Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Martin continued the introductions. ‘This is my son, Marcus.’ Nicholas turned to his cousin and hesitated; there was something vaguely familiar about him. Brown eyes and brown hair: Nicholas judged he must resemble someone back in Krondor. The same height as Nicholas, Marcus wore his hair the same length as the Prince. But Marcus was almost two years senior to Nicholas and slightly heavier in build. Marcus gave Nicholas a stiff bow and stepped back.

  Nicholas said, ‘Cousin,’ and nodded.

  Amos came up to stand behind Nicholas and said to Martin, ‘Remember when I first gleaned that you were Arutha’s brother?’

  Martin said, ‘How could I forget? That was my first voyage, and you almost drowned us all.’

  ‘Saved your worthless skin with my masterful sailing, you mean,’ answered Amos. Waving a hand at Nicholas and Marcus, he said, ‘But if the world ever needed proof of your parentage, there it stands revealed.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I think we’ll have to paint one of them green so we can tell them apart.’

  Nicholas looked at Amos in confusion, but Marcus’s face was an unreadable mask. Amos said, ‘The resemblance.’

  Nicholas said, ‘What resemblance?’

  ‘To each other,’ answered the admiral.

  Nicholas turned to regard his cousin. ‘Do you think …?’

  Marcus shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t see it … Highness.’

  Amos laughed and said, ‘You never will.’

  Martin continued the introductions. ‘Highness, this is my daughter, Margaret.’

  One of the two young girls curtsied. Her hair was dark like her brother’s, but she resembled her mother. Nature had given her a straight nose and high cheekbones, but with a less severe cast than Briana’s. She wore her hair long to her shoulders, like her mother, without any adornment. Dark eyes glanced up at the Prince as he said, ‘A pleasure, cousin.’ She smiled at the greeting, and instantly she was lovely.

  Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the young woman at Margaret’s side, and he felt his chest tighten. Cornflower-blue eyes that seemed the largest he had ever encountered regarded him. Suddenly he felt clumsy and unsure of himself. Margaret said, ‘This is my companion, the Lady Abigail, daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse.’ The slender girl curtsied and Nicholas was certain he had never seen anyone do it so gracefully. Unlike Margaret, Abigail had her blond hair gathered up in a silver circlet behind her head, where it cascaded in ringlets. Her skin was pale and clear and her features delicate. She smiled as she arose from her curtsy, and Nicholas couldn’t help but smile back. After a moment the smile became a silly grin.

  The sound of a throat clearing behind him brought Nicholas from his trance. He said, ‘M’lady,’ and his voice sounded strained in his own ears. Nicholas turned back toward Martin and said, ‘This is Harry, my Squire,’ as his companion came down the gangway, carrying Nicholas’s and his own travel bags. The boy dropped them on the ground and bowed before the Duke of Crydee. Seeing the Princess and her companion, he grinned broadly.

  Martin indicated that Nicholas should ride in the first carriage with himself and his lady. Harry began to walk after them, when Amos’s hand again descended and gripped him by the shoulder. ‘The first carriage is for the Prince, the Duke, and the Duchess. The second is for myself and the Duke’s children.’

  Harry said, ‘But –’

  Amos pointed to the wagons. ‘You can make sure your Prince’s luggage is in order as it’s unloaded and packed on yon wagons. Then you can ride one of them when you’re done.’

  Nakor and Ghuda came down the gangplank and Harry said, ‘What about them?’

  Nakor grinned. ‘We’ll walk. It’s not that far.’ He pointed to the castle on the hill overlooking the harbor.

  Ghuda said, ‘I could use a little stretch.’

  Harry sighed and took the two bags over to the first wagon. A drover said, ‘Here, boy, what’s this?’

  Harry was in an ill temper and snapped, ‘Prince of Krondor’s baggage! I’m his Squire!’

  The man made a lazy salute as he continued to lean against the wagon and said, ‘Then where will you be wanting that lot, Squire?’ He pointed.

  Harry turned and saw the first load of luggage coming off the ship, as a pair of sailors carried one of Nicholas’s heavy trunks down the gangway. It was followed by three more like it. As the creak of wood and the hum of ropes filled the air, a large cargo net from deep within the ship’s hole rose majestically into view. Another dozen trunks and other assorted baggage was hauled over the side and lowered to the quay. Dock hands jumped to and began unfastening the net.

  The drover said, ‘And I suppose you know where that lot’s to go, Squire?’

  With a sign of resignation, Harry reached back into the wagon and pulled out the two bags that had been his and Nicholas’s source of clothing and personal items for the weeks they had been aboard ship. Obviously, they would be among the last pieces to be loaded. Shaking his head, Harry said, ‘And I’m supposed to supervise?’

  With a knowing wink, the drover pushed himself away from the wagon. ‘It’ll go faster and be easier on us all, Squire, if you do your supervising from over there.’ He pointed to a doorway a dozen yards off. ‘Nice ale, good meat pies, and you can supervise through the window.’

  Harry’s mouth watered at the thought of meat pies after the ship’s plain fare. But he said, ‘No, I have my duty.’

  The drover shook his head. ‘Then do us both a favor, Squire, and supervise real quiet-like, if you catch my drift.’

  Harry nodded and moved out of the way as the first pair of trunks were carried over to the wagon. He found himself a shady patch under the overhanging roof of the customs house and leaned against the wall. Glancing up the hill, he could see that Ghuda and Nakor were already leaving the dock area and walking up the broad street that ran through the town to the castle. They would most likely be in the castle a hour before Harry. Muttering to himself, Harry said, ‘I thought this was going to be interesting.’

  As the first carriage rolled into the castle courtyard, two rows of soldiers snapped to attention. Each wore the brown and gold tabard of Crydee and carried a shield with the golden sea gull of Crydee upon a brown field, and from each halberd a brown and golden pennant hung. Their armor shone in the sun. As a coachman opened the door and Nicholas stepped out, a short, bandy-legged man with grey hair and a leathery face shouted, ‘Salute!’ At once the soldiers snapped to attention. The halberds dipped, and after a moment the company of soldiers pulled them back. Martin and the others stepped out of the carriage, then the drivers urged the horses on to the carriage house in back.

  Nicholas took a good long look at his new home. Castle Crydee was small in comparison to what he knew. There was an ancient keep, around which a single surrounding building had been erected, and later another hall had been added to the rear. Nicholas quickly calculated distances, and found with some disapproval that whoever had erected the outer wall had left a relatively narrow bailey. Should the wall ever be breached, there was little to keep an invader from reaching the central keep.

  As if reading his mind, Martin said, ‘My great-grandfather took this keep from the Keshian garrison stationed here, and built the wall around it.’ With a half-smile that reminded Nicholas of his own father, he added, ‘My grandfather built the two additional halls, leaving little further room for growth. Father planned on pushing the wall out to accommodate new growth … but he never got around to it.’ He put his hand upon Nicholas’s shoulder. ‘I never seem to find the time, either.’

  A large black-skinned man, with a short black beard, walked slightly behind the short grey-haired man as the pair advanced between the lines of soldiers to come before Nicholas. They both bowed to the Prince.

  Amos grinned at the short man. ‘Swordmaster Charles!’

  Martin said, ‘Highness, my Swordmaster, Charles, and Horsemaster Faxon.’

  Nicholas returned their salutes with an inclination of his head, and spoke a few words to Charles in
a foreign language. The Swordmaster bowed and answered in the same language. Then in the King’s Tongue he said, ‘You speak excellent Tsurani, Highness.’

  Nicholas blushed. ‘Only a few words, really. But all in the court know of Uncle Martin’s Tsurani Swordmaster.’ To the dark-skinned man be said, ‘And Horsemaster Faxon.’

  Faxon said, ‘Your Highness.’

  Martin introduced other members of his household, and when the formalities were over, he took Nicholas by the arm. ‘If your Highness will come with me.’

  Martin and Nicholas mounted the steps to the castle, while Martin’s children and Abigail followed, heading back to their own quarters.

  Briana turned to Amos. ‘We’ll have a reception tonight, but in the meantime, we’ll have someone show you to your quarters.’

  Amos said, ‘Just tell me which room, my lady. I lived here too many years to get lost.’

  Briana smiled. ‘Your old room is yours again, Amos.’

  Amos glanced at the main gate to the castle, noting the pair of guards standing at their posts. ‘You might tell those lads that in a few minutes a pair of very unlikely characters will heave into view. One’s a short madman from Shing Lai named Nakor, and the other is a tall mercenary from Kesh, name of Ghuda Bulé. Let them in, as they’re companions to Nicky.’

  Briana’s only reply was to raise an eyebrow. She turned to Swordmaster Charles and said, ‘See to it, please.’

  He saluted and hurried off to the gate to inform the guards.

  Briana said, ‘Who are these men, Amos?’

  Forcing a light air, Amos said, ‘As original a pair as you’d meet anywhere.’

  Briana put her hand upon Amos’s shoulder. They had served together in Armengar, her home, when Amos had aided in its defense against the armies of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. ‘I understand you well enough to know there’s something else. What is it?’

  Amos shook his head. ‘Just … something Arutha told me before I left.’ He glanced at the main door of the castle through which Martin and Nicholas had just passed. ‘He said that should anything happen, listen to Nakor.’

  Briana was silent a moment, thinking, then said, ‘I have no doubt that “anything” means trouble.’

  Amos forced a laugh. ‘Well, I doubt he meant listen to the wizard if there was a surprise party!’

  Briana answered with a smile. She gave Amos a hug and kissed his cheek. ‘We’ve missed you, and your humor, Amos.’

  Amos glanced around, remembering. ‘I’ve seen too many men die on those walls and spent too many days defending them to have missed Crydee, Briana.’ Then he kissed her cheek and squeezed her in a bear hug. ‘But damn me if I haven’t missed you and Martin.’

  Arms around each other’s waists, the tall Duchess and the large sea captain walked up the steps into Castle Crydee.

  Martin indicated Nicholas should sit and moved behind a large desk. The Duke’s office looked small compared to Arutha’s in Krondor, and Nicholas glanced around.

  Behind Martin, on the wall, was the sea gull banner of Crydee. Above the bird’s head were the faint outlines of a crown, where a piece of material had been removed. Nicholas knew that once his own grandfather had held this office, and had also been second in line to the crown Nicholas’s uncle now wore. But Martin’s line was prevented from inheritance by an illegitimate birth, and all marks of such succession had been removed from the family coat-of-arms.

  Martin said, ‘This office was your father’s for a while, during the years of the Riftwar, Nicholas. Before that it was your grandfather’s, and his father’s and grandfather’s before him.’

  Nicholas noticed that beyond that one ducal banner, the walls were devoid of personal mementos or trophies; only a large map of the Duchy and another of the Kingdom graced the otherwise bare stone. Martin’s desk was equally well ordered, with a solitary inkwell and quill, a bar of red wax for the ducal signet, and a candle. Two rolled parchments hinted at some unfinished business, but otherwise there was a sense of organization in this room, as if the present occupant was loath to leave at the end of the day with any task unfinished or unresolved. There was something familiar in that, Nicholas realized, as that drive for order was also a hallmark of his father. He returned his attention to his uncle, who was watching him closely. Nicholas flushed.

  Martin smiled and said, ‘You are with family, Nicholas, never forget that.’

  Nicholas shrugged. ‘I’ve heard Father tell of Crydee, and Amos has war stories that never end, but …’ He glanced around once more. ‘I guess I didn’t know what to expect.’

  Martin said, ‘That’s why you’re here. Arutha wished you to know something of your heritage.

  ‘We’ve a rough court, by Krondorian standards,’ he continued. ‘Close to primitive by the standards of Rillanon and the other eastern courts. But you’ll find it comfortable enough in the ways that matter.’

  Nicholas nodded. ‘What exactly will I be doing?

  Martin said, ‘Arutha has left that up to me. I think for the time being I’m going to name you my Squire. You’re a little old for the position, but that way you can stay close, and perhaps after a while I’ll find better use for you. I’ll assign your friend to Marcus.’

  Nicholas was about to object when Martin said, ‘Squires do not have squires, Nicholas.’ Nicholas nodded.

  ‘Tonight we’ll have a formal reception, with a troupe of players who are in the town. Then tomorrow you’ll begin your duties.’

  ‘What will those be?’

  ‘Housecarl Samuel will fill you in on some of your duties. Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon will have others for you. You will do several things every day, mostly to make my time more efficient in governing the Duchy. You may have noticed new buildings above the south bluffs and beyond. Crydee is becoming quite the metropolis by Far Coast standards. There is much to be done. Now I’ll have a servant show you to your rooms.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Martin.’ Nicholas rose as Martin came around the desk and opened the door, signaling for a servant to approach.

  Martin said, ‘Beginning tomorrow, Your Highness, you will address me as “Your Grace”. You will be addressed as “Squire”.’

  Nicholas flushed, feeling embarrassed but not knowing why. He nodded and followed the servant to his quarters.

  That night Nicholas sat between his uncle and his cousin Marcus. The food was hearty if plain, the wine was robust and flavorful, and the entertainment adequate. Nicholas spent the better part of the evening glancing past his aunt and uncle to where Abigail sat beside Margaret. The two girls seemed to have their heads together the better part of the meal, and several times Nicholas found himself blushing without quite knowing why. The few attempts he made at speaking with Marcus resulted in short answers and long silences. Nicholas was beginning to feel that somehow his cousin disliked him.

  Amos, Nakor, and Ghuda Bulé were all at the far end of the table, beyond Nicholas’s ability to speak to them. They were obviously having a good enough time swapping stories with Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon.

  Looking down the table, Nicholas saw Harry attempting to engage a quiet young man in conversation. The man seemed to speak quietly, as Harry was constantly leaning over to hear him. The man seemed not much older than the boys, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties. He had a shock of blond hair that hung to his shoulders, and had bangs that seemed to threaten his vision every moment, as he was constantly brushing them back with his hand. His eyes were blue, and Nicholas imagined that if he ever smiled, he’d be a likable-enough-looking chap.

  ‘Cousin, who is that?’

  Marcus looked to where Nicholas indicated. ‘That’s Anthony. He’s a magician.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Nicholas, pleased that he had finally gotten more than one sentence from his cousin. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘My father asked your father to intercede with the masters of Stardock to send a magician to us a few years ago.’ Marcus shrugged. ‘Som
ething to do with Grandfather, I think.’ He put down the rib bone he had been gnawing, dipped his hands in the finger bowl, and wiped them on a linen napkin. ‘Did your father ever talk about having a magician at court?’

  Relieved that they were at last engaged in something like a conversation, Nicholas shrugged. ‘A few stories. About Kulgan and Pug, I mean. I met Pug on this journey.’

  Marcus kept his eyes upon the magician. ‘Anthony is a good fellow, I’ll warrant you that, friendly when you get to know him. But he keeps to himself a great deal, and those few times Father asks him for counsel, he tends towards the evasive. I fear the magicians at Stardock sent him here as something of a joke.’

  ‘Really?’

  Marcus fixed Nicholas with a sour look. ‘You keep asking “really” as if I’m making this up.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Nicholas, blushing a little. ‘It’s just a habit. What I mean is, why do you think the masters of Stardock would do that, send him here as a joke?’

  ‘Because he’s not a very good magician, from what I can tell of such things.’

  Nicholas caught himself as he was about to say ‘Really?’ and instead changed it to, ‘Interesting. I mean, you don’t see a lot of magicians anywhere, but the few who’ve come to court don’t do much by way of magic, at least not anywhere you can see them.’

  Marcus shrugged. ‘I guess he has his uses, but there’s something about him that makes me cautious. He’s got secrets.’

  Nicholas laughed. Marcus turned to see if Nicholas was laughing at him. Nicholas said, ‘I think that’s part of the act, you know. Lurking in shadows and mysteries and the rest.’

  Marcus shrugged again, allowing himself a faint smile. ‘Perhaps. Anyway, he’s Father’s adviser, though he doesn’t do much of that.’