Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  A grunt of irritation woke Nicholas, and then he was aware of a questioning voice. ‘What?’

  The boy rose, and in the dim moonlight he saw Nakor standing over Martin, shaking his shoulder. ‘We must leave. Now!’

  Marcus and the others were also waking and Nicholas reached over and gave Harry a shake. Harry’s eyes opened instantly and he said, ‘Huh?’ in a cross tone.

  Martin said, ‘What is it?’

  Nakor turned his back, gazing to the southeast. ‘Something bad. There.’ He pointed.

  In the night sky a faint glow could be seen.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Harry.

  Martin was on his feet, quickly gathering his belongings. ‘Fire’ was all he said.

  Calis spoke quickly to the three elves. One nodded and all three hurried off into the early morning darkness. Calis turned to Martin. ‘I’ll come with you. This may have something to do with those odd sightings.’

  Martin only nodded, and Nicholas was suddenly aware that he was almost ready to travel, as was Marcus. Poking Harry, Nicholas said, ‘We’re going to be left behind if we don’t jump!’

  The two Squires quickly gathered up their belongings, and by the time they were ready to move, Martin and Marcus had already left the clearing, Calis at their side. Garret said, ‘I’ll make sure you get back safely, but Lord Martin couldn’t wait.’

  Nicholas understood; there had been a grim focus of purpose in Martin’s reaction to the light in the sky. For a fire to be that large, to illuminate the heavens enough to be seen a half day’s march away, would mean terrible destruction, either to the woodlands near the town, or to the town itself.

  Ghuda and Nakor waited for the boys, then the five remaining members of the hunting party headed off. Garret said, ‘Keep in a single line behind me, all of you. I’ll stay on the trail, but there are still many places to hurt yourself in the dark if you’re not careful. If I go too fast for any of you to keep up, call out.’

  ‘Want a light?’ asked Nakor.

  ‘No,’ answered Garret. ‘A torch or lantern won’t light far enough to help and would make it harder to see ahead into the woods.’

  ‘No, I mean a good light!’ said the little man. He opened his bag and pulled out a ball that he tossed into the air. Rather than come down, the ball spun and began to glow, first faintly, then with increasing brilliance. As it grew brighter, it rose until it hung fifteen feet above their heads, illuminating the woodland trail for a hundred yards ahead and behind.

  Garret glanced at the blue-white object, shook his head, and said, ‘Let’s go.’

  He set off at a fast trot, not quite a run, and the others kept pace. They hurried through the woodlands, illuminated to stark contrast and absolute black shadows by the alien glow. Nicholas expected they would overtake Martin and the others quickly, but they never did.

  The journey became a series of seemingly unconnected images of a brilliantly lit pathway leading into the blackness, with occasional obstacles, a deadfall to climb over, a small stream to be leaped, or a rock outcropping to be skirted. Still tired from the previous day’s march and interrupted sleep, Nicholas fought back the urge to ask for a halt. His nerves jangled with fatigue and tension; Martin’s and Marcus’s faces had been grim masks, expressions he had never seen before, and he felt his stomach knotting in dread anticipation.

  The minutes ground away to hours, and at some point Nicholas became aware that Nakor’s light was gone, and the entire woodland was illuminated by the grey dawn. This close to the coast, the light from the east was diffused by ocean-born mists carried inland through the valleys and dells surrounding Crydee. Nicholas knew that the haze would burn off around midmorning if the day did not remain overcast.

  Later, Garret called a halt and Nicholas leaned against a tree. He was drenched in perspiration, and his left foot throbbed from exertion and changes in the weather. Absently, he said, ‘There’s a storm coming.’

  Garret nodded. ‘My joints ache. I think you’re right, Squire.’

  As they caught their breath in a small clearing, the haze burned away and Harry said, ‘Look!’

  To the southwest, a giant plume of black smoke rose into the sky, a terrible sign of destruction. The old mercenary said, ‘At least half the town, from the look of it.’

  Without comment, Garret resumed his trot and the others fell in behind.

  It was nearing midday when Nicholas crested a hill with the others, putting them in sight of the keep and the town below. As they drew near, the size of the column of smoke appeared to grow. When they gazed down on Crydee, their worst fears were confirmed.

  The castle stood a gutted, fire-blackened shell of stone, with smoke still pouring from the central keep. What had been the peaceful seaside town was a charred landscape of smoking timbers interspersed with fires still out of control. Only in the distant hills to the south could a few untouched buildings be seen.

  ‘They’ve destroyed the entire town,’ whispered Harry, his voice hoarse from exertion and the bitter smoke that stung eyes and lungs.

  Garret forgot the others as he ran toward the town. They moved at half his speed, Harry and Nicholas almost in shock from the sight of the destruction ahead.

  Nakor shook his head and muttered to himself, and Ghuda searched all quarters for signs of troubles. It was a full five minutes before Nicholas noticed that the Keshian had his sword out and ready. As an afterthought, Nicholas drew his hunting knife. He didn’t know what else to do, but having a weapon in his hand made him feel somehow more prepared to deal with whatever they might find.

  At the edge of the town, on a road between what had once been modest houses belonging to workers and their families, Nicholas and the others found the bitter stench of blackened wood almost too strong to endure. With eyes tearing, they hurried along, until they reached one of the smaller market squares leading to the main square at the center of town. Here they stopped, for more than a score of bodies littered the ground.

  Harry took a moment to absorb the sight of the blackened and hacked bodies, then turned away and vomited. Nicholas swallowed hard to keep his own stomach from rebeling, and Harry looked as if he might faint. Ghuda reached out and steadied the young Squire with a firm grip on his arm, while Nakor said, ‘Barbaric’

  ‘Who did this?’ whispered Nicholas.

  Ghuda let go of Harry’s arm and examined the bodies. He moved among them, inspecting how they lay, and then looked at the surrounding buildings. Finally he said, ‘These were some cruel bastards.’ He pointed to where the houses stood. ‘They fired those buildings and waited out here. Those that ran out first were hacked to bits, and those that stayed inside finally ran out when the fire became too hot to endure.’ He wiped perspiration from his face. ‘Or were roasted alive.’

  Nicholas found tears in his eyes. He didn’t know if it was from the smoke or the terror. ‘Who were they?’

  Glancing around, Ghuda said, ‘They weren’t regular soldiers.’ Looking at those bodies nearby and others down the street, he said at last, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where were our soldiers?’ asked Harry in disbelief.

  Ghuda said, ‘I don’t know that, either.’

  They began moving among the corpses toward the town market and the castle entrance. A sick, sweet smell assaulted Nicholas’s senses, and suddenly he knew he was smelling burnt flesh. Unable to retain control over himself, he turned and lost the contents of his stomach as Harry had a moment before.

  Harry still stumbled along, half in a daze, as if his mind couldn’t accept what lay around him. Ghuda said firmly, ‘Come along. We’re going to be needed.’

  Shaking his head to keep from blacking out, Nicholas turned and followed the mercenary. Along every step of the way they encountered devastation. Nicholas was struck by the occasional odd item that somehow survived intact. A blue clay bowl lay in the middle of the road, and without knowing why, he stepped over it, leaving it untouched. A child’s doll fashioned of rags and straw sat upright against
a portion of intact brick wall, as if silently observing the insanity.

  Nicholas looked at Harry and saw his ashen face was streaked with tears, cutting white trails down his sooty cheeks. Glancing at Ghuda and Nakor, he saw that their faces also were now grey from the haze of smoke that hung in the air. Nicholas examined his own hands and saw that they were covered in fine dark soot, and he touched his own cheek; his fingers came away wet and he almost quit moving, so overwhelmed was he by helplessness.

  As they neared the castle, it got worse. Most of the townspeople had fled for the expected safety of the Duke’s keep, only to be cut down near their failed sanctuary. Three men lay on the ground where two streets met, their bodies riddled with arrows.

  Nicholas and Harry saw their first signs of life as they passed through the remains of the town’s main market. A small child sat in stunned silence next to the body of his mother. His eyes were round with mute terror and his face was caked with dried blood.

  Nakor scooped up the child, who seemed not to notice. ‘Scalp wound.’ He clucked at the boy, who reacted by gripping Nakor’s ragged blue robe with both hands. ‘Not bad. Looks worse. Probably saved his life: they thought he was already dead.’ The child, who could not have been more than four, kept his eyes fixed upon Nakor, who at last placed his free hand upon the child’s face a moment. When he removed it, the child’s eyes closed and he slumped against the Isalani’s chest. ‘He’ll sleep. It’s better for him. He’s too young for such horror.’

  Harry choked out, ‘We’re all too young for this, Nakor.’

  Carrying the still child, the little man continued toward the keep. Sounds alerted them to other survivors, some weeping loudly, others groaning.

  Reaching the main gate of the keep, Nicholas and the others halted. In a scene from the lower depths of hell, the central keep was a blackened skeleton of stone, lit from within by still-furious flames. In the central courtyard before it, the wounded lay wherever there was space, while the few remaining survivors able to move attempted to provide what comfort they could.

  Nicholas and Harry picked their way through the tableau of injured and dying humanity and caught sight of Martin, Marcus and Calis. Martin knelt above a figure who lay upon the ground.

  Hurrying to where they were gathered, Nicholas found Swordmaster Charles lying upon the ground, his nightshirt stiff with his dried blood. The former Tsurani soldier’s face was drenched in perspiration and almost devoid of color from pain and injury. Nicholas didn’t have to be told he was dying. The lifeless twist of his legs below the nightshirt and the still-crimson stain in the center of his shirt told the young man that the Swordmaster of Crydee had taken a killing wound to the stomach.

  Martin’s face was a stone mask, yet his eyes betrayed his pain. He leaned over Charles and said, ‘What else?’

  Charles swallowed and in a ragged whisper said, ‘Some of the raiders … were Tsurani.’

  Marcus said, ‘Renegades from LaMut?’

  ‘No, not soldiers from the war. Brimanu Tong.’ He coughed, then gasped. ‘Assassins. Hired murderers. They … are without honor …’ His eyes closed a moment and then he opened them again. ‘This was … not honorable … combat. This was … slaughter.’ He groaned and his eyes closed and his breathing became shallow.

  Anthony came into view, limping, his left arm in a sling. In his right hand he carried a water bucket. Harry hurried over and took the bucket from him. The magician knelt painfully next to Charles and examined him. After a moment he looked at Martin and shook his head. ‘He will not awaken.’

  Martin stood slowly, his eyes not leaving his Swordmaster. Then he said, ‘Faxon?’

  Anthony said, ‘Died in the stable with some of the soldiers; they were trying to hold the stable while Rulf and his sons got the horses out. They died as well, fighting with blacksmith’s hammers and pitchforks.’

  ‘Samuel?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him.’ Anthony looked around and for a moment Nicholas thought he was about to break down, but the young magician swallowed hard and continued. ‘I was asleep. I heard sounds of fighting. I couldn’t tell if they came from in the keep or outside. I hurried to the window and looked out.’ He glanced around at the carnage. ‘Then someone broke into my room and threw something at me … an axe, I think.’ He frowned as he tried to remember. ‘I fell out the window. I landed on … someone.’ He seemed almost embarrassed as he added, ‘He was dead. I didn’t break anything, but I was senseless for a time. I remember reviving and feeling this terrible heat. I dragged myself away from it. I don’t remember much after that.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Marcus, your family?’

  His cousin said in flat tones, ‘My mother is still in there.’ He pointed to the raging fire that had been the family keep the day before.

  Grief was quickly followed by anger, then alarm. ‘Margaret! Abigail?’

  Anthony said, ‘Someone said the girls were carried off. Some of the young men, too, I think.’ He closed his eyes as if suddenly pained, then added, ‘From the town, as well; girls and boys were dragged away.’

  A nearby soldier, leaning on a broken spear, said, ‘I saw them leading some of the captives away, Your Grace.’ He indicated the wall and said, ‘I was on duty there. I heard someone in the courtyard and looked, then was struck from behind. When I revived, I was hanging halfway out of one of the crenels – someone tried to throw me off the wall, I guess. I got cut some, but I pulled myself back.’ He said, ‘There were a couple of dead men nearby, and the castle was already in flames. I looked out at the town and I saw men herding boys and girls toward the harbor.’

  Ghuda said, ‘Did you see who they were?’

  ‘It was lit up like day; more than half the town was fired by then. There were maybe four or six of them; big men, they wore these harnesses, kilts, and masks of black leather and they all had whips.’

  Ghuda said, ‘Durbin Slavers’ Guild.’

  Martin said, ‘We’ll sort this out later, but now we’ve injured to look after.’

  Nicholas and Harry nodded and moved off, and in minutes they were hurrying with buckets of water. As the day dragged on, they helped aid those who could move to shelter in the eleven buildings that had escaped damage at the south end of town. Others were carried to the fishing village a mile farther down the coast.

  Slowly the shocked and shattered population of Crydee that remained began the torturous task of reviving. More people died and they were carried to a pyre that was being erected in the town marketplace.

  Nicholas helped a soldier with a bandaged head lift another corpse atop the mass of dead, piled on some wood that had been dragged in from the forest, and noticed that somehow it had become night. Another soldier stood nearby with a torch and said, ‘That’s the last of it. We’ll probably find more of them tomorrow, but it’s time to quit.’

  Nicholas nodded mutely and stumbled away as the torch was applied to the wood. As the flames rose up to consume the dead, he plodded to the far end of Crydee, to the welcoming lights and the sound of voices. He thought the reservoir of anguish had dried, but as he dragged himself through the burned-out remains of a once thriving town he found himself choking back tears. His mind had rejected the grotesque images, the partially burned bodies that had to be carried to the pyre, the children that had been hacked to death, dogs and cats with arrows in them for no reason. The bitter comment that one soldier had made that the raiders had saved them from a lot of work, for half the population had been cremated already, hit Nicholas as he stood alone in the middle of an empty patch of earth, a small market square. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, and began to shiver, though the night was only cool. Trembling to the point where his teeth began to chatter, the boy sucked in a bitter lungful of smoky air and gave a low, angry groan. Forcing his right foot ahead, he pulled himself erect and commanded his body to move forward. He had a feeling that if he stopped again before reaching the place where Martin and the others waited, he might never move again.

 
He plodded along until he reached the largest building still standing. It was to have been a new inn once construction was finished. The walls rose up into the darkness, and the first floor – covering only half of the common room – had been raised, but the roof was still missing, so part of the commons was exposed to the sky. A score of townspeople huddled under the first-floor overhang, while Martin and his companions ate quietly under the stars, around a small fire pot that burned brightly. Some of the fishing folk had provided a hot fish stew and bread from their meager resources.

  Nicholas stumbled over to where Harry sat at Marcus’s side, and shook his head when offered a bowl of stew. He had no stomach and thought he’d never get the smell of smoke out of his nose.

  Garret was saying, ‘A dozen trackers and foresters have reported in so far, Your Grace. The rest should be in by dawn tomorrow.’

  Martin said, ‘Send them out again. I want as much game caught and brought in as they can manage in the next week. We have almost no food, and in less than two days we’ll have a great many hungry people. The fishermen can catch only so much with most of the boats gone.’

  Garret nodded. ‘Some of the soldiers could help in the hunt.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘I have fewer than twenty able men left in the garrison.’

  Marcus said, ‘We had over a thousand men-at-arms here, Father.’

  Martin nodded. ‘Most died in the barracks. The raiders killed nearly everyone on the wall, opened the gate, barred the barracks doors at both ends, and fired the roof. Then they threw earthen jars of naphtha through the windows. It was an inferno inside before most of the soldiers were awake. A few managed to get out the windows, and they were cut down by bowmen. Others in the keep were killed in the room-to-room fighting. We’ve another hundred walking wounded, and when a few of those are mended we can spare some to hunt. Fall is fast upon us, and the game is moving south. We’ll need to depend on Carse and Tulan to get through the winter.’ Martin chewed a mouthful of bread and said, ‘Another hundred or so lie near death. I don’t know how many will survive. Anthony said those most badly burned will surely die, so by the first snowfall we may have a hundred and fifty men-at-arms left.’