Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  There was something familiar about the name Tomas, but Nicholas couldn’t quite make it fit. He said, ‘Where is your son now?’

  Instantly he regretted asking, as a look of sorrow passed over both their faces. He thought the young man must have died in the war.

  But to his surprise, Megar said, ‘He lives with the elves.’

  Suddenly Nicholas made the connection. ‘Your son is the Elf Queen’s consort!’

  Magya nodded. With resignation she said, ‘We don’t see him much. We’ve had one visit since the child was born, and we get a message from time to time.’

  ‘Child?’

  Our grandson,’ answered Megar. ‘Calis.’

  Magya brightened. ‘He’s a good boy. He visits once or twice a year. He’s more like his father than those elves he lives with,’ she said with conviction. ‘I often wish he’d come to live here at Crydee.’

  The conversation died, and Nicholas excused himself and left through the door to the courtyard. He recollected what his uncle Laurie had told him about the last days of the Riftwar and what bits Amos had told him. Tomas wasn’t human. At least, that was the impression Nicholas had been left with; he was something else, related to the elves, but different. Nicholas thought that if he had human parents, especially ones as warm and open as Megar and Magya, he must have been much like the other keep children. What could have changed him? wondered Nicholas.

  Nicholas wandered over to the Princess’s Garden, faintly hoping to find Abigail and Margaret there. Given the hour, they were probably in the hall, dining with Duke Martin, but Nicholas hoped anyway.

  Instead of the young girls, Nicholas was astonished to find Nakor and Anthony, lying flat on their stomachs, staring at something under a stone bench.

  ‘There, you see?’ said Nakor.

  ‘That one?’ asked Anthony.

  ‘Yes.’

  They dusted themselves off as they rose. Nakor said, ‘You must be sure it is the one with those tiny flecks of orange. If they are red, it is deadly. If it is any other color, it is useless.’

  Anthony took notice of Nicholas and bowed slightly. ‘Highness.’

  Nicholas sat upon the bench they had just been peering under, taking the weight off his foot. ‘Squire,’ he corrected.

  Nakor grinned his lopsided grin. ‘For the present, Squire, but Prince always. Anthony knows this.’

  Nicholas ignored the observation. ‘What were you two doing?’

  Anthony seemed embarrassed. ‘Well, there’s a small mushroom-like growth that you can find in dark, damp places –’

  ‘Under the bench,’ injected Nakor.

  ‘– and Nakor was showing me how to identify it correctly.’

  ‘For magic potions?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘As a drug,’ snapped Nakor. ‘To induce sleep – if prepared correctly. Very handy when you have to cut an arrow out of a soldier, or remove a bad tooth.’

  Nicholas indulged himself. ‘I thought all you magicians have to do is wave your hand and put someone in a trance.’

  Anthony shrugged, as if to say that he wasn’t much of a magician, but Nakor said, ‘See, that’s what comes of letting children grow up uneducated.’ He opened his bag and took out an orange. ‘Want one?’ he asked.

  Nicholas nodded and Nakor tossed the fruit to him. He gave another to Anthony. Then he handed the bag to Nicholas. ‘Look inside.’

  Nicholas examined the large rucksack. He found it simple: black material, feeling like common felted wool. A leather drawstring had been sewn around the mouth of the bag, and a wooden frog and loop served as a clasp. The bag was empty. Handing it back, Nicholas said, ‘There’s nothing in it.’

  Nakor reached in and withdrew a writhing snake. Anthony’s eyes widened and Nicholas scooted backward on the bench, until he hit the wall behind. ‘That’s a viper!’

  With a wave of his hand, Nakor said, ‘This? It’s just a stick.’

  In his hand was a simple piece of wood, which he put back in the bag; then again he tossed the bag to Nicholas. Nicholas examined it closely and said, ‘It’s empty.’ he handed the bag to Nakor. ‘How did you do that?’

  Nakor grinned again. ‘It’s easy if you know the trick.’

  Anthony shook his head. ‘He does some very impressive things, yet insists there is no magic’

  Nakor nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll explain it to you someday, magician. Pug knows.’

  Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at the walls above the courtyard and said, ‘I’ve been hearing a lot about Pug today, it seems.’

  Anthony said, ‘He is something of a legend here. At Stardock, too. He left before I joined the community there.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Well, you can’t have been a member for long; he’s only been gone from there about eight years.’

  Anthony smiled. ‘I’m afraid I’m a very junior magician. The masters felt –’

  ‘Masters!’ snorted Nakor. ‘Those overblown fools Korsh and Watoom!’ Shaking his head, he sat down next to Anthony. ‘They were the reason I left Stardock.’ He pointed to Anthony as he looked at Nicholas. ‘This boy was quite gifted, but he is what those fools call a “lesser” magician. If I had stayed, I would have made him one of my Blue Riders!’ Grinning at Anthony, he said, ‘I sure made some trouble there, didn’t I?’

  Anthony laughed, and Nicholas saw him look as young as Harry and himself. ‘That’s the truth. The Blue Riders are the most popular faction at Stardock, and there are some very bitter fights –’

  ‘Fights!’ exclaimed Nicholas. ‘Magicians fighting?’

  Anthony said, ‘Student brawls, really. There are some older apprentices, who call themselves the Hands of Korsh – though he doesn’t care for that – who often start trouble in the taverns at Stardock. No one causes serious damage – the masters wouldn’t allow that – but it can result in a cracked head now and again.’ He sighed, remembering. ‘I wasn’t there long enough to become seriously involved with all that politics. I was having too much trouble with my studies. That’s why they sent me here, at Duke Martin’s request, because I’m not much of a magician.’

  Nakor shook his head and made a face. ‘If you’re not much like them, that’s a good thing.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going to the woods to look for some things. I’ll see you at supper.’ He pointed to Anthony. ‘Put some salve on the boy’s foot, so it’ll be better tomorrow.’

  Anthony said, ‘I have some things that might help.’

  Without further word, Nakor scampered from the garden, leaving the young magician and Squire alone.

  Nicholas was the first to speak. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever known a stranger person.’

  Anthony said, ‘I’ve met a few strange ones at Stardock, but no one to rival Nakor.’

  ‘Was he one of your teachers at Stardock, before he left?’

  Anthony shook his head and sat in the spot Nakor had just vacated. ‘Not really. I’m not sure what he was doing there, except causing trouble for Watoom and Korsh. The story is he showed up one day with a letter from Prince Borric and some claim that Pug told him to come to Stardock. He stayed about three or four years, and did some strange things, mostly converting a lot of students to the notion that everyone could learn magic – or what he calls “tricks” – and that magicians were not very bright for not being able to understand this.’ Anthony sighed. ‘I had problems of my own at the time, and didn’t pay too much attention. I was a new student and saw Nakor only two or three times, around the island.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Is it true that they sent you because you weren’t very good?’

  Anthony said, ‘I suspect as much. There were many more gifted students than I, and no small number of accomplished master magicians living at Stardock.’

  Nicholas’s face darkened. ‘That’s close to an insult, you know.’

  Anthony’s face flushed. ‘I didn’t.’

  Nicholas said, ‘I don’t mean to belittle you, Anthony. You may be more talented than you think. At least, Nakor says you are,’
he added quickly. Both knew it sounded a weak attempt to smooth over the remark. ‘But the King’s brother requested a magician, to fill a post once held by Pug’s teacher. They should have sent one of their best.’

  Anthony stood up. ‘Perhaps.’ His manner was stiff, caught between embarrassment and insult. He flushed a little as he said, ‘Stardock doesn’t feel it owes much allegiance to the Kingdom, I’m afraid. If Pug were still there, that might be one thing, him being a cousin to the King and all, but as it is today, Korsh and Watoom have a great deal of influence among the masters and they are from Kesh. They’d like to keep Stardock out of politics on both sides of the border, I think.’

  Nicholas said, ‘That might not be a bad idea, I guess, but it’s still rude.’

  Anthony said, ‘If you come with me, I have some salves that may hasten your recuperation; at the least, they won’t cause any problems even if they don’t help.’

  Nicholas followed the young magician. Glancing around the garden, he again regretted that the girls were nowhere in sight.

  The weeks passed with surprising speed. Each day was full of duties from dawn to dusk, and Nicholas discovered that the hectic pace was to his liking. Being busy kept him from brooding, a trait inherited from his father. The strenuous routine of constantly being on the move, of having to pitch in with much of the physical labor, was hardening his youthful frame as well. Always fit from riding and sword practice, he was now gaining strength to go with his speed. After his first day hauling arms and armor out for cleaning and having to lug it all back into the armory, he thought he was going to die. Now he could carry twice the load and feel little strain.

  The work seemed to agree with Harry, too, though he reveled in complaining whenever he had the chance. In the three weeks since coming to Crydee, both boys had found little time to spend with Margaret and Abigail, though Harry had found a bit more than Nicholas. He delighted in playing upon Nicholas’s anxiety over the young lady-in-waiting, sometimes teasing him to the point of anger. But most of their time was caught up in the seemingly endless routine of the court of Crydee. So far the only time Nicholas had found to pay court to Abigail was on Sixthday afternoons, and to his chagrin Marcus was always nearby.

  The people of Castle Crydee took on individual identities to the boys from Krondor. The kitchen staff was friendly, the other servants respectful and distant. The younger serving girls viewed Harry with a mixture of amusement and wariness, while a few watched Nicholas with open admiration, attention he found somewhat disquieting. Swordmaster Charles was interesting but always formal in speech and manner. Faxon was open and friendly, and Nicholas found him a good listener. Nakor and Ghuda were rarely in evidence, always seeming to find something in town or the nearby woods to occupy their time. Slowly the alien quality that had overwhelmed Nicholas upon first arriving was wearing off, and while Crydee would never feel like home, it was becoming familiar. And Abigail occupied more of Nicholas’s thoughts than any girl he had previously known. On those rare occasions he could find her without Marcus hovering by she was warm and attentive, and left him with conflicting feelings that he was making a total ass of himself and that she really cared for his company.

  Nearly a month after the reception dinner, Nicholas and Harry dined with the Duke’s court once again. Since they were members of the household, it was not an unexpected event, but it was the first time since they had come to Crydee that the boys had been free enough from duty to eat at the same time as everyone else. They sat at the foot of the table, removed enough from the Duke and his family that only faint snatches of conversation reached them. Not only was the household in attendance, but several important members of guilds and crafts from the town were seated at the Duke’s table, while some visiting merchants and traders were seated around the hall.

  Nicholas sat staring across the hall at Abigail, who seemed to be listening somewhat distractedly to something Marcus was telling her. She glanced at Nicholas with regularity and occasionally flushed and lowered her eyes when he caught her gaze.

  Harry said, ‘The girl likes you.’

  Nicholas said, ‘How do you know?’

  Harry grinned as he sipped at a goblet of wine. ‘She keeps looking over here at you.’

  ‘Maybe she thinks I look funny,’ Nicholas said with a note of fear.

  Harry laughed. ‘Given how much you and Marcus resemble each other, and that you’re obviously the only two chaps she pays the least bit of attention to, I’d say she has a preference for a certain type.’ Tapping his friend upon the shoulder, he said, ‘She likes you, dummy.’

  Dinner passed with the boys engaging in trivialities with the two young men who sat beside Nicholas. One was a gem dealer seeking to underwrite an expedition into a region of the Grey Tower mountains; he claimed there were gem deposits still untapped by dwarves or human miners. He was to be disappointed, Nicholas knew, for the Kingdom made no claims over the Grey Towers beyond the foothills; the gem dealer would have to treat with Dolgan, the King of the western dwarves, at village Caldara, a week’s travel or more inland.

  The other man was a traveler from Queg, a merchant in fine silks and rare perfumes, who had occupied most of the girls’ afternoon showing them his wares, which was why Nicholas had not caught sight of them all day. Margaret was more given to hunting leather and simple tunics, like her mother, it seemed, though she wore the proper gowns and jewelry in court; but Abigail and most of the daughters of the town’s richer merchants had purchased enough of the merchant’s fineries to guarantee him a profitable trip before he visited Carse and Tulan on his way home.

  The merchant was named Vasarius, and something about him irritated Nicholas. Perhaps it was the way Nicholas had caught him staring at Margaret and Abigail, in a manner Nicholas could only consider covetous. When Nicholas caught him at it, he merely averted his eyes from the girls, or smiled at Nicholas as if he were but glancing around the room.

  After dinner the merchants gathered before the Duke and his lady and a short period of socializing followed, before they were escorted out of the castle. Nicholas noticed that while the other merchants were attempting to get Martin’s attention, Vasarius was chatting amiably with Charles and Faxon.

  Nicholas was on the verge of saying something about this to Harry when Marcus approached. ‘We’re going hunting tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You two begin laying out everything we’re going to need. Have a couple of servants go with you.’

  Nicholas nodded, while Harry barely suppressed a groan. They hurried off and motioned for a couple of the servants to follow. Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and noticed Abigail watching his departure. She waved to him, wishing him a silent good night, and Nicholas turned to see Marcus looking at her with a sour expression. Smiling slightly, Nicholas felt better than he had since coming to Crydee.

  It was late when Nicholas and Harry finished organizing the equipment for the hunt. They would be gone only two or three days, but there would be a half dozen in the party – Martin, Marcus, Nicholas, Harry, Ghuda, and Nakor – so a fair amount of equipment and provisions needed to be readied. After a minute of standing around in confusion, not knowing where to begin, the boys had allowed the experienced servants to take charge and had mostly observed, save when it came to choosing weapons. Both squires knew they were responsible for those choices, and by now both had a good idea of what Martin and Marcus would require. Like his father, Marcus was an excellent bowman and favored the longbow.

  When everything was ready, Nicholas and Harry returned to the banquet hall. Nicholas left his friend and went up to the Duke. Martin finished his conversation with one of the local merchants and said, ‘Yes, Squire?’

  Nicholas said, ‘All is ready for tomorrow, Your Grace.’

  ‘Good. I have no further need for you this evening, Squire. We leave at first light.’

  Nicholas bowed and departed, leaving Martin to his guests. Harry was likewise on his own, from all appearances, as he hurried across the hall to Nicholas. ‘Where are you
going?’

  ‘I thought I’d turn in. It’s an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Lady Margaret mentioned that she’d be taking a stroll through the Princess’s Garden.’

  ‘Well, there you go,’ said Nicholas. ‘Now’s your chance.’

  Harry grinned. ‘Abigail went with her.’

  Nicholas grinned in return. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  With a signal lack of decorum, the boys hurried out of the Duke’s great hall just a stride short of a full run.

  As the boys leaped the three steps to the Princess’s Garden, Margaret and Abigail exchanged glances and smiles. Margaret’s was confident and amused; Abigail’s was shy and pleased.

  Both boys came to an abrupt halt and bowed with a fair amount of courtly dignity. Grinning self-consciously, Nicholas said, ‘Good evening, ladies.’

  ‘Good evening, Squire,’ replied Margaret.

  Abigail spoke softly. ‘Good evening, Highness.’

  The two boys fell in, Nicholas next to Abigail and Harry next to Margaret. The boys were silent for a moment, then both started to speak at the same time. The girls laughed and the boys had the good grace to look embarrassed. Again there was a silent moment, then Harry and Nicholas began to speak again.

  Margaret said, ‘I know you two can’t seem to live a moment apart, but why don’t you come over here with me, Squire Harry.’

  Harry glanced at Nicholas and his expression was a mix of surprise, pleasure, and panic as Margaret took him firmly by the hand and led him off toward a small bench beside the blooming roses.

  Nicholas and Abigail walked slowly to the far end of the small garden to another bench, where they sat. Softly Abigail said, ‘You seem to be adjusting to living with us, Highness.’