Roo sat alone in the chair and felt all strength drain from him. It was all he could do to rise and move to a divan a few feet away and lie upon it, facedown so as not to put pressure on his shoulder. Helen in love with him? It couldn’t be possible. Like him, yes. Be grateful for his care of her, and the children, yes. But love him? It couldn’t be.
Then Roo felt all the anger, pain, and loneliness of his life rush to the surface. He had never felt so stupid, inept, and ill-used. Two people he thought loved him had plotted to kill him and were dead.
Now Luis was telling him that the woman he admired the most in the world was in love with him, and he must send her away. Tears came unbidden as he lay there, feeling sorry for himself, and anger at his own shortcomings. Sleep came quickly as exhaustion overtook self-pity, and it seemed only brief moments of rest were his before Luis was waking him, telling him it was time to leave his home.
Roo rose on shaky legs and let Luis give him a hand to where the wagons were lined up. Roo blinked and realized Karli, Helen, and the children were all in his coach, ready to go. “I let you sleep to the last minute,” said Luis, indicating that Roo should enter the coach.
Roo glanced to the west and saw the sun rising. “We should have been gone an hour ago,” he said.
Luis shrugged. “We had much to do and little time to do it. An extra hour will not see us safe.” He pointed to the west.
In the grey light of dawn, Roo saw towers of smoke in the distance. Burning homes. To the northwest faint glimmers of fire could be seen. “They’re close,” he said.
“Yes,” said Luis. “Let us go.”
Roo entered the carriage and crowded in beside Karli. Helmut, his son, sat on his mother’s other side, while Helen was flanked by her two children. Abigail sat on the floor of the carriage, between Karli’s feet, playing with a doll and singing a little song. Roo let his head loll on his wife’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
The ride was bumpy and probably would not let him sleep, but he would rest his eyes awhile. As sleep returned to Roo, he wondered how Jacob Esterbrook would do in his negotiations with the invaders.
Jacob Esterbrook sat quietly behind his desk. He knew the first moments of his confrontation with these new invaders would be critical. If he showed fear or panic, any hint of uncertainty or hostility, they would react badly. But if he was calm and merely asked to speak to someone in authority, someone who could relay his message from key figures in the Keshian court to this Emerald Queen, he was certain his position would be protected.
He had experienced some surprising distress on discovering his daughter was dead. He had never liked the girl much, but she had proved useful, as had her mother before her.
Jacob wondered why some men felt so much concern over matters of children, who remained a mystery to him.
The sound of horses outside announced the arrival of the raiders, and Jacob composed himself. He had thought of what he would say. Footfalls echoed in the hall outside, and the door was thrown open.
Two oddly dressed men entered, one with a sword and shield, the other with a bow. Both had their hair heavily greased, with long braids that hung in a semicircle below their heads, and both wore scars on their cheeks, ritual in nature, Jacob decided, rather than from combat.
Jacob held up both hands to show he was unarmed, the scroll of credentials held in his left hand. His intelligence about the far continent had told him the denizens of that far land spoke a variant of the Keshian tongue, one used years ago in the Bitter Sea, related to the dialects of Queg and Yabon.
“Greetings,” said Jacob slowly. “I wish to speak to someone in authority. I have a message from the Emperor of Great Kesh.”
The two warriors looked at one another. The bowman asked a question of the other, in a language unlike anything Jacob had ever heard before, and the one with the shield nodded to the bowman. The archer raised his weapon and snapped off an arrow, which pinned Jacob to the back of his chair.
As the light fled from Jacob’s eyes, he saw the two men pull knives and approach him.
Later that morning a captain of one of the many mercenary companies serving the Emerald Queen rode up with a squad of twenty men. They fanned out, ten circling the estate, while eight dismounted and hurried inside, the remaining two holding the horses. Every man in the company was starving and anything besides food was going to be ignored for a while.
A few moments later one of the fighters came out of the house with a disgusted expression on his face. “What is it?” asked the Captain.
“Those damn Jikanji cannibals. They’re in there eating someone.”
The Captain shook his head. “Right now I’m half-tempted to join them.” He glanced around. “Where’s Kanhtuk? He speaks their gibberish. We need to tell them to get down the road and find some food besides long pig.”
The men returned and one said, “There’s some livestock in back: chickens, a dog, and some horses!” Another rider came up and said, “There’s cattle in the field, Captain!”
With a laugh, the Captain dismounted. “Take the horses for remounts. And let’s slaughter those chickens. Get a fire going.”
Men ran to do as they were bidden. The Captain knew the beef would have to go to the Queen’s quartermaster, but he and his men were going to have some chicken first. At the thought of hot chicken his stomach cramped. He had never been so hungry in his life.
As men started killing chickens, the Captain shouted, “And slaughter that dog!”
He felt relief they had found food. How a land that looked so lush could be so devoid of anything to eat was a mystery. They had found gold and gems, fine cloth and items of rare beauty, everything that was usually hidden, and no food. Throughout his life as a soldier, those who ran took their gold and jewelry, valuables of every stripe, with them, but they didn’t carry off grain, flour, vegetables, and fowl. Even game animals were scarce, as if they had been driven away. It was as if the enemy were retreating and taking everything they could eat with them. It made no sense.
The mercenary Captain sat down as a man emerged from the house holding bottles of wine. He greedily drank down the wine and absently wondered how long he could have resisted joining the Jikanji at their feast.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he realized he was free not to worry about that pass for a few more days. In the distance he heard the barking dog fall silent with a single whimper, and the squawk of chickens as their necks were wrung.
18
Delay
A loud rumble came through the floor.
Lysle said, “Are you planning to blow up the entire city, Jimmy?”
James looked at the others in the gloom of the warehouse and quietly said, “Probably.” He looked at his brother in the dim light of a single lantern. For two days his soldiers had been making forays into the sewers, gathering information, marking the progress of the fighting above, and coordinating the defense of the city. One of the things James had known was that the demon’s magic would probably result in a quick entrance into Krondor. Rather than have everything committed to the walls and nothing inside, therefore, he had sacrificed the lives of hundreds of soldiers so that the enemy would think the city heavily defended, only to discover once inside Krondor that the battle had only just begun.
Between coordinating the defense from his underground command post and eating and sleeping only briefly, he had gotten the opportunity to know his brother. He found a sadness in realizing that as he neared seventy years of age, he had only spent hours with his brother. He knew that Lysle was a murderer, career thief, smuggler, and panderer, and guilty of as many crimes as a dung heap had flies, but in Lysle he saw himself, had he not chanced to encounter Prince Arutha so many years before. He had told Lysle about that meeting, catching sight of the Prince in the street as he sought to avoid being caught by Jocko Radburn’s secret police, and how later he had saved Arutha’s life from an assassin on the rooftops. That act had led to Jimmy the Hand, boy thief, becoming Squire James, and here, nearly fi
fty years later, James, Duke of Krondor.
James sighed. “I could have used you many times over the years, had I known I could trust you.”
Lysle laughed. “Jimmy, in the short time I’ve known you—what? three visits in forty years?—I’ve come to love you like the brother that you are, but trust? You’re joking.”
James laughed. “I suppose. Given the chance, you’d have had me hung for treason and you’d be Duke of Krondor.”
“Probably not. I never dreamed of ambition like that.”
The two men heard another dull thump, and one of the guardsmen said, “That must be the abandoned warehouse in the mill district, down by the river. We stocked two hundred barrels in there.”
Since before the siege, James’s men had been moving through the city, leaving barrels of Quegan fire oil in strategic locations. “You should have seen the defense of Armengar,” James told the guard. “That city was a defender’s delight and an attacker’s nightmare.” He made a wavy motion with his hand, like a snake moving through grass. “No street longer than a bowshot without a curve in it. Each building with no windows at Street level, heavy oak doors that could be bolted only from inside, and every rooftop flat.”
The soldiers smiled and nodded, as one said, “Archery platforms.”
James said, “Absolutely, so the defenders could move from rooftop to rooftop via long planks they pulled along after them, while those below were exposed to arrow fire every step of the way. When Murmandamus and his troops were in the city, Guy du Bas-Tyra fired twenty-five thousand barrels of naphtha—”
“Twenty-five thousand!” said Lysle. “You’re joking.”
“No, and when she blew . . .” He sat back against the wall. “I can’t describe it. Just imagine a tower of fire that reached the heavens, and you’ll have some idea. The noise. I was nearly deaf from it. My ears rang for a week.”
A knock sounded on the door and men drew weapons. It was repeated in the expected pattern, and the single lamp was shuttered while a patrol was admitted.
A half-dozen soldiers were quickly inside, followed by three civilians. “Found them wandering around down here,” said the leader of the patrol.
Rigger looked them over and said, “They’re mine.”
“And who are you?” asked one of the three men.
James laughed. “Anonymity has its drawbacks.” To the three thieves he said, “He’s your boss. This is the Upright Man.”
The three looked at one another and one of them said, “And you’re the Duke of Krondor, no doubt.”
Everyone in the room laughed, except the three men. A young woman, one of Lysle’s thieves, came and explained how things were. When it was clear she wasn’t joking, and when one of the heavily armed soldiers also said it was true, the three men fell quiet. The Duke and the leader of the Thieves’ Guild might be sitting in a basement connected to the sewer, but they were still the two most powerful men in the city.
At regular intervals, scouting parties went out and returned, bringing news of the fighting in the streets above. The defenders were making the invaders pay for every street and house, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion.
After having been cooped up for days, Lysle said, “If the battle’s lost, why not order your lads out of the city?”
“No way to get the orders to them, sorry to say,” said James, and his expression was one of genuine regret. “And for our plan to work, the invaders must think we’ve spent our entire army here.”
“Gad, you’re a bloody one,” said Lysle. “I don’t know if I could order that many lads to their death.”
“Of course you could,” said James matter-of-factly. “If your job was to preserve the Kingdom, you’d trade a city, even the Prince’s.”
“What’s the plan, then?”
James said, “I’ve got a few thousand barrels of Quegan fire oil down here, and they’re rigged to pour into the sewers. Sooner or later those bastards above us are going to figure out some of the populace is hiding down in the sewers, and when they do, I’ve got a surprise for them.”
“A few thousand?” Rigger whistled in appreciation. “That’s nasty stuff. The fire will burn right on top of the water.”
“More,” said James. He pointed to a chain, relatively new from the look of it, that hung near one wall. A soldier had been stationed to guard it at all times.
“I’d been wondering about that.”
“It’s something I picked up from old Guy du Bas-Tyra when we fled Armengar. Pull that chain and you’ll release a light spray of naphtha into the tunnels. There’s a series of small, closed-off drains, pipes, and culverts—”
“I know those. The old city’s first sewers. But they were closed off when the deeper sewers were built a hundred years ago.”
“Well, they’re reopened.” He sat back against the wall. “There are advantages to having every plan ever made for every building and public improvement in the city. When those culverts are filled with naphtha gas, they’ll bleed the fumes into the larger sewer tunnels. There they’ll combine with the existing sewer gas, the Quegan oil floating on the surface of the muck, and whatever barrels of oil we can cut loose up here, and when the fires hit them, the entire city is, going to blow.”
“Blow?”
“Explode,” said James. “There won’t be two stones in Krondor resting one atop the other when the dust settles.”
“Damn me,” said Rigger.
James said, “This is the only home I’ve known, sewers or palace, thieves or nobles. Krondor is where I was born.”
“Well, if you’re planning on dying here, would you allow me the opportunity to get a little distance away before you pull that chain?”
James laughed. “Certainly. Once we pull that chain we’ve got about an hour, unless there’s already a fire at this end of the sewers.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how much time we’ll have then.” He pointed to a door in the easternmost wall of the basement. “There’s a tunnel there that leads out to a building in the foulburg. As I said, this was Trevor Hull’s and the Mockers’ best route for smuggling into and out of Krondor.”
“So you’ll send everyone ahead, and pull the chain, then run like hell?”
James grinned. “Something like that.”
Rigger sat back next to his brother. “Well, I don’t fancy climbing into the daylight surrounded by an invading army, but I’ll take my chances that way rather than sit here and fry.”
A noise from above caused them all to look up at the ceiling, the floor of the basement of the old mill. The subbasement entrance was hidden, but guards moved quietly to their side of the trap, weapons drawn and ready.
“Sounds like they’ve reached this end of the city,” said James softly.
“Or someone is trying to find a place to hide,” whispered Lysle. “Maybe some more of my people.”
James signaled one of his guards, who nodded. The man quietly put down his sword and shield and climbed up the short flight of stairs leading to the trap in the floor above. He pushed opened the door slightly, allowing him to peek through the door, and stepped back, obviously surprised. “M’lady,” he said.
James’s head snapped around as he saw his wife descending the stairs to the subbasement. “What are you doing here!” he shouted.
Gamina held up her hand. “Don’t use that tone on me, Jimmy.”
James’s rage was barely held in check. “You were supposed to be in Darkmoor by now, with Arutha and the boys. How in heaven’s name did you get here?”
She was muddy, with dirt on her face. Her hair was disheveled and covered with soot. She said, “You forgot Pug gave you one of those Tsurani transport spheres. I didn’t.”
“How did you know where to find me?” he said, his tone still seething anger.
Touching her husband’s cheek, she said, “You foolish old man, did you think I couldn’t hear your thoughts a world away?”
His anger fled. “Why did you come? You know there’s a chance we won’t get o
ut of here alive.”
Her eyes grew moist with emotion and she said, “I know. But do you think that after all these years together I could live without you?”
James gathered her into his arms and held her close. “You must go back.”
“No, I won’t,” she said firmly. “I can’t. The device is out of power. The best I could manage was to get to the market near the wall, and then I tossed it somewhere back in the mud. I had to make my way here on foot.” She moved close to him and held him, whispering in his ear, “If you can’t live without this damn city, you must know I can’t live without you.”
He held her in silence. After nearly fifty years of marriage he knew he could not win an argument with her. It had been his intent to be the last to leave the city, and if fate decided he would die with Krondor, he thought it might be for the best; since constructing the plan for the defeat of the enemy he had constantly wrestled with the terrible price paid by the citizens of the Prince’s capital. There could be no early warning for them, no orderly evacuation, for if the enemy had thought the city without plunder and food, they would have bypassed it. More, the enemy must think the bulk of the Kingdom army destroyed in Krondor.
James could hardly bear the idea of leaving so many people, so much of what had been his life, to die while he lived on. Perhaps it was fear of the ghosts of those who had paid the ultimate price so that James could buy time for the Kingdom; he didn’t know. All he knew was that at some point in the planning for the defense of the Kingdom, James had decided that when it came time for his city to die, for Prince Arutha’s city to die, he would most likely die with it. But now he had to leave, for he knew Gamina would not leave without him.
Lysle said, “This is your wife?”
James nodded, holding Gamina’s hand. “This is the only woman I’ve loved, Lysle.” He smiled at her.
Her head came around and her eyes widened. “Your brother?” He nodded. She turned to Lysle and said, “I’ve heard of you, but had no image of you.” Glancing back and forth, she said, “It’s obvious.”
Rage of a Demon King Page 39