Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘Well, you are that,’ admitted Nicholas.

  Nakor appeared, eating an orange. He looked at Harry and started to laugh. Harry had let his beard grow as well, but it was coming in thin and patchy.

  ‘What is a buccaneer, anyway?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Bas-tyran word, very old,’ said Nakor. ‘Originally, boucanier; means fellows who light fires on beaches to lure ships ashore, wreckers, thieves, pirates.’

  ‘So many words for the same thing,’ said Harry, ‘reiver, corsair, pirate …’

  ‘Many languages,’ said Nakor. ‘This Kingdom is like Kesh, built upon conquest. In ancient times, men of Darkmoor and men of Rillanon couldn’t speak to each other.’ He nodded and winked, delighting in sharing trivia.

  Marcus said, ‘I hope Amos doesn’t insist we all dress that way.’ Turning to Nicholas, he said, ‘Another?’

  Nicholas shook his head. ‘No. My leg hurts and I’m tired.’

  Suddenly Marcus was advancing, with a wicked slash toward Nicholas’s head. ‘What happens when you find someone coming at you when you’re tired?’ Nicholas barely blocked the cut, which would have caused serious damage had it gotten through. Marcus pressed the attack and Nicholas fell back.

  ‘People try to kill you at the most inconvenient times,’ shouted Marcus, executing a combination of high and low attacks.

  The two cousins were using sabers, a weapon foreign to both. With the rapier, no one in Crydee was Nicholas’s equal, but with the bulkier weapon, slashing attacks were far more important, and Marcus was quick and strong.

  Nicholas grunted in exertion as he blocked a stabbing attack to the groin, then with a shout he attacked. A flurry of vicious attacks high and low moved Marcus back, and finally Nicholas caught him in a binding move and ripped the hilt from Marcus’s fingers. Leaning back against a newly rebuilt low brick wall, Marcus found Nicholas standing before him, the point of his sword touching Marcus’s throat. Marcus back away, and fell over the low wall, landing on his rump. Nicholas leaned forward, keeping the point of the sabre at Marcus’s throat.

  Harry took a tentative step forward and halted. Nicholas’s eyes were wide and his anger was clearly showing. He said coldly, ‘Your point was well taken, cousin.’ For a long second he said nothing, then stepped back, lowering his blade. With a wry laugh he said, ‘Very well taken.’ He offered his hand and helped Marcus to his feet.

  Another voice said, ‘You would do well to know, Marcus, that irritating a better swordsman than yourself is a good way to end up dead.’

  The three young men and Nakor turned to see Amos leaving the inn. The Admiral had abandoned his muted dark blue uniform and now wore a pair of heavy black boots, with wide bands of tooled red leather around the tops. His loose breeches and short jacket were a faded blue, the jacket trimmed with dull silver brocade at the cuffs and lapels. He wore a once-white shirt, now yellowed, with limp silk ruffles down the front. Upon his head rested a black three-cornered hat trimmed in gold, topped with a bedraggled yellow plume. A cutlass of impressive weight hung from the baldric across his shoulder. He had oiled his hair and beard so that his face was surrounded with ringlets.

  Removing his hat, Amos ran his hand across the top of his bald head and said, ‘Stick to your longbow, Marcus. Your father never had the knack for the sword your uncle Arutha has, and Nicky is a better swordsman than all of you.’ He turned to Nicholas. ‘How’s the foot?’

  Nicholas grimaced. ‘Still hurts.’

  Nakor said, ‘It’s “phantom pain”; it only hurts in his head.’

  Nicholas limped a little as he came to sit next to Marcus, who had retreated into a sullen pose.

  ‘Phantom pain?’ said Amos. ‘That hardly makes sense.’

  ‘Well, it hurts like the real thing,’ admitted Nicholas. ‘Nakor claims it will stop hurting when I finally understand the lessons I began in the tower the other night.’

  ‘This is true,’ agreed the little man. ‘When he truly understands, there will be no more pain.’

  ‘Well, you’d better learn it in a hurry. We leave on the morning tide.’

  Marcus nodded and said, ‘I have some things to do before we leave.’

  After he had departed, Amos said, ‘You two really don’t like each other, do you?’

  Nicholas looked down at the ground, but it was Harry who spoke. ‘They won’t much until Abigail makes a choice between them.’

  Bitterly Nicholas said, ‘If she can. I’ll get my things together.’ He departed.

  Amos turned to Harry. ‘Why do I have a feeling that if they don’t find a reason to make peace, sooner or later one is going to kill the other?’

  Harry said, ‘Chilling, though, isn’t it?’ He leaned against the still-standing section of wall and commented. ‘They’re too much alike; neither will give an inch.’ He looked at the door of the inn. ‘Most of the time I’ve known Nicholas he’s been easygoing, Admiral. You’ve known him longer, but I think I know him better.’ Amos nodded agreement to that. ‘Something in Marcus just turns an otherwise agreeable lad into a serious pain in the backside.’

  Nakor laughed.

  ‘Marcus is acting like a pig-headed lout, too,’ said Amos. Slapping Harry on the back, he added, ‘And you’d better start calling me “Captain,” Harry, not “Admiral”. I’m Trenchard the Pirate once more.’ With a menacing grin, he pulled out his belt knife and began testing the edge with his thumb. ‘I’m years older and a step slower, but what the years have taken away I more than make up for by being mean.’ Suddenly he had the knife pointed at Harry’s nose. ‘Any disagreement?’

  Harry yelped as he jumped back a step. ‘No sir! Captain! Sir!’

  Amos laughed. ‘In my former trade, the captain was the meanest bastard in the crew. That’s how you got elected. You scared the crew into voting for you.’

  Harry grinned and inquired. ‘Is that how you got to be a captain so young?’

  Amos nodded. ‘That and killing a swine of a second mate when I was still a cabin boy.’ He leaned against the wall and put his dagger back into his belt. ‘I was twelve years old when I first went to sea. On my second voyage the second mate – man named Barnes – thought he’d beat me for something I didn’t do. So I killed him. The captain had a drumhead trial –’

  ‘Drumhead?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Right then and there before the crew. Not a lot of legal niceties. You plead your case and the crew decides. Turned out most of the men hated Barnes, and I made it clear I was being beaten for something that wasn’t my fault. The guilty man came forward and told the captain that I hadn’t done whatever it was I was accused of …’ Amos’s eyes grew distant. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I don’t remember what it was I was accused of. Anyway, the guilty man was flogged though the captain went easy on him because he’d been honest to save my life. I was made third mate. By the time I’d been on that ship four years, I was first mate.

  ‘I was a captain by the time I was twenty years old, Harry. I had raided most every port in the Bitter Sea save Krondor and Durbin by the time I was twenty-six. At twenty-nine I went straight.’ He laughed. ‘And on my first honest voyage the Tsurani burned my ship and left me high and dry here in Crydee. That was over thirty years ago. So here I am, past sixty and once again a pirate!’ He laughed again. ‘Hell of a circle, isn’t it?’

  Harry shook his head in open amazement. ‘Quite a history.’

  Amos looked up at the burned-out hulk that had once been Castle Crydee. A pair of masons had arrived from Carse the day before and were now beginning preliminary inspection of the grounds for reconstruction. Martin was there with them, giving them instructions so that work could begin as soon as the snows retreated, whether or not he had returned. ‘When I first came to that keep, I found some astonishing people.’ He looked down, thoughtfully. ‘They changed my life. I owe them a great deal. I used to chide Arutha for taking all the fun out of life, and truth to tell, he can be a sour sort.’ Gazing at the inn once again, Amos observed. ‘But he’s a wond
erful man, in many ways, and my first choice for a mate should I be sailing into stormy waters. I love him like a son, but being his son is no easy task. Borric and Erland had many gifts, not the least of which was being very different from their father, but Nicholas …’

  Harry nodded. ‘He’s just like him.’

  Amos sighed. ‘I’ve never admitted this to anyone, but Nicky’s always been my favorite. He’s a gentle lad, and while he has many of his father’s strengths, he has his mother’s tender ways.’ Amos pushed himself off the wall. ‘I pray I can return him to his family undamaged. I don’t relish the notion of explaining to his grandmother why I let anything ill happen to him.’

  Harry said, ‘I pray you feel the same about me and telling my father, Captain.’

  Amos gave Harry an evil grin. ‘I’m not marrying your father, Squire. You’re on your own.’

  Harry laughed, but it wasn’t entirely convincing. Then a shout sounded from up the hill as one of the masons from Carse came running down the hill, almost out of control. He shouted something and Amos looked at Harry.

  Harry said, ‘I can’t understand …’

  Then the man shouted again, and Amos said, ‘Oh, gods, no!’

  ‘What?’ said Harry.

  Nakor said, ‘There’s been an accident.’ He began running toward the castle.

  Suddenly Harry understood. Only three people were up at the castle: two masons and the Duke. Harry said, ‘I’ll get Marcus and Nicholas.’ He rushed off to the inn.

  Before he ran to the castle, Amos called after Harry, ‘And find Anthony! We’re going to need a healer!’

  By the time they all reached the castle, one of the monks from Silban’s Abbey was tending Martin. He lay unconscious on a clear patch of ground, his face drawn and pale as the monk inspected his injuries.

  Marcus shouted, ‘What’s happened?’ as he rushed up to his father’s side.

  The senior mason said, ‘A section of the parapet gave way and His Grace fell. I told him it was dangerous up there.’ His manner showed he was more interested in avoiding blame than in anything else.

  Marcus looked at the monk. ‘Is it bad?’

  The monk nodded, and Anthony and Nakor knelt beside Martin. They whispered, and after a moment Anthony said, ‘We need to carry him down to the inn.’

  Nicholas asked, ‘Should we make some kind of stretcher?’

  Anthony said, ‘We don’t have time!’

  Harry, Nicholas, and Marcus lifted Martin, and slowly they moved down the hillside, picking their way along the most forgiving path.

  At the inn, they moved Martin into one of the smaller rooms on the second floor. Anthony motioned for the others to step outside, and he and Nakor closed the door.

  The others hovered by the door of Martin’s room for a few moments; then Amos said, ‘No use waiting here. We have a hundred things to do before tomorrow.’

  Marcus said, ‘Tomorrow? You can’t be serious.’

  Amos paused and looked back at Martin’s son. ‘Of course I’m serious. We leave on the morning tide tomorrow.’

  Marcus took an angry step forward. ‘Father will be in no condition to travel by tomorrow.’

  Amos said, ‘Your father will be in no condition to travel until spring, Marcus. We can’t wait for him.’

  Marcus began to protest and Nicholas said, ‘Wait a minute.’ He asked Amos, ‘How do you know?’

  Amos said, ‘In my years, Nicky, I’ve seen men fall from the yards and hit hard decks.’ Looking at Nicholas’s cousin, he said, ‘Marcus, Martin is closer to seventy years of age than sixty, though you’d never know it to look at him. Younger men than he have died as a result of such injuries. No one’s going to lie to you and say your father isn’t in danger. But so are your sister and the other captives. Our waiting here won’t make your father any safer, but it will certainly place your sister in more peril each day we wait. We leave tomorrow.’

  Amos turned and left the three young men standing in the hallway in silence. At last Nicholas said, ‘I’m sorry, Marcus.’

  Marcus glanced at Nicholas; then without saying anything else he hurried down the stairs.

  Calis entered the inn, ducking out of the sudden rain. He shook his head as he removed his hooded cloak and hung it on a peg near the door. The inn was still crowded, but not as packed as the last time the elfling had been in Crydee, for several new shelters had been raised.

  Seeing Nicholas and Harry sitting at a distant table, he moved quickly to sit with them. ‘I have messages for your uncle, Prince Nicholas.’

  Nicholas told him of the accident. Calis listened impassively, then said, ‘This is ill news.’

  Anthony appeared on the stairway and, seeing Nicholas, hurried down to the table. ‘His Grace has regained consciousness; where is Marcus?’

  Harry jumped up. ‘I’ll find him.’

  Anthony nodded to Calis, who said, ‘I have messages for the Duke.’

  Anthony said, ‘You can have a few minutes.’

  Nicholas rose as well, and the magician said, ‘Only one at a time.’

  The Elf Queen’s son followed Anthony up the stairs, and in a few minutes Marcus and Harry entered the inn. Nicholas came up to his cousin as Marcus said, ‘Father’s awake?’

  Nicholas nodded. ‘Calis brought a message from the Elf Queen and is with him now. You can go up as soon as he comes out.’

  Calis appeared at the top of the stairs and Marcus started up. The elfling put a restraining hand upon his chest and said, ‘His Grace wants a word with Nicholas.’

  Marcus’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing as Nicholas hurried up the stairs past him. He entered the room and found Martin propped up by a down comforter, a heavy blanket pulled up to his chest.

  Anthony, Nakor, and the monk who tended him hovered nearby. Nicholas said, ‘Uncle?’

  Martin extended his hand and Nicholas took it, squeezing it briefly. Martin’s voice sounded shockingly weak as he said, ‘I need to speak with you, Nicholas. Alone.’

  Nicholas glanced at the others. Anthony said, ‘We’ll be outside.’

  Martin closed his eyes and lay back, perspiration beading upon his brow. After he heard the door close, he said, ‘Calis brought me this.’

  He held out a ring to Nicholas, which the Prince took and examined. It was made of silver-black metal, and it sparkled coldly. There was something repellent about its design, two serpents intertwined, each holding the other’s tail in its mouth. He started to hand it back to Martin, who said, ‘No, you keep it.’

  Nicholas put it in a small pouch he wore at his belt. Martin asked, ‘How much has your father told you of Sethanon?’

  Nicholas was surprised at the question. ‘Some,’ he replied. ‘He doesn’t speak of it often, and when he does, he tends to be modest about his part. Amos has told me a great deal, though.’

  Martin smiled weakly. ‘No doubt. But there are many things concerning that battle Amos doesn’t know.’ He motioned for the young man to sit upon the side of the bed. As he did, Martin said, ‘I may be dying.’

  Nicholas started to object, but Martin said, ‘We don’t have time for meaningless protestations, Nicholas. Too much is at stake. I may be dying, or I may live; that’s as the gods will it – though without Briana …’ For the first time, Nicholas saw the pain of Martin’s loss. Then his uncle’s face hardened. ‘You must know certain things and I have little breath to tell you.’

  Nicholas nodded, and Martin rested a moment before he went on, ‘In ancient times, our world was ruled by a powerful race.’ Nicholas blinked in surprise. Martin continued. ‘They were known to themselves as Valheru. Our legends call them the Dragon Lords …’

  Marcus fumed. ‘Why did he ask to see Nicholas?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘I know as little as you.’ Harry studied the young man he had been Squire to for the last months. He still didn’t know Marcus well, but he knew him well enough to know that there was rage bottled up, barely kept in check. First the rivalry for the affections o
f Abigail, then the death of his mother and abduction of his sister, then Nicholas’s refusal to play at Duke’s Squire anymore and asserting himself as Prince of the Kingdom – all had combined to keep Marcus at the verge of boiling over for a week.

  Nicholas appeared at the stairs and motioned for Anthony, Nakor, and the monk. They reentered the room as Marcus took the stairs two steps at a time. Nicholas said, ‘He wants to see you.’

  Marcus passed him without a word and Nicholas continued down the stairs. Harry saw the thoughtful expression of his friend and said, ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need some air,’ Nicholas answered.

  Harry fell in beside his friend as they left the inn, and, misreading Nicholas’s expression, he asked, ‘The Duke …?’

  Nicholas said, ‘His leg is broken above the knee and below, and Anthony says there’s some bleeding inside.’

  ‘Is he going to …’ Harry had almost said ‘die’, but caught himself and said, ‘… be all right?’

  Nicholas said, ‘I don’t know. He’s older than I thought, but he’s still pretty tough.’ Nicholas continued to walk, heading in the general direction of the ocean.

  Harry said, ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  Nicholas nodded.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  Harry said, ‘Nicky, I thought we were friends.’

  Nicholas stopped and regarded his companion. ‘We are, Harry. But there are things that only the royal family may know.’

  There was something about his tone that stopped Harry in his tracks. He hesitated, then fell in beside Nicholas again. ‘It’s serious?’

  Nicholas nodded. ‘I can tell you this much: there are forces out there working to destroy us and everything – I mean everything – we love. And they may be the hand behind what’s happened here.’

  From out of the dark a voice said, ‘Indeed.’

  Both Harry and Nicholas turned, and Nicholas had his sword half out of his scabbard before he recognized Calis. The son of the Elf Queen stepped out of the shadows and said, ‘I think I had much the same talk with my father that you did with your uncle, Prince Nicholas.’