Marcus said, ‘There are the two hundred men at Barran.’
Martin nodded. ‘I may call them back. But let’s see what Bellamy can send us before then.’
Harry handed Nicholas a torn chunk of bread, thick with butter and honey, and without thought Nicholas began eating it. Suddenly he was ravenous, and he motioned to the woman passing out the stew that he would take a bowl after all.
Nicholas said nothing as he ate, listening to the grim surmises as to what happened the night before. During the day someone had mentioned that the Duchess had killed as many as a half-dozen raiders before she was at last overwhelmed, cut down trying to rescue her daughter and the other young girls. A wounded soldier had seen her lying dead before Margaret’s room as he had escaped the fire in the keep. The flames had been too hot and he had been too injured to bring the Duchess out of the conflagration.
Nicholas waited for mention of the girls’ fate, but Martin and the others spoke only of immediate concerns. As people came to report and left again, a picture of the destruction formed in Nicholas’s mind. Of a prosperous town with nearly ten thousand citizens, fewer than two thousand lived, and many of those would not survive another week because of their injuries. Of a thousand soldiers, one man in five might live to serve the Kingdom again. Every building from Longpoint Lighthouse to the south end of the old town was destroyed, and half the new buildings were gone. No business survived intact. Of the assorted Craftmasters, only one blacksmith, two carpenters, and a miller lived. A half-dozen journeymen and a score of apprentices would be able to help rebuild. Most of those who had survived were fishermen and farmers. They would be pressed into service where needed, but for the foreseeable future, Crydee was reduced to a rude village, a primitive enclave on the Far Coast of the Kingdom.
Nicholas heard Martin saying, ‘And we’ll have to ask Bellamy and Tolburt down in Tulan to send us craftsmen. We need to start rebuilding the castle at once.’
Nicholas couldn’t stand it any longer. Softly he asked, ‘What about the girls?’
All talk halted, and every eye in the circle turned to look at him. With ill-hidden bitterness, Marcus said, ‘What do you propose we do?’
Nicholas could say nothing.
Marcus said, ‘They burned every ship in the harbor. They burned most of the boats. Shall we take a fishing skiff and row to Durbin?’
Nicholas shook his head. ‘Send word –’
‘To your father?’ asked Marcus bitterly. ‘He’s halfway across the Kingdom! Is there a carrier pigeon alive? Is there a horse fit to ride to Carse? No!’ His pain and anger at his loss were turned on the only target available, Nicholas.
Martin put a restraining hand on his son’s shoulder, and Marcus fell silent. ‘We’ll talk about this tomorrow.’
Nicholas didn’t ask permission to leave, he just stood and moved away from the warmth of the small fire. He found a relatively sheltered place beneath the stairs leading up to the first floor and huddled there. After a few minutes, he was struck by the need to be home, with his own mother and father and his sister and brothers, his teachers, and those who had always protected and loved him. For the first time in years he felt like a very small boy again, afraid of those boys who taunted him and mocked him when his protectors were absent. Feeling sick and ashamed, Nicholas turned his face to the wall and wept.
• CHAPTER SEVEN •
Choices
THE STORM STRUCK.
Nicholas was awakened by wetness on his face. His sleep had been deep and dreamless; he awoke stiff and still exhausted. There had been a brief moment of disorientation as he had come awake, then all too quickly he knew exactly where he was and what had happened.
Despair struck him as rain came pounding through the opening above the common room. Those who slept along the wall or under the stars quickly moved in with those huddled under the first-floor overhang. The wet chill was accompanied by a deeper, more profound chill as the memories of the previous day’s horrors returned.
Nicholas saw that it was growing light, despite the rain, and knew it must be past sunrise. Harry picked his way carefully among those who tried to keep dry, his hair already matted to his head. ‘Come on, we have work to do.’
Nicholas nodded and awkwardly stood up. His foot hurt and he limped as he forced himself to walk into the downpour. Within seconds he was soaked to the skin. The only relief in the storm was that the burning stink of the night before was diminished.
Reaching the open door of the inn, the boys walked outside to where Martin stood. His only concession to the rain was an oilskin cover that protected his longbow and another on his quiver of arrows. ‘We need to find as much useful wood as we can, Squire,’ he said to Nicholas.
Nicholas nodded and turned to where three men huddled under a small overhang, offering only the illusion of protection against the weather. ‘You three,’ Nicholas shouted over the tattoo of the rain, ‘are you injured?’
The three men shook their heads, and one said, ‘But we’re wet, Squire.’
Nicholas waved for them to join him. ‘You’re not going to get any wetter for working. I need you.’
One of the men glanced at Martin, who nodded once, and the three men got to their feet and followed after Nicholas.
For the rest of the day they picked their way through the wreckage of Crydee, finding a timber here, a few planks of wood there, carrying the manageable items back to the inn. The location of the larger pieces was noted for future use.
By midday the storm had lessened. Nicholas and his three companions – a farmer whose house on the far edge of town had been burned, and two brothers who had worked in the mill – had managed to find a half-dozen barrels of nails, some undamaged carpentry tools, and enough wood to erect a dozen rude shelters. The carpenter who had survived the raid had inspected the tools and announced that should lumber be found and cut, he could finish the roof on the inn within a week with the help of three able men. Martin said they would see if enough cutting equipment had survived to fell trees.
One fact presented itself to Nicholas through this day: the ancient tradition of having each boy in the keep practice a variety of crafts before finally being selected at the Choosing for his trade was proving a boon. While these men were not carpenters or masons, they did know the fundamentals of those trades, and showed amazing retention of the things learned while boys.
By nightfall, Nicholas was again exhausted and starving. Food was going to be a problem soon, but for the second night the fishing village provided enough for all to eat. A soldier, limping as he used a rude crutch, entered the inn as Nicholas was eating and reported to Martin that a half-dozen horses had been found near the river. Martin seemed pleased at the prospect of being able to mount a small patrol and send word to Baron Bellamy by fast rider. A fishing boat had been dispatched toward Carse that afternoon, but it would take many days to get down the coast.
Harry came over to sit by his friend, and he dug into the bowl of hot stew. Between spoonfuls, he said, ‘I never knew fish stew could taste so good.’
Nicholas said, ‘You’re hungry.’
Bitterly, Harry said, ‘No, really?’
Nicholas said, ‘I’m in no mood for this either, but don’t take your nasty temper out on me, Harry, and I won’t take mine out on you.’
Harry nodded and said, ‘Sorry.’
Nicholas stared off into space for a moment. He said, ‘Do you think we’ll ever see them again?’
Harry sighed. He didn’t have to ask whom Nicholas meant. ‘I heard Martin and Marcus earlier today. They say if Bellamy can get word to Krondor fast enough, our fleet can blockade Durbin before the raiders return there. They think your father can force the Governor of Durbin to turn over all the captives.’
Nicholas sighed. ‘I wish Amos was back. He knows about this sort of thing. He was a Durbin captain once.’
Harry said, ‘I wish he was here, too. A lot of this doesn’t make any sense. Why would they kill so many and burn down everythi
ng?’
Glancing around the miserable company in the inn, Nicholas was forced to agree. Then something struck him. ‘Where’s Calis? I haven’t seen him since Charles died.’
‘He went back to Elvandar,’ answered Harry. ‘He had to tell his mother what happened, he said.’
Alarm struck Nicholas. ‘Gods. What about his grandparents?’ Nicholas hadn’t seen Magya or Megar among the survivors.
‘I think I saw Megar down at the other end of the fishing village earlier today. It looked like him. He was supervising the cooking of this food for everyone.’
Nicholas had his first laugh since they had left to go hunting. ‘That had to be him.’
Robin, a page who had worked for Housecarl Samuel, picked his way through the crowded room and sat next to the two Squires. The three boys compared notes on what they saw during the day, and the picture was as bleak as they had feared. The entire castle staff except for Megar and Magya, another cook and a scullery boy, two other Squires, and a handful of pages and servants had been killed during the raid or died from wounds shortly after. During the night and morning, another dozen soldiers had died from wounds, and many of the townspeople were sick or injured.
After the meal, Nicholas, Harry, and Robin went to where Martin spoke with Anthony and Marcus. Seeing the boys arrive, Martin said, ‘Have you eaten?’
The three nodded, and Martin said, ‘Good. The rain has ended the fires, so at first light head up to the castle and help me see what can be salvaged. Now get some sleep.’
Nicholas and Harry looked around the room for some clear space in which to sleep and saw a small opening near the far wall. The three boys picked their way over sleeping townspeople and crowded their way into the mass. Nicholas found himself sleeping between Harry and an old fisherman who snored loudly. Rather than minding the noise, he was comforted by the closeness and the warmth.
Days passed, and life began again in Crydee. The carpenter and his helpers finished putting the roof on the inn, and that became the Duke’s headquarters, though Martin refused to sleep in any of the rooms on the first floor, giving them over to the injured and sick most in need of shelter and warmth. Another hundred or so townspeople and soldiers had died from wounds or sickness, despite all of Anthony’s and Nakor’s skills. Somehow word of the tragedy had reached the distant Abbey of Silban on the edge of Elvandar, and a half-dozen monks of that order had arrived to lend aid.
Harry had become the unofficial innkeeper, as the man who was building the new inn had died in the raid. He passed out what food there was, settled arguments, and kept an orderly establishment. Despite his irreverent attitude before the raid, Harry displayed an unexpected gift for negotiation and mediation. Given how short-tempered and emotionally battered everyone in Crydee was, Nicholas was impressed by his skills. Harry had the knack of bringing out the reasonable in people who were in no mood to act rationally. Nicholas made a mental note that someday, when they had returned home to a world less mad than this, Harry would make a valuable administrator in the Prince’s court.
Nicholas had accompanied Martin and Marcus to the keep, finding nothing left intact. Between the naphtha used to start the fires and the combustibles in the keep, the flames had become so hot they scoured everything in their path. The fire had reached such intense heat that many of the century-old stones had cracked or exploded, and even the metal holders in the torch sconces on the walls had melted.
Wending their way through the blackened halls, they had found the top floor burned clean of anything recognizable. Martin and Marcus had both lingered for a long time near the door to Margaret’s room, looking down at the scorched and cracked flagstones, and the fragments of melted hinges where doors had hung. Those who had died left no remains, as the intense flames had even reduced their bones to black ash. A few puddles of metal, now hardened to the stone, showed where weapons had been dropped and left behind.
Down in the lowest basement, a few usable stores survived: some cloth, cloaks, and blankets that reeked of smoke, and several trunks of old clothing, as well as old boots, belts, and dresses.
Harry discovered battle stores; Martin inspected the food. He observed that it must have been there since the Riftwar. The jerked beef was now blackened and hard as ancient leather; the hard bread crumbled like dried clay. But three barrels were of more recent vintage, and were sealed with paper and wax. When one was opened, it contained still-edible dried apples. And to everyone’s amusement, a half-dozen casks of fine Keshian brandy were uncovered as well. All were marked to be carried to the town, under Nicholas’s supervision.
As they left the castle, Nicholas was silent; he had waited for some remark by Martin or Marcus about the Duchess’s death, but neither husband nor son said a word.
The day dragged by and slowly the town began to heal itself. A second, then a third building was repaired, and as the injured returned to health, they joined in the hard work, speeding the recovery.
Later in the week, Calis returned, with a dozen elves carrying game. Three deer were dressed out and carried on poles, while quail and rabbits were carried in bunches tied at the feet. The hungry people of Crydee thanked the elves and set to cooking everything offered.
Calis spent an hour with his grandparents, then joined Martin’s group for supper. Nicholas and Harry ate venison steaks as the young elfling said, ‘My mother and father were very disturbed by this raid, and I have more bad news. Your fortress at Barran was hit as well.’
Martin’s eyes widened. ‘Amos?’
Calis nodded. ‘His ship as well, though he fought off those who tried to burn it. He’s made repairs and should be here in a day or two.’
Martin said, ‘This makes less sense as we uncover more information. Why would slavers strike a garrison of soldiers?’
‘My father thinks it may be to prevent you from following after,’ ventured Calis.
Marcus shook his head. ‘Why would we spend weeks chasing those slavers to Durbin when we can get word to Krondor with Bellamy’s pigeons and cut them off?’
Calis’s gaze narrowed in an expression of concern as he said, ‘Has any word from Carse reached you yet?’
Martin put down the rib he had been eating and said, ‘Gods! The packet boat from Carse. It never did arrive.’
Marcus said, ‘If Bellamy’s been raided …’
Martin rose and looked around the room. Seeing a familiar face, he called one of the garrison’s soldiers to him. ‘At first light I want a pair of riders off to Carse. If they should encounter any men of Carse bringing news of a raid down there, have them continue down to Bellamy, change horses, and then on to see Tolburt at Tulan. I want full reports on what has happened as soon as possible.’ The soldier saluted and left. The remaining horses were staked out in a picket outside the inn, and there had been enough odds and ends of tack found to outfit a pair of riders.
Martin sat again. Ghuda and Nakor entered the inn and came to where Martin sat brooding. The little man said, ‘I think most of those who live now will recover.’
Marcus said, ‘At last a little good news.’
Martin motioned for them to sit and eat, and after a while said, ‘I have a very bad feeling that we’ve only seen the start of something far more significant than a raid.’
Ghuda said, ‘I’ve seen Durbin slavers’ handiwork before, my lord, and this is nothing like it. This was butchery.’ He shook his head. ‘For sport, if you can believe it.’
Martin closed his eyes a moment, as if he had a headache, then opened them and said, ‘I haven’t felt this uneasy since the Riftwar.’
Marcus said, ‘Do you think the Tsurani are again turning their eyes toward us?’
Martin shook his head. ‘No. The Mistress of the Empire has too firm a hand on things for that. She’s proven a shrewd trading partner since her son became Emperor, but a fair one. A few unlicensed merchants, slipping through the rift somehow to trade for metals, I might accept that. But this’ – his hand described an arc indicating the entire
town – ‘makes little sense if it was Tsurani renegades.’
‘But Charles said some of the raiders were Tsurani, Father,’ Marcus pointed out.
‘What did he call them?’ asked Ghuda. ‘Tong?’
Nakor said, ‘Brimanu Tong. That means “Golden Storm Brotherhood.”’
Martin said, ‘You speak Tsurani?’
Nakor nodded. ‘Enough. Those were assassins. Tsurani Nighthawks if you prefer: guild killers who are paid for death. The Mistress of the Empire destroyed the most powerful Tong, the Hamoi, fifteen years ago, but there are others.’
Martin shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘What does it all mean?’
It means you’ve got serious trouble, my friend,’ said a familiar voice from the door of the inn.
Everyone turned and saw the bulky outline in the doorway as he stepped forward.
‘Amos!’ said Martin. ‘You’re here sooner than I thought.’
‘I piled on every inch of canvas I could and worked the men to dropping,’ said Trask as he moved across the common room, removing a canvas foul-weather coat. He tossed it on the floor and sat next to Martin.
‘What happened at Barran?’ asked the Duke.
Amos removed his wool cap, stuffed it in his pocket, and took a mug of hot tea offered him by Harry. Where Harry had found the tea no one knew, but in the cool of the evening, everyone welcomed its pungent comfort. ‘We were hit seven nights back, which means the night before you were, I think.’ Martin nodded. ‘Ever since my run-in with the Tsurani during the war, I’ve kept an extra watch up during the night when I’m at anchor. Good thing, because most of the watch died before the alarm was raised. One of my men got us up in time, though, and we killed all the bastards who tried to burn my ship.’ He sighed. ‘The garrison wasn’t as lucky. We’d just finished unloading most of the arms and stores – one more day would have seen us done. Your Knight-Lieutenant, Edwin, halted work on the stockade to help get the ship unloaded, so the gate wasn’t finished. The raiders were inside killing men in the barracks before the alarm was sounded. Still, we bled the bastards before they fired the fort.’
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