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Erik wasn’t sure what he meant, for a moment, then realization struck. ‘Mathilda,’ he whispered. He sank back into the bed. His father’s widow, mother to his murdered half-brother, who had vowed revenge on Erik and Roo, had sent someone to see the matter disposed of.
‘They were coming after Roo next,’ said Erik.
‘That’s logical,’ said James.
‘Who was the other man, the quiet one?’ asked Erik as James helped him to sit upright. Nausea struck him, his head rang, and his eyes watered, but he stayed conscious.
‘We don’t know,’ answered Calis. ‘He got out of the inn while we were subduing Dubois.’
‘You captured him?’ asked Erik.
‘Yes,’ answered James. ‘Last night.’ He indicated Kitty. ‘When she left the inn to fetch some of my agents, then returned to find you on the floor, she surmised at once what was going on. She hurried down to the nearest temple and brought a priest to heal you.’
‘Half dragged, you mean,’ said the nameless priest.
James smiled. ‘My men took Dubois to the palace and we questioned him all night. We’re certain the late Baron of Darkmoor’s widow sent him after you.’ James raised one eyebrow and motioned with his head toward the cleric.
Erik said nothing. He knew the Lady Gamina, James’s wife, could read minds, which was why they were certain who had sent the assassin. No confession was needed.
The priest said, ‘I think you should rest. The magic that cleansed your body of the poison didn’t reverse the damage already done you. You will need at least a week of bed rest and a bland diet.’
‘Thank you, Father … ?’ began Erik.
‘Father Andrew,’ answered the priest. He nodded once to the Duke and left without further comment.
Erik said, ‘That’s an odd priest. I don’t recognize his regalia.’
‘I would find it strange if you did, Erik,’ answered the Duke as he moved toward the door. ‘Andrew is a priest of the order of Ban-ath. Their shrine is the closest to this inn.’
The god of thieves was not one commonly worshiped by most citizens. There were two holidays where small votive offerings were made to protect the home, as an appeasement, but mostly those who frequented the temple were on the dodgy path, as it was called. It was rumored the Mockers’ Guild sent a tithe to the temple each year.
James said, ‘I’m going to leave you now. You stay here a couple of days, then you’ve got to get that happy little band of cutthroats we’ve recruited for you up into the mountains and teach them what they need to know.’
Erik glanced around. ‘Where is here?’
‘My room,’ said Kitty.
‘No,’ said Erik trying to rise. He almost fainted from the effort. ‘Give me a little while to catch my breath and I’ll get back to the palace.’
Calis turned to leave. ‘Stay here.’
‘I’ve slept with worse company,’ said Kitty. ‘I won’t mind a pallet on the floor.’
Erik tried to protest but fatigue was making it hard to keep his eyes open.
He heard Calis say something to Kitty, but couldn’t remember what it was. During the night, chills racked his body for a few minutes, until a warm body slipped into bed with him and he felt reassuring arms encircle his waist. But when he awoke in the morning he was alone.
Erik rode in silence. His strength was slowly returning after a few days in bed, and a week in the saddle. Since leaving Krondor he had left it to Alfred to bully the men, doing little more than give instructions to Alfred and another corporal named Nolan. He had inspected fortifications only once or twice. Jadow and the other sergeants had done their work in Krondor. The men were adept at using the ancient Keshian Legion techniques for making camp each night. Within a hour of the order being given, a tiny fortress was in place with breastworks, defensive stakes, and removable planks used to get in and out.
Erik was getting to know these men, though he still couldn’t remember every name. He knew many of them would die in the coming war. But Calis and William were doing a nearly perfect job of picking the right men for these special companies. The men before him were tough and self-reliant and, Erik suspected, would be able to live by their own wits for months up in these mountains if the situation required once they had learned the particulars of mountain living.
Erik considered all the things he knew from living in Ravensburg: the tricks the wind played with sound, the threat of a sudden storm being felt before it was seen, and the dangers of being exposed to such a storm. He had seen more than one traveler dead from spending the night in the cold, only miles from the inn where Erik had grown up.
The wind from the north was cold, for winter was coming quickly. Erik realized that was why he was thinking of the trader they had found when he was ten; the man had tried to shelter under a tree, with his cloak wrapped around him, but in the night the wind had sucked the warmth from his body and killed him as if he had been encased in ice.
They were making their way along a small mountain trail, used for the most part by hunters and a few shepherds, one which ran roughly the same course as the King’s Highway from Krondor to Ylith, but which veered to the northeast about fifty miles from the Prince’s city. Several little hamlets dotted the way up to another fork, where the road turned west again, eventually leading to Hawk’s Hollow and Questor’s View, while a smaller trail led to the northeast, toward the Teeth of the World and the Dimwood. In the foothills of those great mountains and in the various meadows, valleys, and stretches of the forests existed some of the most dangerous and unknown territory within the boundaries of the Kingdom.
Fate had conspired to keep Kingdom citizens out of those areas, for there were no natural trade routes, little desirable farmland, and few mineral riches to lure men to these areas. Erik had decided, without asking anyone, to take his trainees farther on this march than ever before. He had an instinct that the more the Kingdom knew of the north, the less likely they would be to have unwelcome surprises when the Emerald Queen’s army came.
As if reading his mind, Alfred rode up next to him and said, ‘Bit far to go for drilling, isn’t it, Erik?’
Erik nodded. He pointed to a pass off in the distance. ‘Send a squad to scout out that rise, so we don’t find a band of Dark Brothers marching over it unexpectedly, and look for tonight’s camp.’ He glanced around, then said softly, ‘Hunting parties tomorrow. Let’s see who knows how to find his own dinner.’
Alfred shivered. ‘This is a cold place to camp.’
‘The farther north we go, the colder it gets.’
Alfred sighed. ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’
‘Besides,’ said Erik, ‘we’re almost where I want to be.’
‘And would you be in the mood to share that tidbit, Sergeant Major?’ asked Alfred.
‘No,’ said Erik.
Corporal Alfred rode off, and Erik suppressed a smile. The old corporal had served in the garrison at Darkmoor, for Erik’s father, for fifteen years before they met. He was a full twenty years older than Erik’s twenty-two. He had also been an early convert of Erik’s, having been one of the first picked to accompany the levy of men Erik’s half-brother sent to the Prince, and he was one of the few survivors of that journey. Erik had been forced by circumstance to physically beat Alfred three times, the first when Alfred had sighted Erik in an inn in the town of Wilhelmsburgh and Alfred had attempted to arrest Erik. The second time had been during his first week of training under Erik and Jadow Shati, and the third, when he had gotten too sure of himself and thought he could finally best the young sergeant. Then they had voyaged to the far continent, Novindus, and from there they had returned, two of the five men who survived that expedition. Now Erik trusted the man with his life and knew Alfred felt the same way about him.
Erik considered that odd forged bond of soldiers, men who otherwise might have no use for one another but who after serving together, facing death together, felt like brothers. Then, thinking of brothers, he wondered if James would be able to convince Erik’s half-brother’s mother to cease her attempts to kill him. Erik considered that if anyone could do so, it would be Lord James.
The men marched and Erik considered the coming war. He was not privy to all the plans of Lord James, Knight-Marshal William, and Prince Patrick, but he was beginning to suspect what they would be. And he didn’t like what he was beginning to suspect.
He knew more than most men what was coming, but he had reservations about what would be the price of victory, and as he rode down the small path, he heard one of the men pass the word, ‘Scouts coming!’
A man sent ahead with three others jogged at a good pace past the column of men marching ahead of Erik and stopped before the Sergeant Major. His name was Matthew, and he struggled for breath as he said, ‘Smoke, Sergeant!’ He turned and pointed. ‘Far ridge. About a dozen fires, I think.’
As Erik searched the distant ridge, he started to notice the low hanging smoke, easily mistaken for ground fog at this distance. ‘Where are the other scouts?’
The soldier, catching his breath, said, ‘Mark has moved out, while Wil and Jenks are staying where we first saw the smoke.’ He blew out his cheeks a moment, then said, ‘And Jenks will follow about now, I guess.’
Erik nodded. It was the standard procedure for any encounter with potentially hostile soldiers. The scouts always left camp an hour before the main column, moving along the road in pairs, two on each side, scouting for potential ambush. If any potential enemy was spied, orders were for one man to return, the other to scout ahead. If the advance scout didn’t quickly return, a second would follow, to determine if the first was dead, captured, or observing the enemy. If the latter, the advance scout would return as soon as he was relieved, carrying the most up-to-the-moment intelligence while leaving another pair of eyes to watch.
Erik nodded and wished they were training these men as mounted cavalry. That would start next month, but right now he wished for the speed.
Erik signaled and said, ‘Hand signals only!’
The men at the rear turned to look, then started tapping the men in front on their shoulders, relaying the silent order. Alfred motioned and Erik nodded. He signed that he would ride with the advance scout to the van, while Alfred was to bring up the column. He indicated he wanted two squads on the wings, one to the right and one to the left, and ready for anything.
Erik motioned for the scout to take the lead and he rode after. The man jogged at a good pace, and Erik trotted along after him.
After moving up the road for nearly a half-hour, they found the first of Erik’s scouts, watching ahead. He held up his hand and Erik dismounted. Keeping his voice low, he said, ‘No sign of Jenks or Mark, Sergeant.’
Erik nodded, handing his reins to Matthew. He motioned for Wil to come with him and moved along the trail. Glancing across a small valley, he could clearly see smoke from fires along a distant ridge.
He moved another quarter-mile along the trail, then paused. Something ahead wasn’t right. He listened, then realized that while sound was echoing from all around this narrow pass, it was silent ahead. He motioned for Wil to move to the other side of the trail, then he continued down into the thick brush on his side.
The going was slow as Erik carefully picked his way through the dense undergrowth. The trees in this rocky hillside stood in clumps, with relatively bare spots between. At the edge of one such clearing, Erik saw Wil on the other side of the road. With hand gestures, he indicated Wil should loop around and approach the next group of trees from a position farther off the trail.
Erik watched and waited. When Wil didn’t appear again, Erik was certain he knew where whoever was taking his scouts was secreted. Erik surveyed his own surroundings and decided to move farther down slope.
He backed away from the edge of the trees he had hid within, and after a few scrambling half-slides, he was down at the base of a dry creek. During the next rain this defile would be flooded, he knew, but at present there was only a bit of damp soil underfoot to remind him of the last rain in these mountains.
The scent of smoke was now evident, and Erik knew there had been other campfires closer than the ones that now burned, and he suspected that another company of men had broken camp here the night before. A familiar odor greeted Erik and he glanced up the slope. A good job of hiding horse dung had been accomplished, but to someone who had grown up with the animals the scent was unmistakable. The animals had been staked out a short distance from the clearing where his scouts had vanished. The lingering pungency of horse urine would be gone in another day.
Erik moved to the point on the opposite side of the road where his scout had disappeared, and paused, listening. Again there was a dead spot of sound nearby, as if the animals had left and would not return until the present occupants departed.
Erik skirted the edge of the brush, reached the next grove of trees down the downslope side, and started working his way back to the trail. Suddenly he knew; someone was watching him.
While short on years, he was long on experience in warfare, and he knew that he was about to be attacked. He rolled over as a body landed upon the spot he had just vacated.
The man landed lightly on his feet, despite his intended victim’s not being where he had expected, and as he turned, Erik did the unexpected. He rolled back into the man, yanking him down on top of him.
Few men Erik had met were as strong as he, so he felt more confident with both of them in close than having his opponent upright while he tried to rise. Erik rolled the man over and got on top of him.
His opponent was strong, and quick, but Erik soon had his wrists confined. Seeing no weapon in the man’s hand, Erik released his wrist, drawing back his own fist to strike, but hesitated, as he recognized the man.
‘Jackson?’
The soldier said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’
Erik pushed himself off the man and rose to his feet. The soldier was one of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. But rather than the ceremonial uniforms of the palace, or even the daily drilling regalia, he was dressed in a dark green tunic and trousers, with a leather breastplate, short dagger, and metal bowl helm.
Erik extended his hand and helped the guardsman to his feet. ‘Want to tell me what this is all about?’
Another voice said, ‘No, he doesn’t.’
Erik looked to the source of that voice and saw a face familiar to him: Captain Subai of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders.
‘Captain?’
‘Sergeant Major,’ said the officer. ‘You’re a bit off your course, aren’t you?’
Erik studied the man. He was tall, but rangy, close to gaunt, in appearance. His face was sunburned and looked like dark leather. His eyebrows and hair were grey, though Erik suspected he was not that old a man. He was rumored to be originally from Kesh, and was counted a fierce swordsman and an exceptional bowman. But like most of the Pathfinders he tended to stay among his own, not mixing with the garrison or Calis’s Eagles.
‘I was told by Prince Patrick to drill my new company and thought I’d wander them a bit through some rougher terrain than just outside Krondor.’ With his chin he indicated the distant smoke. ‘Your fires, Captain?’
The man nodded, then said, ‘Well, take your men north if you want, but don’t come this way, Sergeant Major.’
‘Why not, Captain?’
The man paused and said, ‘That wasn’t a request, Sergeant Major. That was an order.’
Erik wasn’t inclined to argue the chain of command. This wasn’t some noble’s hired mercenary but a Knight-Captain of the Prince’s army, a man with rank equal to Calis’s. Erik thought Bobby de Loungville might have a clever rejoinder in this situation, but all Erik could think to say was ‘Yes, sir.’
Subai said, ‘Your scouts are over there. They need some work.’
Erik crossed the road and found another pair of soldiers standing guard over Wil, Mark, and Jenks. His men were tied up, but not uncomfortable. Erik glanced at the two guards, and saw that one was a Pathfinder and the second another of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards.
‘Cut them loose,’ said Erik and the two guards complied. The three rose slowly, obviously stiff from their confinement, and flexed a bit as the two guards handed them back their weapons.
Wil began to speak, and Erik held up his hand. A faint noise came to him and he recognized it, then another, and a third. ‘Come along,’ he ordered his men.
After they were well away from the Pathfinders, Erik asked, ‘They jumped you from the trees?’
Mark said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’
Erik sighed. He had almost been taken that way as well. ‘Well, look up more often.’
The men waited for an outburst, or some other form of recrimination for allowing themselves to be captured, but Erik’s mind was elsewhere.
He mused on the presence of Prince Patrick’s select guard along that distant ridge, working hand in glove with the Pathfinders and their odd Captain. More odd yet was the presence of many soldiers on a distant ridge where every map said there were no trails, and oddest of all were the faint sounds that had carried to Erik. The second had taken him longer to recognize, but he knew it had been the sound of axes felling trees. That and the sound of picks on rock had not come to him as quickly as the first sound, one he knew well from his childhood: the sound of hammers striking iron on an anvil.
As they cleared the ridge to where the remaining scout waited, Jenks made bold to ask, ‘What are those blokes doing over there, Sergeant Major?’
Without thought, Erik said, ‘They’re building a road.’
‘Over there?’ asked Wil. ‘Why?’
Erik said, ‘I don’t know, but I intend to find out.’
The problem was, Erik had a good idea why they were building a road along that distant ridge, and he didn’t like the answer.
• Chapter Three • Queg (#ulink_d004856f-778a-5370-8933-6ff264d8cea6)
Roo scowled.
Karli stood aside, obvious awe on her features, as the Duke of Krondor entered their home. She had met Lord James once before, at a gala Roo had thrown to mark the advent of his success with the founding of the Bitter Sea Company. Outside the door a carriage waited. Four mounted guards, one carrying a spear from which hung the ducal banner, stood holding their horses’ bridles.
‘Good evening, Mrs Avery,’ said the Duke. ‘I’m sorry for the unexpected intrusion, but I need to borrow your husband for a bit.’
Karli was nearly speechless, but she managed to say, ‘Borrow?’
Duke James smiled and took her hand, squeezing it slightly. ‘I’ll return him to you undamaged. I promise.’
Roo said, ‘Shall we talk?’ He indicated his study.
The Duke said, ‘I think so.’
He removed his cape and handed it to the astonished serving girl who had come to see who was at the door, and swept past her and Karli.
