Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  From a distance, Pug said, ‘Sleep. And dream.’

  Nicholas floated in a dark, warm place. He knew he was safe. Then a voice came into his mind.

  Nicholas?

  Yes?

  Are you ready?

  A sense of puzzlement. Ready?

  Ready to know the truth.

  A stab of panic and the dark place was no longer warm. After a time he said, Yes.

  Blinding light seared him and he floated in a room. Below him he saw a little boy sobbing in the arms of a redheaded woman, and her lips moved. He couldn’t hear her, but he knew what she said; he had heard it before. She said that as long as she was there, nothing would ever hurt him.

  A flash of anger struck him. She lied! Many times he had been hurt. The image faded and suddenly there was the boy again, this time a few years older, walking awkwardly down the long hall that led to his room. Two pages walked by, and when he had passed, they whispered. He knew they were speaking about him, mocking his deformity. He ran to his room, tears flowing down his cheeks. He slammed his door behind him and vowed he would never leave his room again. He was consumed with anger, rage, and pain, and he cried alone until a page came to tell him that his father was coming.

  Pulling himself off his bed, he washed his face in the basin on the nightstand. By the time the door opened again, the boy had composed himself; he knew his father didn’t like to see the boy cry. Arutha beckoned for the boy to come along for some function in the great hall, and the boy complied. An affair of state demanded his attendance, and he forgot his vow never to leave the room. But it was a vow he had made hundreds of times and would make hundreds of times again, since he was only six years old.

  The image faded and he stood before two tall young men, with hair the same color as his mother’s. They mocked him, teasing, pretending they couldn’t see him or calling him “monkey,” and he fled from them, again stabbed by chilling pain.

  Other pictures presented themselves: a sister too consumed with the business of being a young princess to have time for a younger brother. Parents whose time was dictated by politics and protocol, who couldn’t always be there for a shy and frightened child. Servants who were dutiful, but who felt no affection for the youngest son of their liege lord.

  Over the years many images had etched themselves in Nicholas’s mind, and as he returned to the present, he heard Pug’s voice. ‘Are you ready to face your pain?’

  Panic struck Nicholas. He mumbled, half-asleep, as he said, ‘I thought … that’s what I was … doing.’

  Pug’s voice was soft and reassuring. ‘No. You were remembering. Your pain is with you now. You must root it out and face it.’

  Nicholas felt a tremble run through him. ‘Must I?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered a voice, and he fell deeper into the dark emptiness.

  A voice came to him. It was soft and warm and familiar. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t, then suddenly he could see. A young woman with golden hair moved toward him, through a vaguely defined hallway. Her gown was translucent, hinting at a ripe fullness beneath the thin cloth. Her features resolved as she reached out to him, and he said, Abigail?

  She laughed, and he felt the sound rather than heard it. I’m whoever you wish me to be. The sensual feel of her voice sent a thrill through him. Then he felt like crying, for something about the young woman was terrifying as well as seductive.

  Suddenly his mother stood before him, but as he had known her when he was very little. Soft white arms reached down to pick him up, and she cradled the little boy to her bosom, murmuring reassuring sounds in his ear. He felt her warm breath on his neck and he felt safe.

  A warning note sounded, and he pushed away. I’m no child! he shouted, and under his hand a firm breast filled his palm. Soft blue eyes stared into his and ripe lips parted. He shoved Abigail away and shouted. What are you?

  Suddenly he was alone in the darkness, a chill running through his body. No answer was forthcoming, but he knew there was another presence in the murk. He tried to see, but there was nothing in the gloom, yet he knew he was not alone.

  By force of will he steered himself and his voice rang in his own ears: What are you?

  From a great distance away, he heard Pug’s voice. ‘It’s your fear, Nicholas. It’s your reason for holding to it. See it as it really is.’

  Nicholas felt a constriction in his chest and felt afraid. ‘No,’ he whispered.

  Suddenly something was close to him; that distant presence was now a hovering menace. Something was coming that could harm him; something was approaching that was able to rip away his defenses and destroy him!

  A gathering darkness surrounded him, pressing in and confining him. He pulled one way, then another, but as he struggled, the pressing in on all sides restricted his movement, until he was rendered immobile.

  A suffocating sensation visited him and he gasped, but no air filled his lungs. A sensation of helplessness overwhelmed him and he choked on it. A scream died in his throat and a soft sob came out as tears ran down his face.

  Nicholas, said the warm and reassuring voice. Soft hands reached for him and he saw the beautiful features of his mother … no, Abigail, approaching. Just reach for me, said the soft voice.

  Then Pug’s voice came to him. ‘What is it really, Nicholas?’

  The women before him vanished, and he was alone in the room in the tower. Behind him the day was gone and the night was upon him, cold and indifferent. He was alone.

  He stood and paced around the room, but he couldn’t find the door. Looking out the window, he saw that Crydee was no more. Not even the ashes of the town remained, nor did the rest of the castle; only this single tower stood. Below was a blasted plain of rock and sand, lifeless and without hope. The sea was black, oily waves rolling listlessly to crash with indifference on rocks so sterile that even moss did not grow on them.

  ‘What do you see?’ came the distant voice.

  Nicholas struggled to speak, and at last he found his voice. ‘Failure.’

  ‘Failure?’

  ‘Complete and utter failure. Nothing survives.’

  ‘Then go there!’ commanded Pug’s distant voice.

  Immediately he was out on the blasted plain, and the mournful sound of the lifeless waves rang in the still air. ‘Where do I go?’ he asked the dead sky.

  ‘Where do you wish to go?’ asked Pug.

  Suddenly he knew. Pointing across the bay toward the west, he said, ‘There! I want to go there!’

  ‘What’s stopping you?’ asked Pug.

  Nicholas looked around and said, ‘This, I think.’

  At once Pug stood beside him. ‘What is your fear, Nicholas?’

  Nicholas looked around and said, ‘This. Utter failure.’

  Pug nodded. ‘Tell me of failure.’

  Nicholas breathed deeply and said, ‘My father …’He found his eyes tearing and his voice tightening. ‘He loves me, I know.’ Letting his pain wash through him, Nicholas said, ‘But he doesn’t accept me.’

  Pug nodded. ‘And?’

  ‘And my mother, she is afraid for me.’

  ‘And?’ asked Pug.

  Nicholas looked out across the blackened sea. ‘She scares me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘She makes me think I can’t …’He fell silent.

  ‘Can’t?’

  ‘Can’t … do what I need to do.’

  ‘What do you need to do?’

  Nicholas cried openly. ‘I don’t know.’ Then suddenly something he had been told by Housecarl Samuel struck him, and his tears turned to laughter. ‘That’s it! I need to find out what I need to do!’

  Pug smiled and suddenly a weight left Nicholas. He looked at Pug and repeated, ‘I need to discover what it is I need to do.’

  Pug motioned for the young man to follow him. ‘Why do you fear failure so much, Nicholas?’

  Nicholas said, ‘Because my father hates it more than anything else, I think.’

  Pug said, ‘We ha
ven’t much time. Things move apace and I must leave soon. Will you trust me to teach you something?’

  Nicholas said, ‘I guess so, Pug.’

  Suddenly Nicholas stood upon a ledge, high above the sea. Below, rocks beckoned and waves slammed against the cliff face. A dizziness struck him and his knees buckled, and Pug’s voice said, ‘Step forward.’

  ‘Will you catch me?’ he asked and his voice sounded very young to his ears.

  ‘Step forward, Nicholas.’

  Nicholas did, and suddenly he was falling. He screamed.

  The rocks raced to embrace him and he knew he would die. Numbing pain struck him and he groaned as he lay on the unyielding rocks, the waves washing over him.

  Gasping as he spit out bitter water, he said weakly, ‘I’m alive.’

  Pug was on the rocks before him, extending his hand. ‘Yes, you are.’

  Nicholas gripped it and suddenly he was back upon the ledge. ‘Step forward,’ Pug said.

  ‘No!’ said Nicholas. ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

  ‘Step forward!’ commanded Pug.

  Hesitating, Nicholas closed his eyes, and stepped forward. Closing his eyes didn’t help, as he sped through the air to slam against the rocks once again. Stunned a moment, he was astonished to discover himself still conscious. Pug was again kneeling before him. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘What?’ he asked groggily.

  ‘You have to do it again.’

  Sobbing, he asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘You have to learn something.’

  Nicholas gripped Pug’s hand and suddenly he was on the ledge. ‘Step forward,’ Pug said softly.

  Nicholas stepped forward, but his foot was fused into the rock of the ledge. An emptiness hit his stomach as he lurched into the void, but his left foot held him firmly to the ledge.

  Wrenching pain visited his leg as he hung there, upside down and backward. Pug suddenly appeared before him. ‘Hurts, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘This is your pain, Nicholas.’ Pug pointed to the foot in the rock. ‘This is your mother love and your mistress. This is your excuse. Because of it, you can’t fail.’

  Nicholas said bitterly, ‘I fail all the time.’

  Pug’s smile was unforgiving. ‘But you have a reason for failing, don’t you?’

  Nicholas felt a cold stab to his stomach as he said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You fail not because you’re lacking but because you’re the lame child.’ Pug floated in the air before Nicholas. ‘You have two choices, Prince of the Kingdom. You can hang here until you grow old, knowing that there are all manner of great things you might do: save innocents, find the woman of your dreams, protect your subjects … if only you didn’t have a lame foot. Or you can cut yourself free from your excuse.’

  Nicholas tried to pull himself upright but couldn’t gain any leverage.

  Pug pointed an accusing finger. ‘You’ve hit the rocks! You know what it is.’

  ‘It hurts!’ cried Nicholas.

  ‘Of course it hurts,’ chided Pug, ‘but you get over it. It’s only pain. You’re not dead, and you can try again. You can’t succeed unless you’re willing to risk failure.’ Pointing at the place where ankle was fused to rock, Pug said, ‘This is an excuse. We all have them if we wish. You have gifts that advantage you far more than this trivial deformity handicaps you!’

  A powerful certainty struck Nicholas. ‘What must I do?’

  Pug stood. ‘You know.’ And he was gone.

  Nicholas reached up and gripped his left leg. The blood pounded in his head and he felt the muscles of his left leg tearing as he pulled upward. Forcing himself to bend forward, he scraped his fingers on the rock, gaining inches as he cried in agony and frustration.

  Suddenly he was sitting on the ledge, his foot still fused to the rock. At his side a knife hung, where none had been a moment before.

  He understood. He took the knife and hesitated a moment, then slashed at his own ankle. Pain shot up his leg and his foot burned. Gasping at the pain, he forced himself to cut. The ankle cut like thick bread, not like bone and sinew, but the pain shot through him like lightning flashes.

  As he cut through the last fiber of his own flesh, Nicholas found himself standing. He held the knife to the throat of his own mother. Blinking, he pulled back. The figure of Anita, Princess of Krondor, said, ‘Nicholas! Why do you hurt me? I love you.’

  Then Abigail stood before him, wearing a diaphanous gown. With hooded eyes and sensuous lips, she said, ‘Nicholas. Why do you hurt me? I love you.’

  Terror struck the young man, and he stood rooted a moment, then he shouted, ‘You are not Abigail! Or my mother! You are an evil thing that binds me!’

  A sad expression crossed the vision’s face and she said, ‘But I love you.’ Nicholas shouted incoherently and lashed out. The knife cut through the woman, turning her to shadow and vapor.

  Pain exploded behind Nicholas’s eyes and he screamed. Something precious was torn from within his chest and he felt a terrible sense of loss. Then suddenly a weight left him and, with giddy relief, he passed into darkness.

  Nicholas opened his eyes, and Nakor and Anthony helped him sit up. He rested his back against the cold black stones of the tower wall. It was gloomy as the sun set. ‘How long have I been here?’ he asked. His voice was raw and his throat scratchy.

  Anthony said, ‘A day and a half.’ He held out a waterskin, and Nicholas found he was parched.

  He drank deeply and said, ‘My throat is sore.’

  ‘You were shouting and screaming a long time, Nicholas,’ said Anthony. ‘You’ve endured a terrible struggle.’

  Nicholas nodded and his head spun. ‘I’m dizzy,’ he said.

  Nakor handed him an orange and said, ‘You’re hungry.’

  Nicholas tore a section of peel away and bit deep into the fruit, letting the sweet juice run down his chin, and chewed the soft pulp. He swallowed and said, ‘I feel as if I lost something.’

  Anthony nodded and Nakor said, ‘Men love their fears. That is why they hold on to them so tightly. You’ve learned something very young, Prince, something that even older men rarely understand. You’ve learned that fear isn’t a terrible-looking thing but something lovely and seductive.’

  Nicholas nodded and finished the orange. Nakor handed him another. As he tore the peel off that one, he said, ‘I killed my mother, or Abigail – or something that looked like them.’

  Nakor said, ‘It was neither. You killed your fear.’

  Nicholas closed his eyes. ‘I feel like crying and laughing at the same time.’

  Nakor laughed. ‘You just need food and sleep.’

  Sighing, Nicholas said, ‘Pug?’

  Nakor said, ‘His shadow construct collapsed and the red thing vanished. Pug said bad things were going to come after him soon, and he didn’t want to be around people. He took your talisman and gave it to Anthony.’ Nicholas reached up and found the thong and dolphin charm missing. Anthony reached into the neck of his robe and showed Nicholas he now wore it.

  ‘I don’t know why, but he said I must keep it for a while, but not to use it again unless there was no other choice.’

  Nakor nodded. ‘Then he said good-bye and went away.’

  In the gloom, Nicholas peered down his left leg. Something alien rose up from his left ankle. He experimented and found he could wiggle his toes. Tears welled up in his eyes as he said, ‘Gods!’ He looked at the healthy, well-formed foot that matched its mate for the first time in his life.

  Anthony said, ‘The transformation was difficult. I don’t know what Pug did, but you and he were in a trance for many hours. I watched the bones and flesh stretching and moving as it healed. It was astonishing. But the pain must have been extreme, for you cried and screamed yourself hoarse.’

  Nakor stood up. He extended his hand downward. Nicholas took it, and the little man proved surprisingly strong as he helped Nicholas stand upright. Testing his
weight upon his newly healed foot, Nicholas found his balance felt alien. ‘I’ll have to get used to this.’

  Nakor looked down at the well-formed foot on Nicholas’s left leg and shook his head. ‘You had to do it the hard way, didn’t you?’

  Nicholas threw his arms around the little man’s neck and laughed. He laughed so hard his ribs hurt. After a while he pushed himself away. With tears running down his face he said, ‘Yes. I did.’

  Martin looked up as Anthony, Nakor, and Nicholas walked toward him. Nicholas picked his way gingerly over the rocks and grimaced as if stepping on something painful.

  Martin was about to say something to the soldier beside him when he noticed that Nicholas was barefoot. More significantly, both of Nicholas’s feet were normal!

  The Duke of Crydee walked away from the soldier and hurried up to his nephew. He looked deep into Nicholas’s eyes, and tried to understand what he saw there. At last he said, ‘What can I do?’

  Nicholas grinned and said, ‘I could use a new pair of boots.’

  • CHAPTER EIGHT •

  Accident

  NICHOLAS LUNGED.

  Marcus leaped back, parrying his blow, then disengaged and riposted. Nicholas easily countered and forced him to retreat another step.

  Nicholas stepped back himself. ‘Enough.’ The young men were breathing hard and drenched with perspiration. Each had let his beard grow, and now both looked remarkably sinister.

  Harry walked out of the inn to where the cousins had been practicing and said, ‘What do you think?’

  Even Marcus’s usual stoic demeanor cracked as he regarded the flamboyant figure. Harry wore purple breeches tucked into large, cuffed boots, and a yellow sash around his waist. His shirt was green, with faded golden brocade up the front and at the cuffs of ballooning sleeves; over that he wore a vest of maroon leather, tied in front by a single cord and wooden frog, and upon his head a long stocking cap of red and white tipped off to the right at a jaunty angle.

  ‘You look a fright,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘What are you made up to be?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘A buccaneer!’ said Harry. ‘Amos said they tend to dress colorfully.’