The Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn and A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond E. Feist

  Another of the new boys, Squire Locklear, the youngest son of the Baron of Land’s End, said, ‘Sir, which of us will be at the wedding?’

  ‘In time, boy, in time. All of you will be escorting guests to their places in the great hall and in the banquet hall. During the ceremony you’ll all stand respectfully at the rear of the great hall, so you’ll all get to see the wedding.’

  A page ran into the room and handed the Master a note, then dashed off without awaiting a reply. Master deLacy read the note, then said, ‘I must make ready for the reception for the King. All of you know where you must be today. Meet here again once the King and His Highness are closeted in council this afternoon. And anyone who is late will have an extra day of running messages to the outer billets. That is all for now.’ As he walked off, he could be heard to mutter, ‘So much to do and so little time.’

  The boys began to move off, but as Jimmy started to leave, a voice from behind shouted, ‘Hey, new boy!’

  Jimmy turned, as did two others nearby, but the speaker had his eyes locked on Jimmy. Jimmy waited, knowing full well what was coming. His place in the order of squires was about to be established.

  When Jimmy didn’t move, Locklear, who had also halted, pointed to himself and took a hesitant step towards the speaker. The speaker, a tall, rawboned boy of sixteen or seventeen years, snapped, ‘Not you, boy. I mean that fellow.’ He pointed at Jimmy.

  The speaker wore the same brown and green uniform of the house squires, but it was of better cut than those of most of the other boys; he obviously had the funds for personal tailoring. At his belt was a jewelled-hilt dagger, and his boots were so polished they shone like bright metal. His hair was straw-coloured and cut cleanly. Knowing the boy had to be the resident bully, Jimmy rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed. His uniform fit poorly and his boots hurt and his healing side itched constantly. He was in an ill-tempered mood to begin with. Best to get this over with quickly, he thought.

  Jimmy walked slowly towards the older boy, who was called Jerome. He knew Jerome’s father was the Squire of Ludland, a town up the coast from Krondor, a minor title, but one that garnered wealth for whoever held it. When Jimmy stood before him, he said, ‘Yes?’

  With a sneer Jerome said, ‘I don’t like much about you, fellow.’

  Jimmy slowly smiled, then suddenly drove his fist into Jerome’s stomach. The taller boy doubled over and collapsed onto the floor. He thrashed about for a moment before, with a grunt, he rose. ‘Why …’ he began, but stopped, confronted by the sight of Jimmy standing before him, a dagger in his hand. Jerome reached to his belt for his own dagger and felt nothing. He looked down, then frantically about.

  ‘I think this is what you are missing,’ Jimmy said cheerfully, holding out the dagger to reveal the jewelled hilt. Jerome’s eyes widened. Jimmy tossed the dagger with a flick of his wrist and the blade stood quivering in the floor between Jerome’s boots. ‘And the name isn’t “fellow”. It’s Squire James, Prince Arutha’s Squire.’

  Jimmy quickly exited the hall. After a few yards the boy called Locklear caught up and fell into step beside him. ‘That was something, Squire James,’ said the other new boy. ‘Jerome’s been making it hard on all the new boys.’

  Jimmy stopped, in no mood for this. ‘That’s because you let him, boy.’ Locklear stepped away and began to stammer an apologetic reply. Jimmy held up his hand. ‘Wait a moment. I don’t mean to be short with you. I have things on my mind. Look, Locklear, isn’t it?’

  ‘My friends call me Locky.’

  Jimmy studied the boy. He was a small lad, still looking more the baby he was than the man he would be. His eyes were wide and blue in a face of deep tan, his brown hair shot through with sungold. Jimmy knew that no more than a few weeks ago he was playing in the sand with the common boys at the beach near his father’s rural castle. ‘Locky,’ said Jimmy, ‘when that fool begins to trouble you, kick him where he lives. That’ll sort him out quick enough. Look, I can’t talk now. I’ve got to go and meet the King.’ Jimmy walked quickly away, leaving an astonished boy standing in the hall.

  Jimmy fidgeted, hating the too tight collar of his new tunic. One thing Jerome had been good for was to show him he didn’t have to put up with poor tailoring. As soon as he could, he’d slip out of the palace for a few hours and visit the three caches he had around the city. He had enough gold secreted there to tailor himself a dozen new outfits. This business of being a noble had drawbacks he hadn’t imagined.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, boy?’

  Jimmy looked up and saw the narrow gaze of a tall old man with dark grey hair. He studied Jimmy with a practised eye, and Jimmy recognized him as Swordmaster Fannon, one of Arutha’s old companions from Crydee. He’d arrived by ship on the evening tide the night before, ‘It’s this deuced collar, Swordmaster. And these new boots hurt my feet as well.’

  Fannon nodded. ‘Well, one must keep up appearances, discomfort or no. Now, here comes the Prince.’

  Arutha walked out of the great doors to the palace, to stand at the centre of the throng assembled to meet the King. Broad steps led down to the parade ground. Beyond the ground, past the large iron gates, the great square of the city had been cleared of hawkers’ stalls. Krondorian soldiers formed long lines along the route through the city to the palace, and behind them stood the citizens eager to catch a glimpse of their King. Lyam’s column had been reported approaching the city only an hour before, but the citizens had been gathering since before dawn.

  Wild cheering heralded the King’s approach and Lyam was the first to ride into view, sitting astride a large chestnut war-horse, Gardan, as city commander, riding at his side. Behind them rode Martin and the attending nobles from the Eastern Realm, a company of Lyam’s Royal Household Guard, and two richly appointed carriages. Arutha’s lancers followed, with the baggage train bringing up the rear.

  As Lyam reined in his mount before the steps, trumpets sounded flourishes. Grooms rushed to take the King’s horse while Arutha hurried down the steps to meet his brother. Tradition held the Prince of Krondor to be second only to the King in rank, and therefore the least deferential noble in the Kingdom, but all protocol was forgotten as the two brothers embraced in greeting. The first to dismount after Lyam was Martin, and in a moment all three stood reunited.

  Jimmy watched as Lyam introduced his riding companions while the two carriages rolled up to the steps. The doors to the first carriage opened and Jimmy craned his neck to see. A stunning young woman alighted and Jimmy gave a silent nod of approval. From the greeting she gave Arutha, Jimmy guessed her to be the Princess Carline. Jimmy stole a quick look to where Laurie stood and saw the singer waiting with open worship on his face. Jimmy nodded to himself: yes, that was Carline. Behind her came an old noble, who Jimmy expected would be Lord Caldric, Duke of Rillanon.

  The second carriage’s door opened and an older woman descended. Immediately after her came a familiar figure and Jimmy smiled. He felt a slight flush at sight of Princess Anita, for he had once harboured a terrible infatuation for her. The older woman would be Princess Alicia, her mother. While they were greeted by Arutha, Jimmy thought back to when Anita, Arutha, and he had all hidden together and the boy grinned unselfconsciously.

  ‘What’s gotten into you, Squire?’

  Jimmy looked up at Swordmaster Fannon again. Covering his agitation, he said, ‘Boots, sir.’

  Fannon said, ‘Well enough, boy, but you should learn to bear up under a little discomfort. I mean no disrespect to your teachers, but you’re poorly prepared as squires go.’

  Jimmy nodded, his eyes back on Anita. ‘New to the trade, sir. Last month I was a thief.’

  Fannon’s mouth popped open. After a moment Jimmy took great delight in gently elbowing him in the ribs and saying, ‘The King’s coming.’

  Fannon’s gaze snapped forward, years of military training overcoming any other distractions. Lyam approached first, with Arutha at his side. Martin and Carline and the others follow
ed as befitted their rank. Brian deLacy was presenting members of Arutha’s court to the King, and Lyam ignored protocol several times to shake hands vigorously, even embrace several of the people waiting to be presented. Many of the western lords were men who had served with Lyam under command of his father during the Riftwar, and he hadn’t seen them since his coronation. Earl Volney seemed embarrassed when Lyam placed his hand upon his shoulder and said, ‘Well done, Volney. You’ve kept the Western Realm in good order this last year.’ These familiarities distressed several of the nobles, but the crowd loved them, cheering wildly each time Lyam acted like a man greeting old friends rather than the King.

  When the King came up to Fannon, he caught the old fighter by the shoulders as he began to bow. ‘No,’ said Lyam softly enough so that only Fannon, Jimmy, and Arutha could hear. ‘Not from you, my old teacher.’ Lyam engulfed the Swordmaster of Crydee in a bear hug and then with a laugh said, ‘Well now, Master Fannon, how stands my home? How stands Crydee?’

  ‘Well, Majesty, she stands well.’ Jimmy noticed a faint moisture in the old man’s eyes.

  Then Arutha was saying, ‘This young scoundrel is the newest member of my court, Majesty. May I present Squire James of Krondor?’ Master deLacy looked heavenward as Arutha usurped his office.

  Jimmy bowed as he had been instructed. Lyam gifted the boy with a broad grin. ‘You I’ve heard of, Jimmy the Hand,’ he said as he took a step away. Then Lyam suddenly stopped. ‘I’d best check to see I’ve all my belongings.’ He made a show of patting himself down while Jimmy blushed furiously. Just as he was reaching the height of embarrassment, Jimmy saw Lyam cast a glance his way and wink at him. Jimmy laughed with the others.

  Then Jimmy turned and found himself looking into the bluest eyes he had ever seen as a soft, feminine voice said, ‘Don’t let Lyam upset you, Jimmy. He’s always been a tease.’ Jimmy began to stammer, being caught by surprise after the King’s jest, then executed a ragged bow.

  Martin said, ‘I’m glad to see you again, Jimmy,’ and gripped his hand. ‘We’ve often spoken of you and wondered if you were faring well.’

  He presented the boy to his sister. Princess Carline nodded to Jimmy and said, ‘My brothers and the Princess Anita have spoken well of you. I am pleased to finally meet you.’ Then they moved off.

  Jimmy stared after, overwhelmed at the remarks. ‘She’s had that effect on me for a year,’ came a voice from behind, and Jimmy turned to see Laurie hurrying to keep abreast of the royal party as it moved towards the palace entrance. The singer touched his forehead in salute to the boy as he hurried to the crowd, having mistaken Jimmy’s astonishment at Carline’s and Martin’s remarks for his being thunderstruck by the Princess’s beauty.

  Jimmy returned his attention to the passing nobles and his face split into a broad grin. ‘Hello, Jimmy,’ said Anita, now standing directly before him.

  Jimmy bowed. ‘Hello, Princess.’

  Anita returned Jimmy’s smile and said, ‘Mother, my lord Caldric, may I present an old friend, Jimmy.’ She noted his tunic. ‘Now a squire, I see.’

  Jimmy bowed again before the Princess Alicia and the Duke of Rillanon. Anita’s mother presented her hand, and Jimmy awkwardly took it. ‘I’ve wished to thank you, young Jimmy, since I heard how you aided my daughter,’ said Alicia.

  Jimmy felt eyes upon him and blushed. He found within himself no hint of the braggadocio that had sheltered him for most of his short life. He could only stand awkwardly while Anita said, ‘We shall visit later.’ Anita, her mother, and Caldric moved forwards. Jimmy stood silently amazed.

  No further introductions were made as the other nobles of the Kingdom passed on towards the great hall. After a short ceremony, Lyam was due to be shown to his private quarters.

  Suddenly the square erupted with the sound of drums and shouts as people pointed off to one of the major side streets to the palace. The royal party halted their entrance and waited, then Lyam and Arutha began walking back towards the top of the steps, the other nobles quickly scurrying around as all order to the procession crumbled. The King and Prince moved to where Jimmy and Fannon stood, and into their view rode a full dozen mounted warriors, each wearing a leopard skin over head and shoulders. Perspiration glinted on their dark skin as these fierce-looking men pounded upon drums mounted on either side of their saddles, while carefully guiding their mounts with their knees. Behind came another dozen leopard-skin-covered riders, each blowing on a large brass trumpet that curved over his shoulder. Both drummers and trumpeters moved their horses into two lines and allowed a procession of foot soldiers to come into view. Each soldier wore a metal helm ending in a spike, with a chain neck covering, and a metal cuirass. Ballooning trousers were tucked into knee-high black boots and each carried a round shield with a metal boss and had a long scimitar in his belt sash. Someone behind Jimmy said, ‘Dog soldiers.’

  Jimmy said to Fannon, ‘Why are they called that, Swordmaster?’

  ‘Because in the ancient days in Kesh they were treated like dogs, penned away from the rest of the people until it was time to turn them loose on someone. Now it’s said it’s because they’ll swarm over you like a pack of dogs if you give them the chance. They’re a rough lot, boy, but we’ve taken their measure before.’

  The dog soldiers marched into place and opened a passage for others to move through. They drew scimitars and saluted as the first figure came into view. He was on foot, a giant of a man, taller than the King and broader of shoulder. His ebony skin reflected the bright sunlight, for he wore only a metal-studded vest above the waist. Like the soldiers, he wore the odd trousers and boots, but at his belt he wore a flasher, a curved sword half again the size of a scimitar. His head was uncovered, and in place of a shield he carried an ornamental staff of office. Four men rode behind him, mounted on the small, fast horses of the desert men of the Jal-Pur. They wore the dress of desert men, not unseen but rare in Krondor – flowing knee-length robes of indigo silk, open in front to reveal white tunics and trousers, the calf-high boots of horsemen, and head coverings of blue cloth wrapped in such a manner that only their eyes could be seen. Each wore a ceremonial dagger of considerable length in his waist sash, the handle and sheath exquisitely carved from ivory. As the large dark man climbed the steps, Jimmy could hear his deep voice: ‘… before him, and the mountains tremble. The very stars pause in their course and the sun begs his leave to rise. He is the might of the Empire and in his nostrils the four winds blow. He is the Dragon of the Valley of the Sun, the Eagle of the Peaks of Tranquillity, the Lion of the Jal-Pur …’ The speaker approached where the King stood, with Jimmy behind, and moved off to one side as the four men dismounted and followed him up the steps. One walked before the others and was obviously the subject of the giant man’s discourse.

  Jimmy gave Fannon a questioning look and the Swordmaster said, ‘Keshian court etiquette.’

  Lyam had a sudden coughing fit and turned his head towards Jimmy behind his hand, and the boy could see the King was laughing at Fannon’s remark. Regaining his composure, Lyam looked forwards while the Keshian Master of Ceremonies finished his introduction. ‘… He is an oasis to his people.’ He faced the King and bowed low. ‘Your Royal Majesty, I have the signal honour to present His Excellency Abdur Rachman Memo Hazara-Khan, Bey of the Benni-Sherin, Lord of the Jal-Pur, and Prince of the Empire, Ambassador of Great Kesh to the Kingdom of the Isles.’

  The four dignitaries bowed in Keshian fashion, the three behind the Ambassador falling to their knees, briefly touching foreheads to the stone floor. The Ambassador placed his right hand over his heart and bowed from the waist, his left hand extended out and back. As all stood erect, they perfunctorily touched index finger to heart, lips, and forehead, a gesture indicating a generous heart, a truthful tongue, and a mind harbouring no deceit.

  Lyam said, ‘We welcome the Lord of the Jal-Pur to our court.’

  The Ambassador removed his face covering, revealing a gaunt, bearded visage of advancing years, his
mouth set in a half-smile. ‘Your Royal Majesty, Her Most Imperial Majesty, blessings upon her name, sends greetings to her brother, the Isles.’ Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added. ‘I would have chosen to make a less formal entrance, Majesty, but…’ He shrugged, with a faint toss of his head towards the Keshian Master of Ceremonies, indicating he had no control over such matters. ‘The man’s a tyrant.’

  Lyam grinned. ‘We return warm greetings to Great Kesh. May she always prosper and her bounty increase.’

  The Ambassador inclined his head in thanks. ‘If it pleases Your Majesty, may I present my companions?’ Lyam nodded slightly, and the Keshian indicated the leftmost man. ‘This worthy is my senior aide and adviser, Lord Kamal Mishwa Daoud-Khan, Shereef of the Benni-Tular. And these other are my sons, Shandon and Jehan-suz, Shereefs of the Benni-Sherin and also my personal bodyguards.’

  ‘We are pleased you could join us, my lords,’ said Lyam.

  As Master deLacy attempted to restore some order to the milling nobles, another commotion broke out along a different street leading to the market square. The King and Prince turned away from the Master of Ceremonies and deLacy’s hand went up. ‘What now?’ the old man said aloud, then quickly regained his nearly vanished poise.

  A drumming more furious than the Keshians’ could be heard as brightly coloured figures came into view. Prancing horses led a parade of soldiers in green. But each wore a shield of vivid hue upon his arm with strange blazons depicted. Loud pipes played a poly tonal melody, alien but bright and infectious in rhythm. Soon many of the citizens of Krondor had taken up the beat with hand clapping or impromptu dancing around the edge of the square.

  The first rider came before the palace and his banner blew out in the wind. Arutha laughed and slapped Lyam upon the shoulder, it’s Vandros of Yabon, and Kasumi’s Tsurani garrison from LaMut.’ Then marching foot soldiers came into view, and they could be heard singing loudly.