp, even at night. For an instant, while still half-dozing, he had thought he heard his name being faintly called.
Sitting up, he blinked as he looked around. Most of the captives still sat huddled near the campfire, as if its light and warmth would somehow banish the cold fear in their souls. He had chosen to lay as far from the stench of the waste trench as possible, on the opposite side of the band of slaves. As Borric moved, he was again reacquainted with the manacles that bound his wrists, the odd-looking flat silver metal with the reputed property of blanking out all magic powers of whoever was forced to wear them. Borric shivered, and realized the desert night was indeed turning cold. His robe had been taken from him and his shirt as well, leaving him with only a pair of trousers to wear. He moved toward the campfire, eliciting an occasional curse or complaint as he forced his way between captives reluctant to move. But as all the fight was gone from them, his inconsiderate shoving through the mass of slaves got him nothing more than a glare of anger or a muttered oath.
Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer Page 13