For the next few hours, through the early afternoon, it took all of Locklear’s powers of persuasion, with some not-so-idle threatening, to keep Erland from riding farther into the wastes than Locklear judged safe. The young Prince was frantic to search for his brother, in case he was lying unconscious a few yards away, in a gully or ravine, in need of care. Locklear spread the men out to patrol the surrounding area, always keeping a chain of guards posted so that someone was in sight of the impromptu camp. Gamina tended the wounded, getting them ready to ride to the closest shelter.
Finally, James returned, accompanied by the Keshian patrol. Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi was obviously displeased to have his respite interrupted, especially given the potential for personal difficulty should his superiors judge him somehow at fault, as the attack came in his patrol area. He wished to put as much distance between himself and these cursed Islemen as possible, but the possibility of an international incident between the Empire and her largest neighbor gave sufficient reason to put his irritation aside and help in the search for the lost Prince.
Experienced trackers quickly discovered the gully wherein the raiders had hidden. Shouts brought the entire company to the edge of a gully, where two scouts were inspecting a large rock fall. One continued poking about in the rubble while the second scout carried a single boot up to where the Islemen waited. There was no mistaking the scarlet-and-yellow design of the boot. Pointing back down at the mass of boulders, he said, “M’lord, I found this. A little farther in, under the rocks, I can see what’s left of the foot that wore it.”
Erland sat in silent shock as James asked, “Can we dig him out?”
The Keshian scout at the bottom of the rockfall shook his head. “It would take a company of engineers a day or two at best, m’lord.” He pointed up to the place the slide had begun. “It was recently done, from the signs. To cover the owner of this boot, and others, perhaps.” Then he pointed to the far side of the gully. “And if too much movement occurred here, the other side might come down as well. I’m afraid it will be risky.”
Erland said, “I want him dug out.”
James said, “I understand—”
Erland interrupted. “No, you don’t. That may not be Borric down there.”
Locklear attempted to be understanding. “I know how you must feel—”
“No,” said Erland, “you don’t know.” To James he said, “We don’t know that’s Borric down there. He could have lost the boot during the struggle. He could be a prisoner. We don’t know if that’s him under the rocks.”
James said, “Gamina, is there any sign of Borric?”
Gamina just shook her head. “The thoughts I detected earlier were in this gully. But there was no pattern of thinking that was familiar.”
Erland was unmoved. “That proves nothing.” To James he said, “You know how close he and I are. If he were dead … I’d feel something.” Looking across the broken landscape of the high desert he said, “He’s out there somewhere. And I intend to find him.”
“And what are you going to do, m’lord?” asked the Keshian Sergeant. “Ride out into the plateau country alone and without water or food? It doesn’t look it, but it’s as much a desert here as in the great sand ergs of the Jal-Pur. Beyond that rise of ridges over there the true sandy wastes begin, and if you don’t know where the Oasis of the Broken Palms is, you’ll not live long enough to find the Oasis of the Hungry Goats. There are thirty or so places out there you can find water and a few with food-bearing plants as well, but you can walk within yards of several and not know them. You would die, young lord.”
Turning his horse back toward the way they had come, Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi said, “My lords, I grieve for your loss, but my duty dictates I ride on and discover others bent upon breaking the Empire’s peace. I shall file a report on this when I reach the terminus of my patrol. If you would like, I’ll leave a scout with you and you may continue your search. When you are satisfied that nothing more can be done, head back to the road.” Pointing south, he said, “The road continues past the foothills of the Pillars of the Stars to Nar Ayab. We keep many stations and patrols along that route. Dispatch riders move constantly among those stations and into the heart of the Empire. Send word ahead of your arrival and a state welcome will be mounted by the Governor of Nar Ayab. From there, he will send mounted soldiers to protect you until you reach the city of Kesh.” He left unsaid that had this been done from the start, the bandits would never have been able to surprise the Islemen. “I will mark this location, and ensure exact directions are in my report. In time, the Empress, blessings be upon her, will order engineers out to retrieve your young Prince, and he will be returned home for a fitting burial. Until then, I can only wish you the gods’ favor in your travels.”
With a wave and heels to the side of the horse, the Sergeant and his patrol headed away from the gully. James skirted the top of the fall and looked down to the lone Keshian scout who remained. “What do you see?”
The scout considered the signs. “Many men, milling about. A murder, there.” He pointed to a dark spot upon the already dry ground.
“Murder!” said Locklear. “How can you be certain?”
“Blood, m’lord,” answered the scout. “Which would not be unusual after a struggle, save this is in a large pool, with no signs of a wounded man approaching this spot. See the large splatter on those rocks there? I would guess a throat was cut.” He pointed to two lines of faint scratches in the dust leading from the bloodstain to the rockfall. “Two heels as someone was dragged to where the rocks were pushed.” He pointed again to the top of the gully. “One climbed there.” He glanced about once more, then scampered up the incline to where his horse waited. “They move south, to the Oasis of the Broken Palms.”
Locklear said, “How do you know?”
The guard smiled. “It is the only place they can go, m’lord, for they move into the desert, and without baggage horses they cannot carry enough water to see them through to Durbin.”
“Durbin!” Erland almost spat the word. “That rathole. Why would they risk the dangers of the desert to go there?”
“Because, ” James answered, “it is a safe harbor for every cutthroat and pirate from all the nations bordering the Bitter Sea.”
“And the best market for slaves in the Empire,” said the scout. “In the heart of the Empire, slaves are plentiful, but up here very difficult to find. Only Kesh and Queg have open markets for slaves. In the Free Cities and the Kingdom, the practice is discouraged.”
Erland said, “I don’t follow.”
James turned his horse toward the direction the scout had indicated and said, “If only two guards—” Quickly he added, “or Borric and one guard remain alive, there’s enough profit at the Durbin slave auction to make the raid profitable. If they are taken into the Empire, the money is less than a third what it is in Durbin and the leader has an angry crew to govern, and that can be dangerous.” James spoke with authority.
Erland said, “Then why wouldn’t Borric just tell them who he is? He’s certainly worth more in ransom than he’d ever fetch as a slave.”
James looked out thoughtfully across the wastelands at the late afternoon sun. Then he said, “If he is alive, I would have expected a message from the raiders, something telling us he is well and for us not to follow, and that a ransom demand would be made within a short time. It’s what I would have done.… I would have made sure I didn’t have a company of soldiers dogging my heels.”
The Keshian scout ventured, “These raiders may not be as clever as you, m’lord. Your Prince, should he live, may feel it dangerous to tell them who he is. They might cut his throat to avoid trouble and flee into the wastes. He may be unconscious, yet not injured enough for them to abandon. There may be other answers, m’lord.”
Erland said, “Then we must hurry.”
The scout said, “We must proceed cautiously to avoid ambush, Highness.” He pointed into the sandy landscape. “If slavers attack the road, t
hen out there at an oasis or in one of the wadis a slave caravan gathers. Many raiders with many guards will bring their catch to Durbin—many more fighters than we could face, even had my Sergeant remained. More than both our companies could face. Perhaps a hundred guards.”
Feeling the heavy weight of despair begin to descend upon him, Erland said, “We’ll find him. He isn’t dead.” But his own words sounded hollow in his ear.
The scout scrambled up the wall of the gully to where his horse waited. “If we ride quickly, m’lord, we shall reach the Oasis of the Broken Palms at sundown.”
James detailed two guards to accompany the two wounded men back to the inn, where they would recuperate until they were ready to return to the Kingdom. He did a swift calculation and realized he now had only a dozen healthy soldiers. Feeling vulnerable and somewhat foolish, he ordered that small band into the desert.
The sun was touching the horizon when the scout rode at a gallop toward the Islemen. James signaled a halt. Reining in his mount, the scout said, “In the Wadi al Safra, a caravan gathers—one hundred guards, maybe more.”
James swore. Erland said, “Any sign of my brother?”
“I could not get close enough to tell, my Prince.”
“Is there any place nearby where we could get close to the camp?” asked Locklear.
“A shallow ravine courses along one side of the wadi, and at the far end it becomes a gully running close to the camp, m’lord. Four, maybe five men could approach unobserved, be they stealthy. But it is dangerous. At the far end it becomes shallow enough for a standing man to see into the camp, but it is also close enough for a standing man to be noticed.”
Erland began to dismount, but James said, “No, you’ll clank like an armorer’s wagon in that chain. Wait here.”
Gamina said, “I should go, James. I can tell if Borric’s in the caravan if I can get close enough.”
“How close is close enough?” asked her new husband.
“A stone’s throw,” answered Gamina.
James asked the scout, “Can we get that close?”
The scout said, “We shall be close enough to see if any of the pigs have boils upon their faces, m’lord.”
“Good,” said Gamina, picking up the hem of her riding gown so it stayed clear of the ground. She tucked it in her wide leather belt, in the fashion of the Stardock fisherwomen when they waded into the shallows.
James ignored the unseemly display, exposing two slender white legs very high up on the thighs, as he attempted to think of a good reason to object to her coming along; he couldn’t. It’s the problem with having a logical mind and giving women the same credit for ability as men, he mused as he dismounted. You can’t contrive reasons to keep them safe.
Locklear signaled a pair of guards to accompany James, Gamina, and the scout and the five set out down the trail on foot. They moved slowly, as the sun fell below the western horizon. By the time they approached the near end of the ravine, the sky was slate-grey and the desert was alive with highlights of crimson and pink as the reflected sunlight off the clouds over the distant sea bathed the landscape in rose twilight.
Noise from the caravan echoed through the deepening gloom and James glanced around to see if everyone had stayed close. Gamina touched his arm lightly and her thoughts came to him. I can sense many minds in the wadi, my love.
Borric? he asked silently.
Nothing, she admitted. But I must get closer to be certain.
Gripping the scout’s arm, James whispered, “Can we get closer?”
Whispering back, he answered, “There is a bend ahead, and if we follow it, we shall be close enough to urinate upon the dogs. But be cautious, my lord, for it is a likely place to dump offal and garbage and there may be guards nearby.”
James nodded and the scout led them into the gloom.
James could remember several times in his past when he had taken journeys that seemed to take forever, but none seemed to take so long as it took to travel the short distance to the end of the gully. As they reached it, the voices of the guards could be heard in soft conversation as they walked along the perimeter of the camp. Not only was the journey nerve-wracking for the danger, but the end of the gully was being used as a garbage dump and privy trench; the Islemen had to creep through garbage and waste, both human and horse.
James stepped in something wet and soft, and from the odor that hung in the ravine like a noisome fog he was certain he didn’t want to know what it was. He signaled to the scout, who signaled back that they were as close as they dared get.
Cautiously James peeked over the edge of the gully. Standing no more than ten paces away, two silhouettes stood outlined against the campfires. Huddled near them for warmth were at least thirty miserable-looking people, but nowhere in the group could James see Borric. Not every face could be seen, but James was certain his red hair would be easily noticeable in the sea of dark heads, despite the flickering firelight.
Then a man in a purple robe approached the two guards and, for a moment, James’s chest constricted. But it wasn’t Borric. The wearer of the robe had the hood tossed back and the darkly bearded face that scowled at the two guards was one James had never seen before. He wore a sword at his hip and ordered the two men to cease their chatter and move on.
The robed man turned as another joined him, a large man in a leather vest, wearing the caste mark of the Durbin slavers on his arm. It was a mark James hadn’t seen since he was a boy, but like all members of the Mockers, Krondor’s Guild of Thieves, he knew it by reputation. The Durbin slavers were not men to trouble lightly.
James chanced another glimpse of the camp, then hunkered down next to his wife. Her eyes were closed and her face was set in an expression of concentration as she sought out Borric among the prisoners in the camp. Finally she opened her eyes and her mind’s voice came to James. There is no thought I recognize as Borric’s in the camp.
Are you certain? he asked.
Sadly, she said. If he were in that camp, as close as we are, I would find him. Even were he sleeping, I could sense his presence were he in that camp. She silently sighed and he caught the echoes of sorrow in her mind. There can be no explanation for it save he lay buried beneath the rubble back where we found the boot. There was a moment of silence, then she said, He is dead.
James was motionless for an instant, then he motioned to the scout. By sign he gave the order to return the way they had come. The search was over.
“No!” Erland’s face was harsh as he refused to accept Gamina’s pronouncement. “You can’t know for certain.”
James recounted his observations for the third time since returning to where Erland and the balance of the company waited. A campfire had been started and the men were busy preparing an evening meal. James dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to a soldier, who led the animal away. “We saw another bandit wearing the robe, so we can assume that it’s possible they took the boots from him as well, I grant that. But there was no sign of him in the camp.” To the Keshian scout he said, “Is there any chance the bandits who raided us were not part of this slaver caravan?”
The scout shrugged, as if to say anything was possible. “Probably not, my lord. By carrying off some of your men it is unlikely it was but a coincidence you were raided. Any of your men who remain alive are for certain in that camp.”
James nodded. “If he had been alive, Erland, Gamina would have been able to speak to him.”
“How can you be so certain?”
So that all in the camp could hear her, Gamina said, I have control over my talents, Erland. I can choose how many or few I wish to speak to, and once I touch a mind I can recognize its thoughts. Borric’s thoughts were not among those in the camp.
“Perhaps he was unconscious.”
Gamina shook her head sadly. “I would have sensed his presence, even if he were unconscious. There was an … absence of him. I can’t explain it better than that. He was not among them.”
The scout said,
“My lord, if I may remain with you this night, I shall have to move on to find my Sergeant. He will wish to know of these Durbinites. The Governor of Durbin is little better than a pirate and renegade himself, and sooner or later, word of this outrage will reach the Court of Light. When the Empress, blessings be upon her, at last decides to act, retribution shall be forthcoming, and it shall be terrible indeed. I know it cannot ease your burden, but to assault the person of a royal family en route to her Jubilee is beyond insult. The Empress, blessings upon her name, will no doubt take it as a personal affront to the Empire’s honor and act to revenge your family.”
Erland’s anger was not soothed in the least. “What? The Governor of Durbin reprimanded? Then a formal letter of apology, I suppose.”
“More likely she will order the city surrounded and burned to the ground with all the citizens within, sire. Or if she is feeling merciful, perhaps she will only send the Governor of Durbin, with his family and retainers of course, to your King for punishment, sparing the city. It will depend upon her mood at the time she decides.”
Erland was overwhelmed. The shock of Borric’s apparent death at last setting over him and the blasé attitude of the guard as he recounted such power on the part of one woman, conspired to render him without wit. He just nodded dumbly.
James, seeking to turn talk away from the terrible diplomatic situation that would arise out of Borric’s death, said, “We shall ask you to bear letters to be forwarded back to the Prince of Krondor, so that we may mitigate any difficulties between our two nations.”
The scout nodded. “As one who serves along the border, I would do so gladly, m’lord.”
James said, “See to your mount and picket her with our own—the boys in the luggage will feed and water her. Then get some food and find a place to sleep.”
Prince of the Blood Page 13