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“We wait until they withdraw a bit more, then I’d like to put some scouts up in the hills to get a sense of how they’re deploying. Our men did well this day.”
“But we didn’t break them,” said Richard.
“No,” said Erik. “And each day we fight out here in the middle of the road, our chances of reaching Ylith diminish, and our hope of freeing Yabon becomes faint.”
“We need some sort of magic,” said Richard.
“I’m short of magic right now,” said Erik, standing up. “I had better see how the men are.” He saluted and left the tent.
He encountered Leland outside and said, “Your father’s fine; his wound is slight.”
Leland’s face reflected his relief. Erik’s estimation of the boy rose; he had gone about his business not knowing how his father fared.
Erik asked, “How are the reserves?”
“They stand ready,” said Leland.
Erik was relieved. “I lost track in the afternoon and didn’t remember if they had been called up.”
“They were not, Captain.”
“Good, order the men inside the diamonds relieved and tell the cavalry to stand down. Get the men fed. Then come back. I have a job for you.”
Leland saluted and hurried off. Erik made his way to his own modest tent among the Crimson Eagles and sat down. Commissary soldiers hurried with water and food and one approached Erik with a wooden bowl of hot stew and a water skin. He took 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 512
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the bowl and a spoon and dug in, ignoring the heat.
Jadow Shati and the men from the center diamond came walking slowly back and Jadow half-sat, half-collapsed next to Erik. “Man, I don’t want to do that again.”
“How did we do?”
“We lost a few,” said Jadow, fatigue making his speech slow and his tone somber. “It could have been worse.”
“I know,” said Erik. “We’ve got to come up with something brilliant and unexpected, or we’re going to lose this war.”
“I thought it was something like that,” said Jadow. “Maybe if we could bleed them enough tomorrow we could launch a counteroffensive and punch through their center, leaving their forces divided.”
Erik was almost finished eating when a messenger found him. “Earl Richard’s compliments, sir.
Would you attend him at once?”
Erik rose and followed the youngster and returned to the command tent. There he found a terrified-looking scribe standing next to Earl Richard.
“This just came in a few minutes ago,” Richard said to Erik.
Erik read Jimmy’s message and said, “Gods!”
Richard said, “What do you think we should do?”
“If we take any of our forces south, we lose Yabon. If we keep them here, we lose Krondor.”
Richard said, “We must preserve Krondor. We can hold here and, if we must, postpone the campaign to retake Yabon until next year.”
Erik said, “This is impossible.” He was silent for a minute, then said, “My lord, if you’ll allow me?”
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The Earl said, “I always do, Erik. You haven’t made a mistake so far.” The old Earl had come to recognize Erik’s talents and his utter lack of personal ambition and would ratify any decision Erik made.
Erik said, “Send for Jadow Shati.”
While the messenger was gone, Erik questioned the scribe and found the man completely ignorant of most of the things Erik wanted to know. He did, however, impress upon Erik the level of concern and agitation in Earl James, enough that Erik felt he must heed Jimmy’s warning.
When Jadow showed up, Erik said, “We have a change in plans.”
“Don’t we always?”
“I want you to start now on building a barricade.
I want a fort by the end of this week.”
“Where?”
“Here,” said Erik. “Across this road. Put a squad up in the hills to the east with Akee’s Hadati and kill anything that comes south. This is our new northern border until I tell you otherwise.”
“What sort of fortifications?”
“I want a six-foot-high earthen breastwork a hundred yards north of the three diamonds. When that’s done, start building a wall. Fell trees to the south and get on it. I want it twelve feet high, reinforced, with an archery platform every twenty yards. I want two ballista ports every hundred feet, and a clear line of fire to the rear for catapults, so they can launch stones without knocking our own men off the walls.”
“Man, how long is this thing to be?”
“From the cliffs overlooking the sea to the steep-est hill you can find.”
“Erik, that’s more than two miles!”
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“Then you’d better start now.”
Leland of Malkuric appeared. “The cavalry is standing down, sir.”
“Good,” said Erik. “At first light I want you leading them down the coast, back to Krondor.”
“Krondor?” said the youth, looking at his father.
The old Earl nodded. “It appears our old friends the Keshians are about to launch an assault on the city. Earl James of Vencar requests reinforcements.”
“But what about the fight here?” asked the youth.
“You just get south and save Krondor, lad,” said Erik. “Leave this area to me.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lad. “Which units, sir?”
“Every horseman we have. We can dig in and hold here for the rest of the summer with the footmen, but they can’t reach Krondor in anything under three weeks.
“Now, listen carefully. Don’t start off galloping down the coast. You’ll kill half your mounts in the first three days. Start off forty minutes at a trot, then get off the horses and lead them for twenty. At noon, switch to a half hour trotting and a half hour leading the horses. And give them plenty of grain and water each evening. If you do that, you’ll save most of them and get thirty miles a day out of the troops.
That should put you in Krondor in a week.”
“Yes, sir!” said Leland. He turned and left to carry out his orders.
Erik balled his fist and looked skyward. “Damn!”
he said. “I just thought up a way to dig those bastards out from behind that fortress to the north, and this has to happen.”
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runs a soldier’s life, but I got to tell you, man, Banath seems to run my little corner of the world.” He left.
Erik nodded. “Banath runs mine too, it seems.”
The God of Thieves was also known as “The Prankster,” and was commonly given credit for everything that went wrong.
Erik looked at the old Earl, who said, “We do what we can.”
Erik nodded, and silently left the tent, feeling as defeated as he had ever felt in his life.
Dash roused himself and rubbed his eyes. He had given up on staying awake during the afternoon unless an emergency occurred. There was too much to do after darkness fell.
He began his day at sundown and worked throughout the night, with his mornings spent at the palace or sorting out problems around the city. About noon, if the gods were kind, he would collapse into his bed at the rear of the New Market Jail and fall into an exhausted sleep. Six or seven hours later, he would be roused.
He had received unexpected help from the Mockers in locating the infiltrators. He had put at least two hundred of them behind bars, and had forced Patrick to build a temporary stockade to the north of the city over the Prince’s objections. Should Kesh attack— when Kesh attacked, in Dash’s mind—they would be freed by the Keshians. At least,
thought Dash, they would be unarmed and outside the city.
It was the ones still armed and inside the city that he worried about.
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used as a squad room by the constabulary, he realized he had overslept, and it was at least an hour after he had planned to be up. He asked one of the constables, “What time is it?”
“Eight of the clock about fifteen minutes ago.
He’s been waiting here an hour. We wouldn’t let him wake you.”
The constable was pointing at a court page.
“What is it?” he asked.
The lad handed him a note. “The Prince wishes you at the palace at once, sir,” said the boy.
Dash read it and winced. He had completely forgotten he had been invited to dinner this evening at the palace and had agreed to go. “I’ll be along shortly,” said Dash.
Lately he was unhappy with Patrick even more than usual and probably that was the reason he had forgotten the invitation. Dash realized that the Prince could certainly operate in any fashion he wished, with or without Dash’s approval, but given that the city’s security was Dash’s responsibility, he resented those decisions of Patrick’s which made security that much more difficult to insure.
Dash wanted things from Patrick, and making the Prince angry wasn’t a good way to do that. He had to make Patrick understand how dangerous things were right now.
Dash couldn’t seem to impress upon Patrick the mere fact that having had two Keshian agents inside the palace walls was a major source of concern. Dash knew his grandfather would have had both men singing out the names of every contact they had from Krondor to the Overn Deep. Patrick, on the other hand, seemed oblivious, and Duke Rufio felt that as 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 517
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both men were absent from the palace—one gone and the other in custody—things were in hand. Dash wondered if Talwin had put in an appearance as yet and what his view on the matter was. Dash was certain his late father’s spy wouldn’t share Rufio’s equanimity on the matter.
Dash gave instructions on the night’s raids and put Gustaf in charge of the most delicate one; he had come to trust the former mercenary as a steady influence on the other men. Dash got his horse and rode to the palace.
As he rode through the city, Dash registered the rhythm of the place, becoming more familiar by the day. Krondor was reviving and it angered him to the point of irrationality that anyone, Keshian or Fadawah, might return to undo the work he had done. Rillanon had been his home until three years before, when his grandfather had brought Dash and his brother to Krondor. Since then he had worked for a while for Roo Avery, though he was always in his grandfather’s employ. And against any reasonable expectation he had made the city his own.
As he neared the palace, Dash conceded there was more of his grandfather in him than he might have once been willing to admit. Dash rode in past a pair of guards at the main gate who saluted the Sheriff. A groom hurried forward to take his horse.
Dash moved quickly up the palace steps and past guards standing in the entrance hall.
He was hurrying to the point of almost running as he rounded the corner that would take him directly to the great hall. Instantly he knew something was wrong.
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stood just inside, as if inquiring over something. A servant was running from the hall, toward the rear of the palace, shouting something.
Dash ran. He pushed past the two guards at the door and saw people in agony or unconscious. The hall had been set up with a giant U-shaped table, allowing jugglers and entertainers to perform before the entire court. The Prince, Francie, Dukes Brian and Rufio were at the head table. Dash noted an empty chair at the far end on the Prince’s left.
The other two tables were occupied by the remaining nobles of the area and most of the important citizens of Krondor. Half of them appeared unconscious, slumped down in their chairs or on the floor, while a few others were attempting to stand, and one or two were sitting, a vacant disoriented expression on their faces.
Dash ran across the room to the head table and vaulted over it, swinging his legs over the prone form of Duke Brian. Francie was slumped over the table between her father and Patrick, and Duke Rufio had fallen to the floor and was lying on his back, eyes open and vacant. The Prince sat back in his chair gasping for air, his eyes wide and unfocused.
Dash stuck his finger into the Prince’s mouth, and Patrick vomited the contents of his stomach. He repeated the action with Francie, who also threw up what she had eaten. He turned to see startled-looking servants and guards standing around, unsure of what to do. “Make them vomit!” shouted Dash. “They’ve been poisoned!”
He reached Duke Silden and got him to gag up food, but far less than Dash would have liked. He reached Duke Rufio and could not force a response.
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The Duke’s, breathing was shallow and his face was clammy to the touch.
Dash jumped up and saw that three of the servants were attempting to get those still conscious to throw up. He shouted to a guard, “Get a horse! Ride to Temple Square! Bring back any clerics you can find. We need healers!”
Dash organized the servants and had more come bringing fresh water. He had no idea what poison had been used, but he knew that some of them could be diluted. “Make those who can drink swallow as much as they can!” he shouted. “Don’t force those who can’t; you’ll drown them.”
Dash grabbed a sergeant of the guard and said,
“Arrest everyone in the kitchen.”
Dash realized that whoever had poisoned the entire royal court was probably gone by now, but perhaps he had not had time to flee. He certainly hadn’t expected the Sheriff to be late and avoid being among those afflicted.
The room stank and Dash set some of the staff to cleaning up as others attended those ill. It took nearly a half hour for the first cleric to arrive, a priest of Astalon. He set about doing what he could do for the stricken, starting with the Prince.
Dash did a mental inventory of those in attendance: of the nobles in Krondor, only he had been absent from this meal. Every other titled lord from Duke to Squire in the area was at that table. Of the town’s wealthy and powerful merchants, only Roo Avery was absent, being out at his estate with his family.
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served at Nakor’s temple. They tended those in the room throughout the night, and Dash interrogated the kitchen staff. Near sunrise he returned to the great hall, which now resembled an infirmary.
Dominic was near the door and Dash called him over. “How do we stand?” he asked.
“It was a close thing,” said the monk. “Had you not acted as you had, you would be the only noble in the city still breathing.
“The Prince will live, though he will be sick for a long time, as will the Lady Francine.” He shook his head. “Her father is touch and go. I don’t know if he’ll pull through.”
Dash said, “Duke Rufio?”
Dominic shook his head in the negative. “It was the wine that was poisoned. He drank a great deal of it.”
Dash closed his eyes. “I tried to tell Patrick that if we had one spy in the palace . . .”
“Well,” said Dominic, “while the loss is terrible, at least the Prince will survive.”
“There is that.” Dash looked at those dead who were being carried away. “But we’ve lost too many already to have to endure this insult. It could have been worse, but not by much,
” said the exhausted young Sheriff.
Then the alarm bell began to ring and Dash realized the city was under attack.
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Twenty-Four
Attacks
DASH RACED DOWN the street.
People ran through the streets while soldiers raced to the walls. The gates were closing and a panic-stricken constable in charge of the gate check said, “Sheriff! A rider raced in claiming there’s a Keshian army coming up the road.”
“Bar the gate,” said Dash. He grabbed the constable and said, “What’s your name?”
“Delwin, sir,” said the agitated young man.
“You’re now a sergeant, understand?”
The man nodded, then said, “But we don’t have sergeants in the constabulary, sir.”
“Right now, you’re in the army,” Dash shouted.
“Come with me.” He led Delwin up the steps to the ramparts on the wall above the gate and looked to the east. The sun was rising over the distant mountains and caused him to squint.
Movement caught his eyes and he held his hand up to shield them from the sun. He squinted, and there, along a road running along the base of a distant hill, he saw movement, nothing more than the appearance of a long line undulating along the side 521
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of the hill.
“Gods,” he whispered. To the newly created sergeant he said, “Send word to the New Market Jail. I want every constable up on these walls with the sol-ders. We have an army coming to visit.”
Sergeant Delwin hurried off. Dash looked to his right and his left and saw a sergeant of the Palace Guard hurrying toward him. Dash grabbed him and said, “What’s your name?”
“McCally, sir.”
“Your Captain is either dead or very sick; I do not know which. Are there any other officers around?”
“Lieutenant Yardley has the duty, sir, and should be above the palace wall.”
“Go fetch him and tell him I need him here at once.”
The Sergeant ran off and returned a few minutes later with the Lieutenant. “Sir,” said the Lieutenant,