Prince of the Blood

by Raymond Feist

  While the first passengers disembarked, Borric did nothing, but when he saw they were being halted and inspected as they left, he knew he couldn’t chance being singled out again. So as it came time to leave, he turned to the guardsman and said, again in his gruff voice, “I said a rude thing to you at Páhes, guardsman.”

  The legionary’s eyes narrowed as he said, “I assumed that, though I don’t speak your babble.”

  Borric mounted the gangplank in step with him and said, “I come to celebrate the Jubilee, and to make devotions at the temple of Tith-Onaka.” Borric had noticed the man wore the good-luck charm common to those soldiers who worship the War God with Two Faces. “At such a holy time, I wish no bad blood with any soldier. The Isalani cheated me at cards. That is why I was vexed. Will you take my hand and give pardon for the offense I gave?”

  The guardsman said, “No man should enter the Planner of Battle’s Temple with an affront to a warrior on them.” At the foot of the ramp, before the guards who were questioning the other passengers, the legionary and Borric gripped each other’s right forearm, and shook. “May your enemy never see your back.”

  Borric said, “May you sing victory songs for many years, legionary.”

  As if they were old friends saying good-bye, they shook again, and Borric turned and shouldered past two soldiers on the dock. One had observed the farewell and started to say something to Borric, but thought better of it and turned his attention to another man trying to push past, a strange little Isalani from Shing Lai.

  Borric crossed the street, then paused, waiting to see what was occurring. Nakor and the guard seemed to be in some sort of an argument, and several other guardsmen turned to see what the problem was. Ghuda materialized beside Borric, seemingly having come to that spot by chance. A few moments later, Suli came to stand next to Borric. Nakor now had a circle of guards and one pointed at the rucksack he always carried.

  Finally, as if relenting on some point, the Isalani handed the rucksack over to the first guard, who stuck his hand in the bag. After a moment, the guard turned the bag upside down and then pulled it inside out. It was now empty.

  Ghuda gave a low whistle. “How in the world did he do that?”

  Borric said, “Maybe all his magic isn’t just sleight of hand.”

  Ghuda said, “Well, Madman, we are in the city of Kesh. Where to now?”

  Glancing about, Borric said, “Turn right and walk along the dockside. At the third street, turn right again and keep going until you find an inn. We’ll meet at the first inn we encounter.” Ghuda nodded and headed off. “Suli,” Borric whispered, “wait for Nakor and tell him.”

  The boy said, “Yes, master,” and Borric left him, and made his way leisurely after Ghuda.

  The inn was a seedy riverfront establishment with the grandiose name the Emperor’s Standard and Jeweled Crown. Borric had no idea what event in Keshian history had prompted this odd name, but there was nothing in the least bit Imperial nor jewel-like about this establishment. It was like a hundred other dark and smoky establishments in a hundred cities on Midkemia. Languages and customs might differ, but the patrons were all cut from the same cloth, bandits, thieves, cutthroats of every stripe, gamblers, whores, and drunkards. Borric felt at home for the first time since entering Kesh.

  Glancing around, he saw that the usual respect for privacy prevailed here as in the other like inns he and Erland used to frequent in the Kingdom. Casually, looking down at his mug, he said, “We can assume that at least one of these customers is either an Imperial agent or an informer.”

  Ghuda removed his helm, scratched his scalp, itching from perspiration, and said, “That’s a safe bet.”

  “We won’t stay here,” said Borric.

  “That’s a relief,” said Ghuda, “though I would like a drink before we seek lodgings.”

  Borric agreed and the big man caught the attention of a serving boy, who returned with four chilled ales. Borric sipped his and said, “I’m surprised it’s chilled.”

  Ghuda stretched. “If you bother to glance north the next time you’re outside, Madman, you’ll notice a tiny range of mountains called the Spires of Light. They are called such because their highest peaks are constantly coated with ice, which—when conditions are right—reflect the sunlight with an impressive effect. There is a thriving business in ice in this city. The Guild of Ice Cutters is among the richest guilds in Kesh.”

  “You learn something new every day,” said Borric.

  Nakor said, “I don’t like it. Ale should be warm. This makes my head hurt.”

  Borric laughed. Ghuda said, “Well, then, we’re in Kesh. How do we reach these friends of yours?”

  Borric lowered his voice. “I …”

  Ghuda’s eyes narrowed. “What now?”

  “I know where they are. I’m just not sure how to get there.”

  Ghuda’s eyes became angry slits. “Where?”

  “They are in the palace.”

  “Gods’ teeth!” Ghuda exploded, and several of the inn’s patrons turned for a moment to see what caused the outburst. Lowering his voice to a whisper, but not losing his angry tone, he said, “You are joking, aren’t you? Please say that you are joking.”

  Borric shook his head. Ghuda stood up and put his lone dirk in his belt, and picked up his helm. “Where are you going?” asked Borric.

  “Anywhere but where you are going, Madman.”

  Borric said, “You gave your word!”

  Looking down, Ghuda said, “I said I’d get you to Kesh. You’re in Kesh. You didn’t say a thing about the palace.” Pointing an accusatory finger at Borric, he said, “You owe me five thousand golden ecu, and I’ll never see a tenth of one coin of it.”

  Borric said, “You’ll get it. You have my word. But I have to find my friends.”

  “In the palace,” hissed Ghuda.

  “Sit down, people are watching.”

  Ghuda sat. “Let them watch. I’m going to be on the first boat for Kimri I can find. I’ll get to Hansulé and take ship for the Eastern Kingdoms. I will be sitting caravan watch in some foreign land for the rest of my life, but I’ll be alive, which is more than I can say for you if you try to get into the palace.”

  Borric smiled. “I know a trick or two. What will it take to keep you with us?”

  Ghuda couldn’t believe Borric was serious. After a moment, he said, “Double what you promised. Ten thousand ecu.”

  Borric said, “Done.”

  “Ha!” snapped Ghuda. “Easy enough to promise anything when we’re all going to be dead in a day or two.”

  Turning to Suli, Borric said, “We need to get in touch with certain people.”

  Suli blinked uncomprehendingly. “Master?”

  Whispering, Borric said, “The Guild of Thieves. The Mockers. The Ragged Brotherhood, or whatever they’re called in this city.”

  Suli nodded as if he understood, but his expression showed he didn’t have a hint as to what Borric wanted. “Master?”

  Borric said, “What sort of a street beggar are you?”

  Suli shrugged. “One from a city without such a group, master.”

  Borric shook his head. “Look, get out of here and find the nearest market. Find a beggar—you’ll be able to do that, won’t you?” Suli nodded. “Just drop a coin in his hand and say there’s a traveler who needs to speak to someone on a matter of urgency and that it is a matter worth the time of people who can get things done in this city. Understand?”

  “I think so, master.”

  “If the beggar asks any more questions, just say this …” Borric sought to remember some of the stories James had told him about his own boyhood with the thieves of Krondor and after a long moment he added, “… one is in town who wishes not to cause difficulty by being here, but who wishes to make arrangements so that all may benefit. Can you do that?”

  Suli repeated his instructions and when Borric was satisfied he had them correctly, he sent the boy off. They drank in relative silence, until
Borric saw Nakor reach into his rucksack and pull out some cheese and bread. Looking pointedly at the Isalani, Borric said, “Hey, wait a minute. When the guard examined that bag it was empty?”

  “That’s right,” said Nakor, his white teeth looking as if they didn’t quite fit his face.

  “How’d you do that?” asked Ghuda.

  “It’s a trick,” answered the laughing little man, as if that explained everything.

  At sundown, Suli returned. He sat down next to Borric and said, “Master, it took a while, but at last did I find such a one as you required. I gave him a coin and said as I was instructed. That one asked many questions, but I only repeated what you said, and refused more. He bid me wait for him and vanished. With much fear I waited, but when he returned all was well. He said those you wish to speak with will meet us and named the time and place.”

  “Where and when?” asked Ghuda.

  To Borric, Suli said, “The time is the second ringing of the watchbell after sundown. The place is but a short walk from here. I know it because he made me repeat the directions several times. But we must go to the market and find it from there, for I would not tell this beggar where we were staying.”

  “Good,” said Borric. “We’ve been here too long as it is. Let’s go.”

  They rose and left, following Suli to the nearest market square. Borric was again astonished at the press of humanity around him, and the diversity of it. If he felt foolish, no one took note of his impersonation of a Bendrifi. The array of costumes, and lack thereof, he saw in Faráfra was even more varied in the Empire’s capital. The blackest skin Borric had ever seen gleamed in the late afternoon sun as lion hunters of the grassy plains walked by, and yet there were enough fair-skinned people to show that those who once lived in the Kingdom had come to Kesh over the years. Many had the narrow eyes and yellowish skin that Nakor possessed, but their dress was in different fashion than the Isalani—some wearing silk jackets and knee breeches, others wearing armor, and still others in simple monks’ robes. Women in all states of dress, from the most modest to almost naked, passed by, and few took notice, unless the woman was unusually striking.

  A pair of Ashuntai plainsmen sauntered by, each leading a pair of women on chains; the women were nude and walked with eyes downcast. A company of brawny-looking men with red and blond hair, wearing furs and armor despite the heat, passed them by, and insults were exchanged.

  Borric turned to Ghuda and said, “What was that?”

  “Brijaners—seamen from Brijané, and the towns along the shore below the Grimstone Mountains. They’re raiders and traders who ply the Great Sea from Kesh to the Eastern Kingdoms in their long ships—and even across the Endless Sea, the stories claim. They are proud, violent men, and they worship the spirits of their dead mothers. All Brijaner women are seers and priestesses, and the men believe their ghosts come to guide their ships and therefore hold all women sacred. The Ashuntai treat women worse than dogs. If it wasn’t for the Empress’s peace seal being on the city, they’d be trying to kill one another on sight.”

  Borric said, “Wonderful. Are there many such feuds in Kesh?”

  Ghuda said, “No more than usual. About a hundred such, give or take a few, on any given festival. That’s why the Palace Guards and the Inner Legion are here in strength. The Legion has dominion over the Inner Empire, all that surrounds the Overn, inside the ring of mountains formed by the Mother of Waters, Spires of Light, Guardians, and Grimstones. Outside of that, local lords run things. Only on the Imperial highways and at these sort of festivals is peace enforced. At other times”—he made a sharp motion with his hand—“one side or the other is dogmeat.”

  Kesh was a wonder to Borric. The throng in the streets was both familiar and alien. So much of what a city was was familiar to him, but this city was overlaid with ages of an alien culture.

  When they entered the market, Borric said, “This is pretty impressive.”

  Ghuda snorted. “This is a local market, Madman. The big one is across from the amphitheater. That’s where most travelers will go.”

  Borric shook his head. Glancing around, he said to Suli, “When should we leave?”

  “We have a while, master.” As he spoke, a dozen chimes and gongs around the city rang, as the sun vanished over the horizon. “The second bell, so it will be an hour.”

  “Well, then, let’s find something to eat.”

  They agreed on that, and set off in search of a street vendor whose wares weren’t too costly.

  As the second bell of night sounded, they entered the alley. “This way, master,” said Suli, keeping his voice low.

  Despite the early hour of the night, the alley was deserted. The narrow corridor was cluttered with trash and garbage, and the stench was overwhelming. Trying to keep the greasy meat and flatbread he had eaten down, Borric said, “A friend once told me that thieves will often put garbage and”—stepping on what appeared to be a dead dog, Borric continued—“other things along their private escape routes to discourage casual inspection.”

  At the end of the alley was a door, wooden with a metal lockplate. Borric tried it and found it locked. Then from behind, a voice said, “Good evening.”

  Borric and Ghuda turned, and pushed Suli and Nakor behind them. A half-dozen armed men were approaching them down the alley. Ghuda hissed. “I have a very bad feeling, Madman.”

  Borric said, “Good evening. Are you the one I arranged to meet?”

  “That depends,” answered the leader, a thin man with a grin too big for his face. His cheeks were heavily pockmarked, to the point of the disfigurement being apparent in the dim light in the alley. The others behind him were shadowy silhouettes. “What is your proposal?”

  “I need entrance into the palace.”

  Several men laughed. “That is easy,” said the leader. “Get arrested and they will take you before the High Tribune, assuming you break an Imperial law. Murder a guard—that always works.”

  “I need to get in unseen.”

  “Impossible. Besides, why should we help? You may be Imperial agents for all we know. You do not speak like a Bendrifi, despite your dress. The city has been crawling with agents looking for someone—who we don’t know, so you may be him. In any event,” he said, drawing a longsword, “you have about ten seconds to explain why we shouldn’t just kill you and take your gold now.”

  Borric said, “For one thing, I can promise you a thousand golden ecu if you tell us of an entrance, twice that if you take us there.”

  The leader motioned with his blade, and his companions spread out, forming a wall of swords across the alley. “And?”

  “And I bring greetings from the Upright Man of Krondor.”

  The leader paused a moment, then said, “Impressive.”

  Borric let out a breath of tension, then the leader of the thieves said, “Very impressive. For the Upright Man has been seven years dead in Krondor and the Mockers are now ruled by the Virtuous Man. Your introduction is less than timely, spy.” To his men, he said, “Kill them.”

  The alley was too narrow to allow Ghuda to draw his bastard sword, so he pulled both dirks as Borric unsheathed his rapier and Suli his shortsword. Forming a three-man front, Borric took a second to say to Nakor, “Can you open that lock?”

  The Isalani said, “It will take but a moment,” and the attackers were full upon them.

  Borric’s sword took the first man in the throat, as Ghuda was forced to use his two dirks to parry his attacker’s longer sword. Suli had never used a sword before, but he flailed about with enough conviction that the man opposite him was reluctant to try to get past the blurring weapon.

  The attackers fell back a step at the death of one of their number. They were reluctant to rush Borric’s sword point again. The cluttered alley gave no one an advantage, save time. The attackers could hang back and let Borric’s party tire, then take them, for they had no place else to go, so the thieves were content to feint and withdraw, feint and withdraw.

&n
bsp; Nakor rummaged through his rucksack and found what he was looking for. Borric glanced over his shoulder for an instant, to see the Isalani pry the lid off a flat jar. “What …?” he began, then he was forced to pay the price of his inattention as a broadsword almost took his left arm off. He dodged and thrust, and a second attacker was out of the fight, this one with a ragged cut to his own right arm.

  Nakor poured a small pile of white powder in his left hand, then put the lid back on the jar. Kneeling before the lock plate, the diminutive man blew on the powder. Rather than scattering randomly, the powder left his hand in a thin line, straight to the keyhole on the lock plate. As the powder passed through the lock, a series of audible clicks could be heard. Nakor stood up with a satisfied smile, put away his jar, and opened the door. “We can go now,” he announced calmly.

  Instantly, Ghuda shoved him unceremoniously through the door and followed after, as Borric launched a flurry of blows that drove back the thieves, allowing Suli to bolt through the door after the mercenary. Then Borric was through and Ghuda slammed the door behind him. Nakor held out a large, ornate chair, which Borric jammed against the door handle, barring the door for a moment.

  Borric turned and was suddenly aware of two facts: the first was a nearly nude girl regarded him with eyes years older than the rest of her, from where she sat outside a door, waiting the bidding of whoever was inside that door. The second was the sweet smoke that hung in the air, unmistakable once smelled. It was opium, cut with other smells, jule weed, hashish, and sweet-smelling oils. They had broken into the back of a joy house.

  As Borric expected, the moment after they had broken in, three large men—the establishment’s resident bruisers—each armed with clubs in hand, knives, and swords at their belts, materialized in the hall. “What passes here, scum?” shouted the first, his eyes wide in anticipation of a little free bloodletting. Borric was instantly convinced that whatever he said, the man’s intent was bloody.