Erik stood stiffly at the rear of the room, the only non-titled non-officer in the room. Captains Calis and Greylock, the only men he knew well, were across the room with Knight-Marshal William, the Duke of Krondor, and the Prince, the only other men he was familiar with.
He recognized some of the others, members of the Prince’s court, officers of the palace, local nobles, though he had spoken to only a few of them, on rare occasion. He knew within an hour or so he’d be dismissed and he could squeeze out some personal time before having to get back to the orders that were sure to be waiting for him.
Patrick stood. “My lords, and gentlemen. I’m pleased to see you all in attendance. You will be given a full briefing in select groups. It’s no secret a hostile army is heading our way, and we’ve spent the last several months in preparation for this coming invasion.
“Some of you know a great deal more than others, and for reasons of state security, I command you not to speculate among yourselves or share information. Assume that the man next to you is as knowledgeable as you, no more or less, and cannot give you any more information than you already have, so don’t ask questions.”
Some of the nobles seemed a bit taken aback by the order, but no one made a comment. A few glanced around the room, attempting to measure the reactions of others.
“Now, to the general situation. This is what you must all know before hostilities begin.” The Prince motioned to two squires, who removed a large cloth hanging from the wall. Behind the hanging was an immense map of the Western Realm, from the Far Coast to Malac’s Cross. The Prince picked up a long pointer and moved at once to the far left edge of the map. “Here,” said Patrick, pointing to the Straits of Darkness, “we expect the enemy’s fleet within the next week.”
A few nobles muttered to one another, but the room quickly fell silent. “Between then and when they reach here”—he pointed north of the city of Land’s End—“we need to be fully mobilized. Therefore, you will spend the next week before Banapis in meetings, getting orders, and making ready. We shall all celebrate the Midsummer Festival as if nothing were amiss—we can’t alarm the populace, and already rumors are starting to circulate. Lord James?”
The Duke of Krondor said, “I have agents in the city right now, adding to those rumors. We’re not trying to deny the possibility that war is coming to Krondor, but we are giving the impression the trouble springs from Great Kesh. As Krondor hasn’t seen a Keshian army in over two hundred years, the population is currently more concerned about rising taxes and the possibility of travel to Shamata and Landreth being curtailed than about any immediate danger.”
James’s expression darkened. “That will quickly change. When ships due in from the Free Cities and Far Coast fail to appear because of the invaders’ fleet, word will quickly circulate from the docks to the outlying farms that something is coming from the west. When that happens, we’ll have to lock down Krondor.”
“Martial law?” asked one of the local nobles.
“Yes,” said Prince Patrick.
Duke James said, “Our enemy is dangerous, far more so than many of you can imagine. By the time we’re finished with all our meetings this week, you’ll have a better appreciation of that danger, but until then accept what I say: Krondor has never faced a trial such as the one coming.
“We will impose curfew and, if possible, permit an orderly evacuation of the city before it is encircled. But once the enemy has landed, we will close the gates and Krondor will have to hold.”
“Hold?” said another noble. “What about help from the East?”
Patrick put up his hand. “Silence. As I said before, we will tell you only what you need to know. You will obey.” His tone indicated there was to be no debate on this matter. If any of the nobles present felt slighted, they hid the fact.
The Prince said, “So we are clear on the chain of command. First of all, Knight-Marshal William is now commander of the Armies of the West.” He held up a document. “By order of the King.” A few nobles looked interested, but no one seemed shocked. By tradition, the Knight-Marshal of Krondor held rank equal to that of a Duke, and occasionally in the past, the Duke of Krondor had held both offices. Patrick then pointed to Calis. “Captain Calis has the acting rank of Knight-General of the Kingdom.” Patrick held up another document. For a moment, the significance of what he had just said did not penetrate; then the jaws of several of the nobles dropped in astonishment, reflecting Erik’s own shock. Knight-General of the West would have placed him second in command of Principality troops. But Knight-General of the Kingdom put him second in command to Knight-Marshal William, and the superior of any Duke in the Kingdom.
Calis said, “I prefer to be referred to as ‘Captain,’ in any event.” Pointing out Erik, he said, “My second in command is Sergeant Major Erik von Darkmoor. Despite his modest rank, assume he speaks with my voice when he comes to you with orders.”
This set up a resentful muttering in the room. Patrick wasted no time in ending it: he struck the table with the pointer, letting the loud crack silence the nobles. “This special unit will operate independently of the traditional order of the Armies of the West, but if at any time you find yourself in a situation where you must decide if you are required to follow the orders of an officer of that special unit, let me make it clear: you will obey orders from any officer of any rank from that special unit as if they originated with the Crown. Is that abundantly clear?”
That left no room for misunderstanding. “Yes, Your Highness,” said several of the nobles.
“The units of the Special Command, under Lord Calis, the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders, and other special auxiliaries are all included in those orders. You will be provided with a complete list of those units before you depart for your own commands.”
Erik glanced around the room. Several of the Dukes in attendance were close to enraged at the orders, and hid the fact poorly. Patrick showed the training of his office by slamming the pointer on the table hard enough to break it. “My lords!” he said in a loud but controlled voice.
Then he lowered his voice. “When this is over, you will understand why the creation of special units and the operation outside the traditional organization of the Armies of the West are imperative. I needn’t remind any of you what history taught us during the Riftwar: that a unified command is essential. As I have only one Knight-Marshal, I must leave it to him to decide how the troops under his command will be disposed.”
William, as if an actor moving on a cue, said, “We’ll organize the defense of the area around Krondor, utilizing most of the soldiers under your command, my lords. Those of you in command of nearby garrisons will return to those the day after Banapis. Those of you who have been called in from distant garrisons can expect to have your troops seconded to the Prince’s Garrison, under my direct command. A few of you will be asked to volunteer for particularly dangerous duty. Now, again I caution you about speaking to anyone outside this room about anything that you are privy to in the next week. Our foe is cunning and has agents everywhere, perhaps in your own commands. Trust no one outside this room. Until we meet with each of you in private, you are given leave to depart.”
Erik watched as the lords of the Western Realm of Krondor departed, many still barely in control of their fury. When the room was empty of all but Patrick, James, William, Calis, Erik, and a handful of court officials, Patrick said, “Well, that went better than I expected.”
Erik’s expression was open amazement. Calis said to him, “He means we didn’t have open rebellion.”
William laughed. “We held off telling them they’d been relegated to a secondary role until the last possible minute, but we could hold off no longer.”
Erik said, “I don’t think I fully understand.”
Calis said, “That’s as it should be.” He asked his Prince, “Have I your leave to depart?”
“Yes, you’d better hurry,” said Patrick.
Erik glanced at William, who said, “A special missio
n.”
Erik had gotten used to Calis’s special missions since becoming his Sergeant Major. He put aside his curiosity and said, “Yes, sir.”
“I’ve got a lot for you to do, Sergeant Major,” said William. “But no need to start until I get through with those nobles who just left in such a foul mood. Take some time off this evening and relax. Starting at noon tomorrow, until Banapis, you’re going to be working from dawn to dusk.”
“Yes, sir,” said Erik. “Is there anything else?”
“Nothing right now, but start thinking about which of those last batch of trainees might serve in the mountains. Have a list of the fifty best on my desk by noon tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
William said, “I’ve already ordered three hundred of your best out at dawn tomorrow, under Colwin and Jadow Shati. Most of your command is moving out in small groups this week. I’ll bring you up to date at noon tomorrow. Until then, your time’s your own.”
Erik saluted, bade the Prince, the Duke, and the others good day, and departed. He hurried to his own quarters and sat down, going over a list of men with whom he had just returned from the mountains.
For a moment he felt defeat. The names meant nothing to him; how would he pick fifty to give some slightly better chance of survival to? Then a name caught his eye, a man named Reardon. He remembered him because of a particularly funny off-color remark he had made at a difficult moment, when lesser men would have been losing their tempers. The men around him had laughed, the tension had lessened, and the men had managed the task Erik had given them.
He saw the man’s face, and then began remembering the men who had been with that group, Reardon and his five teammates, and the other group. Within moments, Erik recalled a dozen names.
At the end of an hour, Erik had a list of fifty men he judged fit for the extraordinary duty required in the mountains. Feeling better for having that task out of the way, he visited the enlisted baths, finding several off-duty soldiers cleaning up. He overheard the barracks gossip and, by the time he was refreshed, was certain that the entire garrison was abuzz with some sense of impending conflict.
Erik changed into fresh clothing and, as fast as he could, found his way to the Inn of the Broken Shield. The inn was fairly crowded, but that didn’t stop Kitty from nearly jumping over the bar as she flew into his arms. Erik laughed, and as the slender girl kissed him, he said, “Slow down, woman. Do you want people to think you’ve no morals?”
Kitty said, “Who cares what people think?”
Several of the nearby patrons laughed at the remark. One of the whores employed by Duke James said, “I certainly don’t, dearie!”
Erik said, “How have you been?”
She pinched his cheek playfully and said, “Lonely. How long before you have to go back to the palace?”
Erik smiled. “I don’t have to be there until noon tomorrow.”
Kitty almost squealed in delight. “I opened today, so I get off in two hours. Have something to eat and don’t drink too much with your low-life barracks mates, because I have plans for you.”
Erik blushed, and several of those within hearing range laughed at Kitty’s remarks.
Erik crossed to the corner of the inn, where Sergeant Alfred sat with other men from Erik’s unit. Erik pulled up a chair, and one of the other serving girls came over with a pitcher of ale and a fresh mug for him. She topped off the other mugs and left the men to themselves.
“Why so somber?” asked Erik.
“Orders,” said Alfred.
Another soldier, a Rodezian corporal named Miguel, said, “We leave at sundown tomorrow.”
Erik took a long pull of his ale. “So.”
Alfred said, “It’s beginning.”
The other soldiers nodded.
Erik, the only man in the room who had served with Calis on his voyages to Novindus, said, “No, it began a long time ago.” He looked off into the distance, then at his companions, and said, “But now it’s here.”
Kitty snuggled into the crook of Erik’s shoulder. “I hate that you have to leave tomorrow.”
“I know,” said Erik.
“What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think anything is wrong?”
They lay in the relative solitude of her room. Erik could afford to take a room had he wished, but having spent his childhood in a similar loft, he found the odor of hay and animals, leather and iron familiar and reassuring.
Kitty said, “I know you, Erik. You’re worried.”
Erik weighed his words. Finally he said, “Do you know a way out of the city?”
“You mean where the gate is?” she said in a joking fashion.
“No, I mean if the city was sealed, do you think you could find a way out?”
Kitty raised herself up and leaned on an elbow, looking down at her lover. “Why?”
“Just answer: could you?”
“Without running into the Mockers, probably not.”
Erik considered his next words, for what he was going to say bordered on treason, and at the very least was a direct circumvention of orders. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything.”
“When the festival winds down next week, just before sundown . . .”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Find your way out of the city; leave with some farmers heading back to the nearby villages.”
“What?” she asked, her expression one of open surprise.
“I can’t tell you exactly why, but I don’t want you in Krondor after Banapis.”
“You mean you won’t tell me. What is this all about?”
“Duke James has agents at every gate of the city, without question, and besides looking for enemy agents, my guess is they also have orders to stop you, or anyone else he’s forced to serve, from fleeing. Banapis is the best chance you have of getting out of the city without being stopped.”
“Why do I need to leave Krondor?” said Kitty.
“Because if you stay, I don’t know if you’ll survive. I can’t say more.”
“You’re frightening me,” she said. Erik had never heard Kitty admit to being afraid of anything, so the words carried weight.
“Good. You have to fear what I can’t talk about more than Duke James’s long reach. Get out of the city and make your way to Roo’s estate and hide there. I’ll make arrangements for him to get you out of the West. And say nothing to anyone.”
“Where are you going to be while I’m hiding in the East?”
“Fighting a war.”
Erik felt her melt into his arms, and her hot tears fell on his chest. “We’re not going to see each other again, are we?”
Holding her close, he stroked her hair and kissed her cheek. “I don’t know, but it won’t be for the lack of trying, my love.”
She kissed him back. “I want to forget what you said.”
“You can forget until Banapis,” said Erik.
“Until Banapis.”
12
Midsummer
Roo pointed.
“Nothing like that in Ravensburg, is there?” Erik said, “You’ve got the right of it.”
Below the palace, the courtyard was filled with visiting nobles, waiting for the traditional noon start of the Festival of Banapis, Midsummer’s Day. Erik glanced around and felt conflicting emotions; Banapis was traditionally the happiest day of the year, the day when everyone in the Kingdom was counted one year older, a day dedicated to drinking, gambling, making love, dancing, and anything else people could traditionally think of as pleasure. Servants were free to roam after noon and, once the tables were laid out for the nobles, were free to mingle with them or to head into the city to partake of the merriment there.
Back in Ravensburg, things were considerably less formal. The servants worked through the night and morning to prepare the meals, then the town burghers, the members of the local guild, the Growers’ and Vintners’, would leave their hall to signal the beginning of festivities. Everythin
g in Ravensburg was free that day, with those of great and lesser means sharing. Whatever could be was brought to the community table, and at noon the feasting began.
Here there were servants whose part in the festivities wouldn’t commence until the Prince and his family had retired for the night. Some of them would be permitted to leave early, then forced to return to take the place of others, for no matter what the tradition in other parts of the Kingdom, the royal family could never be without servants.
Erik knew from having been involved in the passing of orders that soldiers were warned to limit their imbibing and that any man returning to quarters obviously drunk would be called out for punishment duty the next day. Normally that would have been insufficient to deter some of the younger soldiers, but word had been passed that punishment would consist of a full day beside the convict labor building the new jetty in the harbor.
And that was the reason for the dark shadow that hung over Erik’s otherwise jovial mood. In the back of his mind he couldn’t forget the coming battle, and he fretted over Kitty’s planned escape from the city.
He wrestled with his conscience. He should have gone directly to Lord James and asked him to send Kitty away, but fear of the Duke saying no had led Erik to this implicit defiance of orders. He could claim that because James had not overtly forbidden Kitty to leave Krondor, no one was being treasonable, but Erik knew it to be a petty legalism, and that he was violating the spirit of Kitty’s conditions of service to Lord James, if not the word.
Yet a part of him didn’t care. Her safety was paramount to him, matched only by his fear for his mother and Nathan, her husband. Kitty would carry a letter drafted by Erik to Ravensburg, after Roo gave her shelter. The letter would tell Nathan to take Freida to the East.
Erik understood that should the Kingdom fall, nowhere on Midkemia would prove safe, but he knew that the fighting would eventually reach Darkmoor, and even should the Kingdom prevail, Ravensburg was on the wrong side of the mountains. It would surely be overrun by the invaders.
Roo asked, “What’s the matter?”
Rage of a Demon King Page 25