King of Ashes

by Raymond E. Feist

  Hatu fell silent, then finally asked, ‘What is the reason, then, master?’

  Facaria chuckled, ‘Sex can be a powerful glue, boy, and if you love someone truly, you’re bound to that person.’ He looked at Hatu as they entered the market, the very last one Hatu, Donte, and Hava had watched from a nearby roof, in what seemed now like a lifetime ago. ‘Now, do you know why we wish you to avoid that?’

  Hatu shook his head.

  ‘Because those who rise to sicari, or even higher, to nocusara, must put their nation and their family first. In the old tongue, our female nocusara, the assassins who pose as concubines, wives, and courtesans, are called noconochi. It was death to any man of the nocusara who took such a woman as his lover. For the fighters like your friend Hava, a female sicari, we had other names, but in the end the rule was applied in the same way.

  ‘“You cannot be loyal to two masters” is an old saying. And it is true of a master and a spouse, so we try to keep you from having to make that choice.

  ‘If you are serving with someone you love and find you must leave them behind, condemn them to death or capture, to complete your mission …’ He waved his hand around the market as they moved towards the streets leading to the docks. ‘Now do you see?’

  Hatu said nothing. He recalled how he felt leaving Donte behind, then realised he couldn’t imagine making that choice with Hava. After a moment he nodded that he understood.

  He was silent until they saw the docks and the ships in the harbour beyond. ‘Master, if I am not born of Coaltachin, why—’ Hatu struggled to find words.

  ‘Why did we raise you as one of our own?’

  ‘Yes, master, if I am never to be of the Quelli Nascosti, why wasn’t I … just given an apprenticeship in a common trade?’

  ‘I was charged with raising you as a child in my family’s household. Because I am a man of my word and a master, this meant I had to treat you as if you were my son or nephew’ – he smiled very slightly – ‘niece or daughter, as I have all of you who were once students on our island.

  ‘It would be false to say that I have developed any special affection for you, Hatushaly. You were certainly one of the more interesting students in my school, but my affection for students began to die with my sons and the rest of my family.

  ‘But I am certain you are to play a role in the future of Coaltachin, and while I am unsure whether your part will be for good or ill, it was my duty to give you as much knowledge as I could to perform it.’ He reached the edge of the docks and said, ‘Now, return to Zusara’s home and enjoy his wife’s cooking, and remember that everything he said about women was a lie, and that your task from now on is to sift lies from truth.

  ‘Reza is clever, so share no hint of what we have talked about, and when Hava joins you—’

  ‘Hava is coming with us?’ blurted Hatu, interrupting Master Facaria. Catching his loss of manners, he added, ‘Apologies, master. I beg your forgiveness.’

  Facaria nodded. ‘It is a small thing. I would never have brought you back together, but perhaps it is a good thing. She will be charged with watching you, so I charge you to watch her.

  ‘This may be my last visit here, Hatushaly. It is certainly the last time I shall see your face. May whatever gods you favour, favour you in return.’ He held out his hand and Hatu put the master’s travel bag in it, and then watched as the old man turned and walked towards the waiting ship.

  For a long time, Hatu stood motionless; then he released the long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in and turned to find his way back to Master Zusara’s home. He tried to keep himself calm, but his heart pounded from the news that Hava was coming. He forced himself to keep a steady walk, despite his unexplained urge to run through the streets.

  • CHAPTER NINETEEN •

  A Change in the Wind

  The wagon bumped along the dusty road as the four horses slowed to go up the next incline while the afternoon sun baked the landscape.

  Declan and Ratigan both wore straw hats, Ratigan’s old and worn, and Declan’s purchased before they left, from an old woman who made them for the workers in the vineyards, orchards, and fields around the city of Marquenet. He was grateful that Ratigan had suggested it, for the heat wave was unrelenting and a felt or leather hat would have provided little relief.

  Ratigan turned to Declan. ‘Look at the end of the road.’

  Declan saw nothing at the top of the rise. ‘What?’

  ‘Dust. Someone’s stirring up dust just out of sight.’

  As soon as Ratigan said that, Declan saw it. A small cloud of dust swirled just above the hill ahead of them, clearly indicating someone was moving around on the other side.

  ‘Bandits?’ asked Declan, shifting his sword so it could be in his hand in an instant.

  ‘This close to Copper Hills’ border? Unlikely.’

  Declan kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and prayed silently that if it was bandits, they had no archers. He’d face anyone with a sword, but he hadn’t developed the knack of dodging arrows yet.

  As they topped the rise, they saw a small contingent of soldiers dressed in the garb of a Copper Hills regiment, reddish-brown tabards with a black hammer in a fist embroidered on them. Declan had seen Baron Rodrigo wear a similar uniform. The dust was caused by a small group of wagons pulling away from their makeshift checkpoint.

  Ratigan said, ‘Ah, that makes sense. They don’t want to set up the roadblock at the crest, because folks would just spot it, and then they’d have a long chase.’ He flicked the reins and clicked his tongue loudly, and the horses set off briskly downhill.

  They reached the checkpoint as an old soldier wearing the chevrons of a sergeant over his breast held up his hand for them to rein in. Ratigan slowed the wagon and another soldier moved to hold the reins of their lead horse, patting him reassuringly on the nose while the sergeant approached.

  ‘Hello, Sergeant.’

  ‘What’s in the wagon?’ asked the bored-looking old fighter.

  ‘Weapons,’ answered Ratigan.

  ‘For the baron,’ added Declan quickly as the sergeant’s expression first moved to concern, then relaxed.

  ‘You the lad from Beran’s Hill?’

  Declan nodded.

  ‘I was told you’d be coming soon.’

  ‘Why the early stop?’ asked Declan.

  The sergeant’s shrug communicated that he knew but wasn’t about to share that intelligence with them. He stepped aside and motioned the wagon forward.

  As they headed towards the distant city of Copper Hills, Declan said, ‘What do you think that was about?’

  ‘Nothing good,’ said Ratigan. ‘I’ve only been up here twice before, and things are usually calm once you’re inside the border. Patrols and road stops are a sign something isn’t as it should be. Smugglers, maybe, or perhaps they’re looking for outlaws. Something is up, or we wouldn’t have been stopped.’

  ‘Seems odd,’ said Declan. ‘Why so far from the city?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the young teamster replied. ‘You get to learn things travelling around; it’s what I call “reading the road”, getting a sense of who is going where, what goods people are shipping. If things are free and easy, and there is no trouble around, it’s usually perishables like meat and fruit, but if there’s a chance that trade will slow, then you see packed beans, salted pork, things that will last longer.’

  Ratigan reached back and patted the canvas that covered the swords Declan had made. ‘Forty swords? I know the baron’s arms master died and it was a while before he found a new smith, but if you want this many swords in a hurry …’ He looked over at Declan. ‘Someone’s making ready for a fight, and a big one at that.’

  After an hour they spied someone walking along the verge of the road, a slender figure in a dusty grey robe with its hood thrown back. He carried a staff in his right hand and had a small pack slung over his left shoulder. From the glistening sheen on his head, he was either bald or had shaved his
pate for some reason. As they neared, he turned and regarded the two men on the wagon.

  Ratigan said, ‘A mendicant friar.’

  ‘Mendicant?’ asked Declan.

  ‘Vow of poverty; he lives off what people give him. Tathan, I’m guessing from the shaved head.’

  ‘Mendicant?’ Declan repeated as the wagon caught up with the hiker.

  ‘You get to learn things travelling around, I told you.

  ‘Friar!’ Ratigan said loudly enough to be heard over the wagon’s clatter.

  The thin monk smiled and inclined his head. ‘Blessings, travellers.’ He made a gesture of benediction that Declan recognised as one common to clerics of Tathan the Pure, now called the Harbinger of the One.

  ‘Copper Hills?’ asked Ratigan.

  ‘Yes, brother,’ answered the friar.

  ‘If you don’t mind sitting on some hard crates, you can ride with us,’ offered Ratigan. Declan’s eyes narrowed, and Ratigan whispered, ‘Luck.’ He reined in the horses, and the slender hiker quickly scrambled aboard.

  ‘It’s a kindness,’ said the friar once he found a relatively comfortable perch in the rear of the wagon. ‘I’m Friar Catharian.’

  Declan nodded in greeting while Ratigan introduced them.

  As Ratigan urged the horses forward again, Declan asked, ‘What takes you to Copper Hills, Friar?’

  ‘The whims of God, I must confess. My order travels, spreading the Word, and I never know from day to day where my journey will lead. Word did reach me, however, of a new church being built in Copper Hills.’

  ‘Church?’ asked Declan.

  ‘Temple,’ whispered Ratigan. ‘The Church of the One …’

  ‘I thought church is what you called your …’ Declan found himself lost for words.

  Friar Catharian smiled. ‘I understand the confusion. The Church is all of the faithful, one in spirit and mind, if not in body. It is also what we call our places of worship, for they are where we gather together.’

  Declan nodded as if he understood and decided to pursue the matter no further. Matters of religion only confused him. From Edvalt’s meagre teachings he had learned that when near a shire you dropped a coin in a box in the hope that it would bring you some kind of luck. Beyond that, he was completely ignorant about matters of belief, and he preferred it that way.

  ‘Where you coming from, Friar?’ asked Ratigan.

  ‘Soladar, and before that Jebank.’ Both cities were inland, to the east.

  ‘What news?’ asked Ratigan in a friendly fashion.

  ‘I pay little attention to gossip,’ said the friar, and instantly Declan assumed the opposite to be the case. He had learned, when living in Oncon, that travellers often bartered news and gossip for food or service. More than once Marius, the innkeeper, had traded a meal, drinks, or a sleeping mat under a table for a good story to keep the locals happy and buying more ale than usual.

  Declan nodded, as if agreeing with the friar. ‘Who needs tales that are probably made up to cadge a meal or drink, right, Friar?’

  Catharian’s face showed only a flicker of annoyance, but it was enough for Declan to recognise that the dig had struck home. ‘Well,’ said the friar after a moment, ‘occasionally, a telling may need a little embellishment to emphasize the importance of the story.’ He looked away as if scanning the horizon.

  Declan and Ratigan burst out laughing, and were joined by Catharian a moment later. When they’d caught their breath, Declan said, ‘Fairly put, Friar. When our business with Baron Rodrigo is done, I’ll happily stand you a meal.’ He glanced at Ratigan. ‘Where are we staying?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Ratigan. ‘Both times before it was Milrose who picked the inns, and I don’t even remember their names. Once we deliver our goods, we’ll find one.’

  Declan looked surprised. ‘I thought you’d been everywhere, knew everything.’

  ‘I only claim to have been everywhere, know everything,’ said the pugnacious teamster. ‘Doesn’t mean it’s so.’

  Catharian laughed. ‘If you have business with the baron, take the high road from his castle when you’re done, go through the north gate, and turn left at the market square, and you’ll find a large inn a few blocks from the western gate. You’ll know it by the sign of three rams prancing above a greensward. If you get lost, ask anyone where to find the Prancing Rams.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Ratigan.

  ‘We’ll see you there?’ asked Declan.

  ‘When we arrive, I too have duties, but I’ll meet you there after sundown and take up your generous offer of a meal.’

  Catharian and Ratigan bantered and swapped stories while Declan listened, silently amused, until they came within sight of the city of Copper Hills. ‘There she is,’ said the friar. ‘It’s been seven years since I was last here.’

  ‘That’s a fair while,’ said Declan.

  ‘Enough time so memories fade,’ said the friar. ‘There were still some old believers who … put up a fuss, when my order first came here, and while I was not part of the Church Adamant, I was blamed the same.’

  ‘Church Adamant?’ asked Declan.

  Catharian said, ‘A martial order serving the church, but they took different vows than those of us who are ordained. You can’t miss them. They carry pure white shields and wear black tabards marked with a single white circle signifying the One God, with no beginning or end.’

  Ratigan said nothing, but Declan nodded. ‘Why would they be here?’

  The friar shrugged. ‘Why would they be anywhere? They have many men with swords, willing to do whatever the Church tells them to do in the name of God.’

  ‘Nothing terrifying in that,’ muttered Ratigan.

  Catharian ignored the jibe. ‘If they’re in Copper Hills it’s because they expect trouble. There’s a fair-sized Kes’tun population in this area, more to the north in the foothills and mountains, and they still hold fast to their beliefs.’ He made a circling motion with his finger, which Declan took to be some sort of new holy gesture, perhaps a warding against evil. ‘And Baron Rodrigo has allowed the building of a new church and a prelature to house an episkopos.’

  ‘We heard about that down in Marquenet,’ said Declan.

  ‘A big city where the law is enforced and things stay under control,’ said Catharian. ‘Up here it’s a little rougher. If any of the locals object to the new way of things and Baron Rodrigo can’t keep order, the church will have its own means of protecting itself.’

  Declan nodded and looked ahead to see a faint dark spot on the horizon that he was certain would turn out to be their destination. He kept his thoughts to himself but wondered what else that small army of faithful soldiers would do for the church if the baron didn’t keep order. For no reason he could put his finger on, he felt a sudden churning discomfort in his stomach.

  AS THEY ARRIVED, DECLAN SAID, ‘This is an odd city.’

  Ratigan shrugged. ‘The way I hear it,’ he said, ‘some of the ancient mining communities that were around here built roads between their towns, and all manner of byways and markets sprouted up and kind of grew around the baron’s keep up ahead.’

  Sprawling was the only word that described the layout of the town. There was no single outer wall, as in Ilagan or Marquenet; instead they had to pass through a series of walled-off sections, four gates, to reach the outer wall of the castle. The central building was situated on a hill that gave it only a little elevation. Declan’s sense of things was that this keep and the surrounding castle grounds had been built for the rulers to pull back to and dig in, not be a position from which to launch a defence of the larger city. Should an enemy reach the city of Copper Hills, it would be every man, woman, and child for themselves while the baron hunkered down for a siege.

  He knew little of warfare, despite knowing a great deal about making weapons. Over the years, some of his conversations with Edvalt had touched upon a story here or there about this battle or that, but all Declan had been left with was the certain
ty of his own ignorance. In this case, however, he had seen enough of other cities’ defences to know should a powerful enemy turn his gaze upon Copper Hills, it would be a place quickly taken.

  Twice, Declan and Catharian had to get out of the wagon and push when the mud came up halfway to the wheel hubs. Both men were filthy by the time they reached the main streets. Even then the going was difficult, as the rains had come the day before and slick cobblestones covered the oldest part of town.

  As they rounded a corner that would put them on the road leading to the castle, Catharian said, ‘See that sign?’ He pointed at a fading sign of three white rams above a greensward.

  ‘The Prancing Rams,’ said Declan.

  ‘I’ll wait for you there,’ said the friar with a wave.

  ‘Shouldn’t be much more than an hour, two at the most,’ said Ratigan. As they pulled away, he said to Declan, ‘Odd fellow, isn’t he?’

  ‘I like him,’ said the blacksmith. ‘Not quite sure why, but he’s got an easy way about him.’

  ‘So do most of the mountebanks and swindlers I’ve chanced across,’ said Ratigan with a chuckle. ‘Some of the most evil men I’ve met were likeable.’

  They rode in relative silence; Declan gawked at the city sights as they approached the keep. Copper Hills was different from any old town he had seen. Rather than the nicer homes and shops usually located near a keep, seedier establishments were encamped beneath the walls. Taverns abounded, as did stalls of gamblers and sellers of mysterious wares. Declan caught only hints of their produce as they rode past. Prostitutes were out in the day, some servicing clients in doorways or down alleys for any passer-by to see. Two men were fighting at a corner, surrounded by men who urged them on.

  ‘Bit rough and tumble around here,’ said Ratigan. ‘Only been up to the castle once before, and from what I was told, the first baron who built the first keep kept drugs, drink, whores, and gambling close at hand, and the tradition stuck. The well-off built their homes over there’ – he pointed westwards – ‘so all the filth and stench stays downwind.’

  ‘I’ve never seen such a city,’ said Declan, seriously amazed and slightly embarrassed. He was hardly a prudish man – growing up on the edge of farming country meant an early introduction to sex, and the town girls had helped once he was old enough – but to see sex, drinking, and fighting in public shocked him. He was surprised by his own reaction.