Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Nicholas said, ‘It’s “Squire” here, my lady.’ He flushed a little and said, ‘I … think I like it. Some of it.’ He stared at her, amazed at how delicate her features were, almost doll-like. Her skin was clear and smooth and without the usual blemishes girls her age endured. He was certain he had never seen eyes as big or blue, almost luminous in the faint light of the torches upon the wall. Her hair was gathered back, encircled with a silver ring, then fell to her shoulders in a cascade of golden silk. He glanced down and said, ‘Some things I find a great deal more appealing here than others.’

  She flushed a little, but smiled, then said, ‘Is His Grace overworking you? I hardly ever see you in the castle. We’ve spoken little more than a dozen words in weeks.’

  Nicholas said, ‘I have a lot to do, but in truth I find it more interesting than going to lessons, or attending my father’s court and being a fixture at the parades, presentations, and receptions that go on all the time in Krondor.’

  ‘I would have thought that a wonderful life,’ she said. Her tone was disappointed. ‘I can’t imagine anything more thrilling than being presented in your father’s court, or the King’s court.’ Her eyes were wide and her expression earnest as she spoke. ‘The great lords and beautiful ladies, the ambassadors from distant lands – it all sounds so wonderful.’ She positively glowed to Nicholas’s eyes as she said this.

  Trying not to sound too blasé, Nicholas said, ‘It’s often colorful.’ In fact, he found the entire demands of court pomp an unrelenting bore. But he was sure Abigail didn’t wish to hear that, and at this particular moment causing her any sort of disappointment was the last thing he wished. She looked at him with eyes so wide he felt he could fall into them; he forced himself to inhale, as somewhere in the last moments he had forgotten to breathe. ‘Perhaps someday you can visit Krondor or Rillanon.’

  Her expression turned from wondering to resigned. ‘I’m the daughter of a Far Coast Baron. If my father has his way, I’ll be pledged to marry Marcus soon; I’ll be an old woman with children before I have a chance to visit Krondor, and I’ll never see Rillanon.’

  Nicholas didn’t know what to say; all he knew was that a tightening in his throat and stomach seemed to reach painful proportions when she spoke of marrying Marcus. At last he said, ‘You won’t have to.’

  ‘Have to what?’ she asked, a faint smile upon her lips.

  ‘Marry Marcus if you don’t want to,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s not as if your father can command you to.’

  ‘He can make it very hard for me to say no,’ she said, lowering her eyes and looking at him from beneath lashes that were impossibly long.

  Feeling as if his hands were slabs of wood, he reached out and took her hands in his own. Holding them awkwardly in one hand and patting them with the other, he said, ‘I could …’

  Softy, her eyes fixed upon his own, she said, ‘What, Nicky?’

  Feeling as if he were choking upon the words, he said, ‘I could ask my father –’

  Abigail said, ‘Nicky, you’re wonderful!’ She reached out and put her hand behind his neck, pulling his face to hers.

  Nicholas suddenly found himself being kissed. He had never known a kiss could be so soft, sensual, and pleasant. Her lips rested perfectly upon his, and her breath was as sweet as roses. His head swam as he began to return the kiss. He felt his body warming as he drew her to him, feeling her softness beneath his hands. She moved in such a way it seemed she melted into him, fitting perfectly within the circle of his arms.

  Abruptly she pulled away. ‘Marcus!’ she whispered and before Nicholas could gather his wits she was gone. He blinked in confusion, feeling as if someone had poured icy water over his head. A moment later, Marcus came into view, entering the garden from the rearmost steps, the ones by the football field. Nicholas had been so caught up in the kiss he had not heard his cousin approach.

  When Marcus saw Nicholas sitting upon the bench, his expression darkened. ‘Squire,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Marcus,’ answered Nicholas, feeling thoroughly irritated.

  ‘I don’t suppose the Lady Abigail is here.’

  Nicholas discovered that he didn’t like the way in which Marcus was looking at him, and even more to the point, he disliked hearing him mention her name. ‘She’s not here.’

  Marcus glanced around. ‘But unless you’ve taken to wearing her cologne, she was here moments ago.’ With narrowed gaze he said, ‘Where is she?’

  Nicholas stood. ‘Over there, I think.’

  Marcus moved away, and Nicholas had almost to jump to catch up with him. They both crossed to the other side of the Princess’s Garden, where they found Harry sitting on the bench. The Squire from Ludland was flushing furiously.

  Standing, he nodded to Marcus and Nicholas.

  Marcus said, ‘I suppose you were entertaining my sister.’

  Harry’s flush deepened to a blush of heroic proportion. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. Looking off toward the castle-in the direction the girls had obviously gone-he added, ‘She is a most remarkable girl.’

  Marcus stepped away and turned to face them both. ‘I hoped you two would figure things out for yourselves, but obviously you haven’t. Well, here’s how it’s going to be.’ Pointing at Harry, he said, ‘My sister can take care of herself, but she’s slated for bigger things than a meaningless romance with the son of a petty Earl.’

  Harry’s face burned scarlet, and his eyes flashed anger, but he kept his silence.

  Looking at Nicholas, Marcus said, ‘And you, cousin … Abigail doesn’t need any fancy court boy sweeping her off her feet, then leaving her behind when he goes home. Is that clear?’

  Nicholas stepped forward, ‘What I do, Marcus, when your father doesn’t have duties for me, is my business. And who Abigail chooses to spend her time with is her business.’

  Appearing to be on the verge of coming to blows, the two cousins were separated by Harry, stepping between them. ‘It won’t do anyone any good if you two start brawling,’ he said, his anger making his voice hard and scolding. Looking as if he would welcome any excuse to brawl himself, he turned a challenging gaze at Marcus. ‘The Duke would be displeased, wouldn’t he?’

  Marcus and Nicholas both looked at Harry in momentary surprise, then locked gazes. Marcus said, ‘We leave at first light, Squire. See that everything is ready.’ He turned and marched away, his back as straight as a poll arm.

  Nicholas said, ‘He is going to cause trouble.’

  ‘You’re the one who’s already caused trouble,’ answered Harry.

  ‘She doesn’t love him,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Oh, she told you this?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Not in so many words, but –’

  ‘Tell me on the way to our rooms. We’ve got to be ready for tomorrow.’

  As they walked, Nicholas said, ‘She doesn’t want to stay here with Marcus, that’s certain.’

  Harry nodded. ‘So you think you’ll take her back to Krondor?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Nicholas with an edge of anger in his tone.

  ‘You know why,’ answered Harry. ‘Because you’re going to marry some Princess from the court of Roldem, or a Duke’s daughter, or a Princess of Kesh.’

  With anger in his voice, and the memory of Abigail’s kiss still fresh in his thoughts, he said, ‘What if I don’t want to?’

  Sighing, Harry said, ‘What if your King commands you to?’

  Nicholas’s jaws tightened, but he said nothing. He ached with frustration, the frustration of the interrupted embrace and the frustration of wanting to plant his fist in Marcus’s face. At last he asked, ‘What did Margaret do that got you so flustered?’

  Harry blushed again. ‘She’s … amazing.’ He drew a deep breath and blew it out theatrically. ‘She started by asking me how the men in Krondor kiss, then asked me to show her. One thing led to another.’ He stopped as if catching his wind. With red cheeks, he said, ‘She got very bold, and …’ He paused, then blurted, ‘Nicholas,
she asked me if I’d ever been with a woman!’

  ‘She didn’t!’ exclaimed Nicky, half laughing, half groaning.

  ‘She did! Then …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Then she asked me what it was like!’

  ‘She didn’t!’

  ‘Will you stop saying that. She did.’

  ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘I told her what it was like.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She laughed at me! Then she said, ‘When you know what you’re talking about, Squire, come let me know. I’m curious.’ Then she went back to kissing me, and moving around against me so I thought I was going to burst! Then Abigail came running over and said Marcus was coming, and they hurried off.’

  ‘Amazing,’ observed Nicholas, his anger and frustration vanishing before his astonishment at his unusual cousin Margaret.

  ‘She’s that,’ Harry said.

  ‘You still think you’re in love?’ Nicholas asked jokingly.

  ‘My stomach hurts worse than ever, but …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your cousin Margaret is really scary.’

  Nicholas laughed and bade Harry good night. As he returned to his own quarters, he lapsed into a memory of soft lips, warm perfume, and the most incredible eyes he had ever beheld. His body warmed at the memory. And his stomach hurt like mad.

  • CHAPTER SIX •

  Raid

  MARTIN SIGNALED.

  The party halted as he turned and said, ‘All of you wait here a bit. There’s something ahead.’

  The two boys were glad of the halt. They were footsore and tired. They had left the boundary of Crydee town at dawn. Martin had been teaching the two city boys something of wood lore, so they were moving on foot the entire way. Their destination was another day’s walk away, the banks of the river Crydee. They waited with Nakor and Ghuda while Martin and Marcus moved into the woods, vanishing silently. ‘How do they do that?’ asked Nicholas.

  Huntmaster Garret said, ‘Your uncle was raised by the elves as much as by the monks at Silban’s Abbey who found him, and he’s taught Marcus and myself everything we know.’ Nicholas had met the Duke’s Huntmaster Garret for the first time the night before.

  Nakor waved absently at the woodlands and said, ‘We’re being watched.’

  Ghuda, his hand resting absently on his sword, said, ‘For about half an hour.’

  Neither sounded concerned. Nicholas glanced around, while Harry said, ‘I don’t see anything.’

  ‘You have to know where to look,’ said a voice from their left.

  A young man emerged from the woodlands, his movements as stealthy as Martin’s and Marcus’s. ‘And it’s been closer to an hour,’ he added. He was dressed in leather tunic and trousers dyed deep green. His hair was blond, but rather than the pale straw color of Anthony’s, it was nearly sun-golden. It hung to shoulder-length, but was cut at the sides, revealing lobeless but otherwise normal ears. His eyes were blue, but almost too pale, and his movement hinted at tremendous power, despite his slight frame.

  Then with a grin that made him look years younger he said, ‘This is a game with Martin and us.’

  ‘Us?’ asked Nicholas.

  The boy signaled and another three figures emerged from the woodlands, and Nicholas said, ‘Elves!’

  The young human said, ‘I am Calis.’

  The three elves stood silently nearby, then one turned suddenly as Martin and the others appeared. With a half-smile, Marcus said, ‘You didn’t think we were fooled by that false trail, did you?’

  Martin made what looked to be slight gestures to the elves, who nodded slightly, or raised an eyebrow. Garret whispered to Nicholas and the others, ‘They have a subtle speech with few words when they want.’

  Then Martin spoke aloud. ‘This is Nicholas, son of my brother, Arutha, and his companions, Harry of Ludland, Nakor the Isalani, and Ghuda Bulé from Kesh.’

  Calis bowed and said, ‘Greetings. Are you bound for Elvandar?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘No. Garret returned to the castle yesterday, carrying news that you were south of the river, so I thought it a good excuse to have you meet my nephew while we hunted. Perhaps in the future I’ll bring Nicholas to your court.’

  ‘And me,’ said Nakor.

  Calis smiled and scratched his temple, his hand brushing back his long hair. Nicholas was surprised that Calis looked and sounded entirely human.

  Martin frowned slightly, but Nakor said, ‘I have never talked to a Spellweaver before and would like to.’

  Calis and Martin exchanged glances, but it was Nakor who continued to speak. ‘Yes, I know about your Spell-weavers, and no, I am not a magician.’

  The three stood seemingly motionless for a moment, then Calis grinned. ‘How do you know so much?’

  Nakor shrugged and said, ‘I pay attention when other people are babbling. You can learn a lot when you shut up.’ Reaching into his ever present bag, he said, ‘Want an orange?’

  Producing four pieces of fruit, he tossed them to Calis and the elves. Calis bit into the fruit and tore away a bit of peel, then sucked the juice. ‘I haven’t had an orange since the last time I visited Crydee.’

  The other elves sampled the fruit and nodded their appreciation to Nakor. Harry said, ‘I wish I could figure out how you can fit so many oranges into that bag.’

  Nakor began to speak, but Nicholas interrupted: ‘I know. It’s a trick.’

  Nakor laughed. ‘Maybe someday I’ll show you.’

  Martin said, ‘Why has your Queen sent you south of river Crydee?’

  ‘We’re growing lax in our patrols, Lord Martin. Things have been peaceful too long on our borders.’

  ‘Trouble?’ said Martin, instantly alert.

  Calis shrugged. ‘Not to talk about. A moredhel band crossed the river to the east of our borders a few months ago, heading south at great speed, but they did not trespass upon our lands, so we left them in peace.’ Nicholas knew of the elves’ dark cousins, called the Brotherhood of the Dark Path by humans. Their last rising had been broken at the Battle of Sethanon. ‘Tathar and the other Spellweavers speak of vague echoes of dark powers, but they can sense nothing that threatens us directly. So we mount more active patrols and venture farther from home than we have for years.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Calis said, ‘One report of a strange sighting near your new fortress up at Barran, near the river Sodina. Someone beached a long boat in the mouth of the river one night a few weeks ago. We found marks in the mud and tracks of men coming and going.’

  Martin’s face reflected his consideration as he was silent for a moment. ‘No smuggler would be willing to come that close to a garrison; besides, there’s no one to trade with that far to the north.’

  Marcus said, ‘Scouts?’

  ‘For whom?’ asked Nicholas.

  Martin said, ‘We’ve no neighbors to the north, save goblins and moredhel. And they’ve been quiet since Sethanon.’

  ‘Not too quiet,’ said Calis. ‘We’ve had a few skirmishes along the northern borders of Elvandar.’

  Marcus said, ‘Are they preparing to invade again?’

  Calis said, ‘There’s no pattern to it. Father rode out and thinks it’s nothing more than migrations due to failed crops or clan wars. He sent word to the dwarves at Stone Mountain that they may have unwelcome neighbors soon.’

  Suddenly Nicholas made the connection: this was Megar and Magya’s grandson! His father was Tomas, the legendary warrior from the Riftwar.

  Martin nodded. ‘We’ll send word to Dolgan that they may be returning to the Grey Towers as well. It’s been more than thirty years since the great migration; the moredhel may be returning to their abandoned homelands.’

  ‘Thirty years is not very long as elvenkind counts time,’ observed Garret.

  Marcus said, ‘To have the Dark Brothers in the Grey Towers and the Green Heart again would mean serious trouble.’

  ‘We send word to t
he commander at Jonril as well,’ said Martin. ‘If the Dark Brothers establish villages in the Green Heart, every caravan and mule train from Carse to Crydee is at risk.’

  Marcus glanced around. ‘We should make camp, Father. The light is failing.’

  Martin said, ‘Calis, will you join us?’

  Calis glanced at the sky, noticing the fading light, then at his companions, who seemed to Nicholas to remain motionless, but after a moment he said, ‘We’d be pleased to share the fire with you.’

  Turning to Nicholas and Harry, Martin said, ‘Better start gathering firewood, Squires. We make camp.’

  Harry and Nicholas glanced at each other, but both knew it was futile to ask where one finds firewood. They moved away from the clearing and began looking about. Many fallen branches and some dead trees were in sight. As Nicholas started to pick out a deadfall, a hand touched him upon the shoulder. Nearly jumping straight up, he turned to find Marcus behind him, holding out a hatchet. ‘This might be easier than trying to chew through the branches,’ he said. He handed another to Harry.

  Feeling foolish, Nicholas watched his cousin return to the others. He said, ‘Sometimes I could really learn to hate him.’

  Harry began chopping at the deadfall. ‘He doesn’t seem overly fond of you, either.’

  ‘I have half a mind to take Abigail and return to Krondor with Amos.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Oh, what I’d give to be a fly on the wall when you explain that to your father.’

  Nicholas fell silent as he continued to hack away at the wood. When a full armload was ready, they gathered it up and returned to the clearing. Martin had already begun a fire with twigs and some moss, and fed the branches into the flames. ‘Good, this is a fine start. Bring us three times that, and we’ll have wood for the night.’

  With a barely hidden groan, the dirty and sweating Squires returned to the deadfall and resumed hacking.

  The sentry leaned out of the tower. Something was moving across the water into the harbor mouth. His station at the top of Longpoint lighthouse was the most vital post in the Duchy, as Crydee was more vulnerable from the sea than from any other quarter, a lesson hard learned during the Riftwar. The Tsurani had burned half the village with fewer than thirty men.