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The escort behind him also halted as they crested the rise. To their left squatted the abandoned fortification he had seen burning only short months ago, fired on his brother’s command in order to deny the use of it to the Keshians. Down the road ahead, they could see the distant walls of the city of Ylith.
‘Downright peaceful-looking, Highness,’ observed Sergeant Oaks. The rangy, red-headed commander of the escort was the leader of one of Prince Edward’s best combat-proven patrols. Kesh might be observing the conditions of the truce, but trust was still a far distance away. And he didn’t wish to explain to Prince Edward why two of the last three remaining conDoin brothers were no longer among the living.
Riding down the road, they were spotted by city lookouts long before they reached the south-eastern gate. As the company was clad in the tabards of Krondor and as the cease-fire had been honoured for some weeks now, the gate was opened and a familiar face greeted Martin.
‘Captain Bolton,’ Martin said, with surprise and some pleasure. When they had first met, George Bolton had been an annoying, officious young man, his bluster covering his deep fear of showing himself a fool. Under Martin’s guidance he had turned into a competent officer, eager to do his best. He had even begun to manifest some military talent and a quiet courage before the truce.
Martin and Brendan climbed down from their horses and shook hands with Bolton. ‘What news?’ asked the acting city commander.
Before Martin could answer, he was knocked a half-step backwards as Lady Bethany of Carse threw her arms around his neck in a hug so fierce he could barely breathe. Sergeant Oaks and Captain Bolton exchanged a look that conveyed barely contained amusement, while Brendan laughed openly. Martin held her tightly for a moment, then managed to say, ‘Let me breathe, Beth.’
She loosened her hold on him, then kissed him and said, ‘I missed you so much. You were gone so long.’ She wore the leather trousers, linen shirt, and leather archer’s vest she had taken to wearing on the wall when Martin had last seen her. Her hair was gathered up in an efficient knot behind her head. Even without the usual lip paint and powders, jewellery and gowns of the ladies of the court, he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
He nodded. ‘I’ll explain everything when we’re alone.’ Then he smiled and whispered into her ear.
She stepped back, tears streaming down her face. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Turning to Bolton, Martin said, ‘We need to deal with a number of matters.’ He waved in the general direction of the mayor’s home, used by him as a command centre during the assault on the city by Keshian forces. ‘I’ll tell you all the news from the east once we’re seated. What’s the situation here?’
‘Better than when you left,’ said Bolton. He set some of his men to quartering of the escort.
Martin beckoned Sergeant Oaks to accompany them. Brendan said, ‘I’ll get everyone settled and catch up.’ As Bethany clung to his arm and they walked towards the mayor’s house, Martin listened as Bolton reviewed the changes that had occurred since Martin’s departure. Bolton finished by saying, ‘So they’ve held fast to the ridgeline in the hills to the north-west, and down to some imagined line between the Free Cities and Yabon.’ He shook his head as if somewhat confused. ‘They’ve been very quiet, content to do nothing, and if anything they’ve proved to be reasonable neighbours. They sent a message last week telling us that their outriders saw what looked to be a large band of Dark Brothers heading south towards the smaller game trails—’ he looked at Martin as if waiting to be corrected, ‘—heading over the ridges into the Grey Towers and down to the Greenheart.’ Martin merely nodded. ‘They were alerting us to possible raiding.’
‘That’s downright neighbourly,’ Martin said.
Bolton looked a little embarrassed. ‘And there’s been some, well, I guess you could call it “unofficial trading” going on across the lines.’
Now Martin was amused. ‘Keshian belt-buckles?’
Bolton nodded. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s been going on for years along the southern front.’ He glanced over at Sergeant Oaks.
‘Sir,’ said the veteran. ‘Kesh’s finer units, like those Leopard Guard, get some pretty equipment. They have these enamel-and-bronze belt-buckles.’ He held up his hands with fingers and thumb forming a square about two by three inches and said, ‘Really fancy things with a leopard head. Fetches a nice bit of gold in the bazaar. It’s something of a joke among their sergeants that sooner or later every man loses a belt-buckle, usually after a bad run of luck gambling or after having met a particularly pretty whore.’ Glancing at Bethany, he muttered, ‘Begging your pardon, m’lady.’
Bethany just smiled at him.
‘They’re a novelty up here, I guess,’ said Bolton as they turned the corner. ‘But it’s a bit odd, as we’re also getting reports that some stores heading here are being diverted to the Keshians.’ He glanced at Martin to see if he might have done something wrong.
‘Not much you can do about that,’ Martin reassured him. ‘Short of having patrols up and down every trail and road north and west of here, and that’s hardly practical.’ He fell silent for a moment, then said, ‘As it stands, anything that lowers tension along the frontier is to be welcomed.’ He glanced around to see if anyone might overhear. ‘I’ll have more to say on that when we’re alone, but for the time being consider yourself as having discharged your responsibilities in an admirable fashion.’
Bolton looked visibly relieved.
At the mayor’s house, Martin was greeted by Lily, the mayor’s daughter. ‘We haven’t much to offer by way of hospitality,’ she said brightly.
Glancing around the conference room where he, his brother and Bolton had met so often to discuss the defence of the city, Martin felt a sudden exhaustion. He had missed Bethany every moment he’d been away from her, but had managed to stay busy and keep that longing buried deeply. Now she was at his side, but duty required him to be on his way as soon as the horses were rested and a clear way into the Grey Towers was identified. ‘Whatever you offer is fine, Lily,’ said Martin with fatigue creeping into his voice.
‘Vegetable stew and some hot bread,’ said Lily cheerfully as she left for the kitchen.
‘Only water,’ said Bolton, sitting opposite Martin and Bethany. ‘No ale coming from either Stone Mountain or the Grey Towers, and there hasn’t been a shipment of anything up the coast since the hostilities stopped. I expect that will change in a while. Every tavern and inn is making do. Some of the local stuff—’ He made a face. ‘It won’t kill you, but it might.’
Martin laughed. He said, ‘Water’s fine.’
‘Then a hot bath,’ said Bethany, wrinkling her nose, ‘and some rest.’
Oaks and Bolton exchanged quick glances, but neither said a word.
‘Lily,’ said Martin when the girl returned with a tureen of hot stew. ‘Where is the mayor?’
‘He’s out and about, checking on the outlying farms to see who’s still around, who’s hiding what, trying to get commerce moving again, and get some food flowing into the city once more. It’s getting better, but we’re living on stores usually put up for winter. People are tired of fish stew and boiled potatoes and would welcome a little change. It’s not until goods stop arriving you realize how much of what you take for granted comes from far away. All that fruit from Queg and farther south. I haven’t had a good piece of fruit in months,’ she said wistfully.
She left for the kitchen again and Bolton said, ‘Lots of chaos after you left, Highness. The mayor and a few of the more influential merchants headed up north to see if they could organize some sort of temporary governance while all the nobles were gone. Recruit some local lads to act as a constabulary of sorts, so the farmers would risk bringing their crops into the city.’
Lily returned with bowls, a platter of fresh, hot bread, a pot of butter and spoons.
Just then Brendan arrived and, smelling the stew, exclaimed, ‘Perfect! I’m starved.’ With a grin he added, ‘Hello, Lily!’
She gave him a playful kiss on the cheek and he sat down. As the three hungry travellers began to eat, Martin looked at George and said, ‘What else?’
Bolton quickly resumed his summary. ‘The Keshian commander we faced, and his Leopard Guard, have been withdrawn, either recalled or moved somewhere else along the Far Coast. The fellow they’ve left in charge is some sort of … I’m not sure what to call him. He uses the title “premier”, whatever that means.’
Martin said, ‘Really? That means he’s a military governor, not a soldier.’
Bethany said, ‘I’m impressed.’
‘While you and Brendan were out shooting things with arrows, I was studying.’ He asked Bolton, ‘What’s the disposition of their troops?’
‘Mostly militia, but enough veteran dog soldier infantry that if you’re thinking of retaking Crydee, you’d best wait for the Armies of the West to get back here.’
Martin shook his head. ‘Long wait, I’m afraid. They’re all camped on the Fields of Albalyn.’
Bolton and Oaks exchanged glances, but neither said a word. Finally the old sergeant said, ‘We’ve heard rumours.’
‘I am certain you have,’ said Martin.
Brendan added, ‘It’s no rumour. That’s where Prince Edward is camped.’
Bolton waited and when Martin stayed silent, he said, ‘So, we have had a few stragglers wander out of Crydee … Commander?’
Martin smiled. Bolton was waiting for him to clarify the situation. Was he back in charge and what was his current rank?
‘Under instruction from Lord James of Rillanon, I’m currently “Your Highness”, as I am somehow still considered royalty; but for the sake of all our sanity, Martin will do. You’ll remain in command here, George. In fact, I think it safe to say you’re going to find that the rank of captain isn’t a temporary one now. And I’m going to presume on my royal prerogative to also give you military authority for all of Yabon, should anyone from LaMut or Yabon City presume to question you.’
‘Why would anyone question me?’
‘You’ve a lot to learn about politics, George,’ said Brendan with a grin.
Martin tried to suppress a yawn. ‘Now that a truce is in place, we’re in transition, and out of chaos arises opportunity. I will bet you a golden sovereign that when Lily’s father returns, he’ll report that someone from the north with a self-appointed title and a retinue of scruffy guards has named himself Baron of This, or Earl of That, or someone else will turn up within a few more weeks claiming some privilege or another, and seeing your age will try to browbeat you into accepting their orders.
‘Confidence tricksters, charlatans, minor nobles with ambition, whoever it may be, feel free to toss them into the local gaol and wait for whoever does return from Prince Edward’s encampment.’ He again tried to suppress a yawn. ‘I have to travel into the mountains and do some exploring for Duke James and whoever turns out to be our next king. So, after my men have rested, I’ve got a Keshian premier to bribe and a guide to find, and some back country to scout. But for now, a bath, and some sleep.’ Rising as if his joints were a hundred years older than he was, Martin said, ‘If you need me, feel free to wake me.’
Sergeant Oaks made a half-hearted response that indicated that unless the city was on fire, Martin would sleep through the night.
Brendan said, ‘I’ll quarter with the men.’ He tried to look serious, but could barely contain his mirth; he usually shared quarters with his brother, but he suspected the young lovers might need their privacy.
Martin followed Bethany to the room he had previously occupied with Brendan and found a clawed-foot brass-and-porcelain tub set in the middle of the room. It was filled with steaming hot water. Martin looked at Bethany with a questioning expression.
‘We found it up in the old keep, and Lily convinced George to fetch it down so we wouldn’t have to use that old wooden horror her father has kept here far too long.’
‘Small pleasures are a gift in times like these,’ said Martin, stripping off his clothing.
Wrinkling her nose, Bethany gathered them up and tossed them outside the door. ‘Getting you clean is hardly a small pleasure. You positively reek.’
‘A week’s hard riding.’ A satisfied sigh followed as he lowered himself into the hot water. He lay back and slowly slid down the smooth porcelain tub until his head was completely underwater, then slid back up, his hair soaked. Instantly he felt Bethany’s fingers applying soap to his scalp, a creamy concoction she used. It had a floral fragrance, but Martin was too tired to complain. Besides, it did smell better than the usual harsh soaps his father had stocked at Crydee, composed of lye, tallow or oil, ash, and some attempt at a scent with whatever the soap-maker had at hand. This aromatic soap must be something Lily’s father had bought before the war from one of the finer soap-makers in Queg.
Martin closed his eyes and let the warmth soak into his bones, thinking that whatever else one might say about the Quegans, they knew how to make luxury goods: silken garments to rival the finest in Kesh, wines equal to the best in the Kingdom, jewellery and cut gems without equal. His thoughts drifted off for what seemed a moment, until he felt Bethany push at him gently and whisper in his ear, ‘None of that, now. You’re off to bed for some rest.’
He blinked awake and realized he must have dozed off for the water was cool. ‘I thought about climbing in with you,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘but you’re farther gone than I thought in the kitchen.’
He grinned. ‘I might surprise you.’
‘Get to bed and maybe we’ll find out, but sleep first!’ Her expression was concerned as she handed him a towel. ‘You don’t plan on lingering, do you?’
‘I’ve got my orders,’ he said, drying off. ‘With the nasty business shaping up in the east, Lord James is desperate to know exactly what we face, and everything we can deduce from the madness of this last war tells us that whoever was behind that pointless bloodshed wants the bulk of the Kingdom’s army as far away from the Grey Towers as possible. So that’s where I need to go poke around.’
Bethany tossed Martin an oversized nightshirt, belonging to Lily’s father, most likely, and said, ‘Get some sleep. If you wake for the evening meal, fine; otherwise I’ll let you sleep through.’
‘Don’t let me sleep through the night.’
She came over and sat on the side of the bed. ‘As much as I’ve missed you, my darling, I think rest is what you need most now.’
Bethany wasn’t clear at which precise point Martin had fallen asleep, but he was soundly sleeping by the end of her sentence. She shook her head, torn between slipping between the sheets with him and letting him rest, then let caution overrule desire. He needed whatever respite he could seize during this time in Ylith. Tomorrow he would undoubtedly be away on the Crown’s errand, and she wished him to be in possession of all his wits and resources.
As she started to rise, he reached up and grabbed her belt, yanking her back into bed. She shrieked in surprise. Wrapping his arms around her, he whispered in her ear, ‘I’m not that tired.’
The next morning it was a very refreshed if not entirely rested Martin who came down to break fast. He was pleased to see that the mayor had returned and quickly got brought up to date on conditions north of Ylith. Captain Bolton and Sergeant Oaks were already at the table. Martin looked around them and said, ‘I’m very pleased to see how well you’ve all done since I left.’
The mayor said, ‘We try. Fishing is reasonable, given how far out the boats go – there are a great many warships still on the water – but with all the people who fled when the Keshians arrived, we don’t have as many mouths to feed as before the war.’ He fell silent for a second and Martin realized he was also considering those who had died. ‘Still,’ he added brightly, ‘we’re starting to see some farm produce coming into the city. Higher-than-usual prices have lured farmers previously reluctant to venture from home during the fighting, and while the produce is not of highest quality, it suffices.’
‘Some of the townswomen had vegetable gardens,’ said Lily. ‘Rather than merely store the produce for next winter, they’re selling it at market on Sixthday.’
‘We get along,’ said the mayor.
‘Well, if this peace lasts, we’ll see a return to normality, at least in Yabon,’ said Martin.
‘What of the Far Coast?’ asked the mayor.
‘We don’t know. Earl Robert—’ he glanced at Bethany whose expression turned sombre at mention of her father, ‘—and the other western lords are with Prince Edward. Until the new king is chosen, I don’t see any of them coming back.
‘I was told Carse and Tulan held fast as Crydee fell, so we can hope they’re still secured, but cut off from communication.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Captain Bolton.
Martin paused, then asked, ‘What about the deployment of the Keshians along this front?’
Bolton rose from the table and returned with a map. ‘They’re dug in along a line from here—’ he pointed to a game trail in the forest to the south of the road to Crydee, ‘—to here: just draw a line north and south a bit from their barricade at the rise.’ His finger stopped at another point a mile north of the road. ‘I think it’s for show, as if they were concerned we might mount some sort of offensive back into Crydee. They patrol, but their hearts aren’t in it.’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Sergeant Oaks.
‘They send one patrol to the south in the morning and it returns by lunch. Then, after lunch, they send the same patrol to the north and it’s back by nightfall.’ He laughed. ‘We can see them from the western wall. It’s got so predicable my men place bets on which Keshians get sent out. My men are convinced it’s some sort of punishment duty, as the patrollers look either dejected or annoyed when picked. My lads have even given them names. There’s Fatty, Droopy, Thunder Gut—’
‘Thunder Gut?’ asked Martin.
Bolton grinned. ‘Apparently he can fart so loud you can hear him on the wall.’
‘No? Really! That’s a quarter mile away!’
Oaks didn’t look convinced. ‘I don’t know about the names, but soldiers get good at reading the mood of other soldiers. If they’re sending out patrols as a matter of punishment, the captain’s right; they’re doing it for show.’
Martin thought about this, then said, ‘I had been instructed by Lord James and his grandson that a cautious approach was needed, a discreet bribe to get a small squad across the frontier on the excuse of needing to return to Crydee to recover some family heirlooms, as if any might not have been plundered already. I always thought a better approach would be for the Keshians to not know we crossed the line at all.’
‘That should be easy enough if you’re careful, Martin,’ said Bolton. ‘If you sneak out at night down the coast toward the Free Cities, just shy of the Keshians’ first checkpoint on the road to Natal, lie low for the day, then head up into the woodlands and find a game trail.’ He shrugged.
‘I think I have a better idea,’ said Martin. ‘How far behind the lines does that old bolt-hole from the castle extend?’
Bolton said, ‘Only a few dozen yards, really. It’s awfully close to the Keshian line, Martin.’
‘But if we come out after their last patrol of the day has returned to their camp, and we’re quiet enough, we can loop around behind their camp and be halfway up the mountain by sunrise.’
‘If those elves up there let you get that close,’ said Bolton. ‘We heard a rumour that a Keshian patrol got too close to their city and were routed. I don’t know how true that is. We heard it from a refugee from Walinor, up in the foothills. He and his family managed to get out when the Keshians turned south towards Hu-sh. Before they left, he said they sent that patrol up into the Grey Towers, and not many of them came back. A few of the Keshian soldiers complained about their commander’s decisions in earshot of some of the townspeople before they left for Hu-sh.’ He looked at Martin and added, ‘It’s your mission, Highness, and it’s a bold plan.’ He smiled. ‘Glad it’s you climbing that pile of rocks, and not me.’
‘You’ll have your hands full enough for a while, George. I suspect it’s going to be some months before the Duke of Yabon or any of his vassals return. You’re going to be in command of what’s left of the military for all of Yabon.’
‘Not that it’s much,’ said Bolton. ‘I can barely scrape together a decent-sized patrol once a week to ride up to LaMut. We only get word from Yabon through LaMut. The Hadati tribes along the northern foothills keep things pretty peaceful up there: they’re not kind to renegades trading with the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, but banditry along the roads south of there is starting to be a problem.’
‘We’ll see what we can do,’ said Martin, ‘once I get back.’
‘You’re not taking all the lads,’ said Oaks. ‘We could take a small patrol up to Yabon and back. Show the colours, as it were.’
Martin calculated. ‘I’ve hunted in those mountains since I was a boy.’
A slight clearing of her throat from Bethany told Martin what she thought of that, given that he was a terrible bowman.
‘I have hunted in the Grey Towers from the Crydee side all my life.’ He turned to Oaks. ‘Ignore her.’
‘Ignoring the lady, Highness,’ said Oaks, his stoic demeanour barely hiding his amusement.
‘I’m not taking any of your men, Oaks. They’re good soldiers, but none of them are mountain-trained.’ Turning to Bolton, Martin said, ‘Get me four of your best hunters or trackers, George. I want lads who know how to move through the woods quietly.’
