Roo led his wife upstairs.
Roo lay in darkness listening to Karli’s even breathing. Their lovemaking had been uninspired. Karli did nothing to arouse his desire the way Sylvia Esterbrook did. He thought of Sylvia during his love play with his wife and felt vaguely guilty for it.
He had visited Sylvia almost weekly, often twice in a week, since the award ceremony at the palace, and he was still as excited by her as he had been the first time he had come to her bed. He quietly stood up and moved to the window.
Through the flawless glass, imported at great expense from Kesh, he could see the rolling hills of his estate. He had a brook that provided, he had been told, excellent fishing, and he had a small stand of woodlands to the north teeming with game. He had said he would fish and hunt like a noble, but he never seemed to find time. The only thing that he could remotely consider recreation was his time spent with Erik at the Sign of the Broken Shield, making love to Sylvia, or practicing his swordplay with his cousin Duncan.
He reviewed his life in a rare moment of reflection and had to consider himself both lucky and cursed. He was lucky that he had survived the murder of Stefan von Darkmoor, the journey to Novindus with Captain Calis, and his confrontation with the Jacoby brothers. More, he was now one of the wealthiest merchants in Krondor. He felt blessed to be a family man, though his wife was not someone he cared to consider; he had long since admitted to himself he had married Karli out of pity and guilt: he felt responsible for the death of her father.
His children confused him. They were alien little creatures; demanding things he could only vaguely recognize as needs. And they tended to smell at the most inconvenient times. Abigail was a shy child who often burst into tears and ran from him if he raised his voice even in the slightest, and Helmut was teething, which led to his constantly spitting up the contents of his stomach, usually on a fresh tunic that Roo had just put on. He knew that had he not married Karli, he would now be wed to Sylvia. He didn’t understand love, as others talked about it, but Sylvia consumed his thoughts. She took him to heights of passion he had only dreamt of before he met her. He even imagined that had Sylvia been his wife, his children would be perfect, blond little creatures who smiled all the time and never spoke unless it was required by their father. He sighed. Even if Sylvia had been their mother, Abigail and Helmut would be odd, alien creatures, he was sure.
He saw a cloud moving across the sky, blocking the big moon, the only one showing this time of night. As the vista beyond the window darkened, so did his mood. Sylvia, he wondered silently to himself. He was beginning to doubt she was in love with him; maybe it was some doubt about himself, he thought, but he just couldn’t truly believe someone such as himself could capture her interest, let alone her heart. Still, she seemed relieved when he could arrange to visit her and her father, especially if he could spend the night. Her lovemaking was always inventive and enthusiastic, but as the months wore by, he suspected everything wasn’t as it seemed to be. He also suspected she might be giving information to her father that cost Roo in his business. He decided he would have to be more careful what he said to Sylvia. He didn’t think she was getting information out of him to give to her father, but a chance remark repeated over dinner might give the crafty old Jacob enough of an edge to better his younger rival.
Stretching, he watched as the cloud glided past. Sylvia was a strange and unexpected presence in his life, a miracle. Yet doubts continued to stir. He wondered what Helen Jacoby would make of this. Thinking of Helen made him smile. While she was the widow of a man he had gotten killed, they had become friends and, truth to tell, he enjoyed talking to her more than either Karli or Sylvia.
Roo sighed. Three women, and he didn’t know what to make of any of them. He softly left the bedchamber and crossed to the room he used as his office. Opening a chest, he extracted a wooden box and lifted the lid. In the moonlight rested a brilliant set of matched rubies, five large stones as large as his thumb and a dozen smaller ones, all cut in identical fashion.
He had tried to sell the set in the East, but too many gem merchants recognized it for what it was, stolen goods. The case was inscribed with the name of the owner, a Lord Vasarius.
Roo laughed softly. He had cursed his luck at being unable to sell the gems, but now he counted himself fortunate. He knew that in the morning he would tell his apprentice Dash to inform his grandfather, Duke James, that when he was ready to send his message to Queg, he knew what it would say:
“My Lord Vasarius. My name is Rupert Avery, merchant of Krondor. I have recently come into possession of an item of great value I am certain belongs to you. May I have the pleasure of returning it to you in person?”
The ship rocked gently inside the huge harbor that was the entrance to the city of Queg, capital of the island nation of the same name. Roo watched with fascination as they edged close to the quay.
Huge war galleys crowded the harbor, along with dozens of smaller ships and boats, from large trading vessels down to tiny fishing smacks. For an island the size of Queg, it seemed an improbably busy port.
Roo had studied as much as he could on the hostile island nation, asking his trading partners, old soldiers and sailors, and anyone else who could give him an “edge,” as the gamblers liked to say. When the Empire of Great Kesh had withdrawn from the Far Coast and what were now the Free Cities, pulling out her legions to send south to fight rebellious nations in the Keshian Confederacy, the Governor of Queg had revolted.
A child of the then Emperor of Kesh, from his fourth or fifth wife, he claimed one gods-inspired divine reason or another that led to the founding of the Empire of Queg. This tiny nation of former Keshians, mixed with local islanders through intermarriage, would have been something of a joke save for two factors. The first was that the island was volcanic and had some of the richest farmland north of the Vale of Dreams, surrounded by unusual local currents so that it was the most clement climate in the Bitter Sea—meaning it was self-sufficient when it came to feeding its populace—and the second was its navy.
Queg had the largest navy in the Bitter Sea, a fact of life constantly driven home by its regular harassment and occasional seizure of Kingdom, Keshian, and Free Cities ships. Besides Queg’s claim that it had territorial rights throughout the Bitter Sea—a legacy of that long-ago claim on this sea by Kesh—there was the additional irritation of its pirates. Often galleys without flags would raid along the Kingdom coast or the Free Cities, down even along the far western coast of the Empire in a bold year, and at every turn the Emperor and Senate of Queg denied knowledge.
More than once Roo had heard from a minor palace official, “And all they’ll ever say is ‘We are a poor nation, surrounded on all sides by enemies.’ ”
Odd shadows skimming across the water caused Roo to lift his eyes aloft, and they opened wide in amazement. “Look!”
Jimmy, grandson of Lord James, and his brother, Dash, both looked up and observed a formation of giant birds flying out to sea. Jimmy was along at his grandfather’s insistence, which caused Roo no small amount of discomfort. Dash worked for him, at least nominally, and was a reliable apprentice trader. Jimmy worked for his grandfather, though Roo wasn’t certain in what capacity. He was certain it wasn’t accounting. For a brief instant Roo wondered if the Quegans would hang the entire party if the boys were accused of being spies, or just him.
The brothers didn’t resemble each other much, Jimmy looking mostly like his grandmother, fine-boned and with pale hair; Dash, like his father, Lord Arutha, with a mass of curly brown hair and a broad open face. But they shared more than most brothers in attitude and cunning. And he knew where they got that attitude: from their grandfather.
“Eagles,” said Jimmy. “Or something like them.”
“I thought they were only a legend,” said Dash.
“What are they?” asked Jimmy.
“Giant birds of prey, harnessed and ridden like ponies.”
“Someone’s riding on them?” asked Roo in
disbelief as the ship was hauled into the quay by dock workers catching ropes tossed to them by deckhands.
“Little people,” said Jimmy. “Men who have been chosen for generations for their tiny size.”
Dash said, “Legend has it that a Dragon Lord flew them as birds of prey, as you or I might fly a falcon, ages ago. These are the descendants of those birds.”
Roo said, “You could do a lot with a flock of those in battle.”
“Not really,” suggested Jimmy. “They can’t carry much and they tire easily.”
“You suddenly know a great deal about them,” suggested Roo.
“Rumors, nothing more,” said Jimmy with a grin.
“Or reports on your grandfather’s desk?” suggested Roo.
Dash said, “Look at the reception committee.”
Jimmy said, “Whatever you wrote, Mr. Avery, it seems to have done the trick.”
Roo said, “I merely informed Lord Vasarius I had something of value that belonged to him, and wished to give it back.”
The gangway was rolled out, and as Roo made to leave, the ship’s Captain put a restraining hand on his chest. “Better to do this by custom, Mr. Avery, sir.”
The Captain called ashore. “Mr. Avery and party from Krondor. Have they leave to come ashore?”
A large delegation of Quegans stood waiting, surrounding a man in a litter, carried by a dozen muscular slaves. Each wore a robe with a fancy drape that hung over one shoulder, what Roo had been told was called a toga. In the cold months, the locals wore wool tunics and trousers, but in the hot months of spring, summer, and early fall, this light cotton garb was the preferred dress of the wealthy. One of the men said in the King’s Tongue, “Please come ashore as our guest, Mr. Avery and party.”
The Captain said, “Who speaks?”
“Alfonso Velari.”
The Captain removed his hand from Roo’s chest. “You are now invited to set foot on Quegan soil, Mr. Avery. You’re a free man until that Velari fellow withdraws his protection. By custom he’s supposed to let you know a day in advance. We’ll be waiting here, ready to up anchor and set sail at a moment’s notice.”
Roo regarded the man, one of his many ship’s masters, named Bridges, and said, “Thank you, Captain.”
“We’re at your disposal, sir.”
As he stepped on the gangway, Roo overheard Dash mumble to Jimmy, “Of course he’s at Roo’s disposal. Roo owns the ship!”
Jimmy laughed softly, and the brothers fell silent.
Roo walked down the gangway and stopped before Velari. He was a short man of middle years, with hair cut close to his head and oiled. Roo was reminded of Tim Jacoby, for he also had sported a Quegan style of hair. “Mr. Avery?” asked the Quegan.
“At your service, sir.”
“Not mine, gentle Mr. Avery. I am but one of many servants to Lord Vasarius.”
“Is that Lord Vasarius in the litter?” asked Roo.
The Quegan returned an indulgent smile. “The litter is to transport you to Lord Vasarius’s home, Mr. Avery.” He made a gesture that indicated Roo should enter the litter. “Porters will secure your baggage and bring it to my master’s home.”
Roo glanced at Dash and Jimmy, who nodded briefly. Roo said, “I was planning on staying at one of your city’s better inns. . . .
Velari made a sweeping gesture with his hand, as if to brush aside the remark. “There are none, sir. Only common travelers and seamen stay at our public houses. Men of rank always guest with other men of rank.”
As if that settled the matter, he held aside the litter’s curtain and Roo awkwardly entered. Instantly he was inside, the litter was picked up by the eight slaves, and the procession set off.
Roo could see the city of Queg as he was carried through. He glanced behind and saw that Jimmy and Dash were having no trouble keeping up, and he settled in to view the splendor of the Quegan capital.
One of Queg’s greatest exports lay in quarries at the center of the island. Marble of unsurpassed quality was cut there and exported at great expense to nobles in the Kingdom, Kesh, and the Free Cities who wanted impressive façades on their homes, or stunning fireplaces. But here it was used everywhere. The common buildings seemed to be fashioned from stone and plaster, but the larger buildings on the tops of the surrounding hills all glistened white in the morning sun.
Already the day was warm, and Roo wished he had cooler clothing. The tales about the climate here were understated if anything. While the weather in Krondor was still brisk in the morning and mild in the afternoon, here it was almost like summer. Rumor had it that much of the warm currents that surrounded the island came from undersea volcanoes, venting nearby. It had been said on more than one occasion by those to whom Roo spoke that occasionally prayers were said to Prandur, Burner of Cities, that the entire Island should blow up.
Despite the Quegans’ reputation as a people hostile to outsiders and generally unpleasant to deal with, the common folk of the city seemed much like those of Krondor to Roo. The only marked difference was dress, as the laborers wore only breechclouts and headbands as they loaded and unloaded cargo at the docks, and the common workers wore short tunics of what looked to be a light spun wool, and cross-gartered sandals.
Occasionally Roo spied a noble in a toga, but mostly the men affected the short tunic. Roo saw women wearing long skirts, but with their arms bare and their heads uncovered.
The sounds of the city were much like those of Krondor, though horses seemed rare. Roo judged a population of this size must require a very high percentage of the land be put under cultivation, which wouldn’t leave much room for grazing non-food animals. Horses on Queg would be a luxury.
The party wended its way up a series of hills until at last it reached a large building behind a high stone wall. The gate opened and they were admitted by two guards wearing the traditional Quegan military uniform: breastplate, greaves, shortsword, and helm. Roo realized they looked similar in attire to the legendary Legionaries of the Keshian Inner Legions. He had practiced Legionary tactics when he had served with Calis’s Crimson Eagles, and he knew much about them. But this was as close as he had come to ever seeing one.
As the litter was gently deposited on the stones before the entrance to the building, Roo considered it likely it was as close as he was ever likely to get to a genuine member of the Keshian Inner Legions. Rumor had it that they were still the finest body of soldiers in the world, despite their never having ventured outside the immediate vicinity of the Overn Deep, the inland sea upon which the city of Kesh had been built ages before. Absently Roo wondered if their reputation was earned, or the legacy of ancient conquest.
The language of Queg was a variant of the ancient Keshian spoken at the time of the Empire’s withdrawal from the Bitter Sea, so it was related to the languages of Yabon and the Free Cities. It was also similar enough to the language spoken in the land of Novindus that Roo could understand most of what was being said around him.
He thought it best to feign ignorance.
As he exited the litter, a young woman slowly walked down the three stone steps that led to the wide entrance to the building. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was regal: slender, self-assured, and possessed of an attitude that spoke volumes of her contempt for this alien merchant who stood before her, all the while masking that contempt behind a welcoming smile.
“Mr. Avery,” she said in accented King’s Tongue.
“I am,” said Roo with a noncommittal half-bow.
“I am Livia, daughter to Vasarius. My father has asked me to show you to your quarters. Your servants will be seen to.” As she turned away, Jimmy stepped forward and cleared his throat.
The young woman turned. “Yes?”
“I am Mr. Avery’s personal secretary,” said Jimmy before Roo could comment.
The girl raised one eyebrow, but simply turned, and Roo took that as acquiescence to his coming with Roo. Softly Roo said, “You’re my what?”
Jimmy whispered back,
“I won the coin toss. Dash gets to be your servant.”
Roo nodded. One inside with Roo, one outside to see what there was to see. Roo was certain that Lord James had other tasks for these two beyond seeing that Roo didn’t end up dead or chained to a galley oar.
Roo and Jimmy were led into a large entrance area, open to the sky, then through a series of hallways. Roo quickly decided the building was a hollow square, and his suspicions were verified when he glimpsed a garden through a doorway off to one side.
The girl led them to a large apartment, with a pair of beds, surrounded by white netting, and a large bathing pool that was built into the floor. The room overlooked the wall to the city, and Queg could be seen below in the distance, while the nearby houses were blocked from view. Privacy and panorama, thought Roo. Livia said, “These will be your quarters. Bathe and change. Servants will show you to our table for dinner. Rest until then.”
She walked off without further comment, ignoring Roo’s thanks. Jimmy smiled as a young man took his bag from his hand and started to unpack. He winked at Roo and inclined his head slightly.
A young girl was unpacking Roo’s belongings, including the wooden case containing the rubies. She set them aside on a table as if they were but another possession, took his clothing, and went to what appeared to be a blank wall of marble. She pressed it lightly and a door popped open, revealing a wardrobe.
Roo said, “That’s amazing,” and moved to inspect the handiwork. “Jimmy, look at this.”
Jimmy came to see what Roo was pointing to, and saw that a slab of marble, cut thin but still more than a man’s weight, was cleverly hinged and counterweighted, so the door moved almost effortlessly.
Roo pointed to the hinges. “Very well engineered.”
“Expensive,” said Jimmy.
The girl barely suppressed a giggle, and Roo said, “Our host is among the wealthiest men in Queg.”
The boy who had unpacked Jimmy’s baggage and put his belongings in a chest near the foot of one of the beds came to stand next to the girl and waited.
Rage of a Demon King Page 7