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‘I thought Zane … wasn’t he betrothed?’
‘Almost. But he has a wandering eye, that one.’
‘And Tad’s too mindful of his duty.’ A moment of sadness passed over his face. ‘You three are as close to family …’ He let the thought go unfinished.
Jommy’s eyes scanned the room, never for an instant forgetting they might be overheard if he wasn’t cautious. ‘I know. Have you spoken with Pug recently?’
‘Not in a while,’ Jim kept his voice down despite the chatter of voices filling the hall. ‘He’s out chasing demons and seems almost obsessed with it.’
Neither man needed to remind the other it was a demon that had killed Pug’s wife, Miranda. And it was the servant of the Demon King Dahun who had destroyed the home in which Pug’s youngest son and his wife had died.
Jim said, ‘Well, let’s turn to happier thoughts. Why don’t we conspire to meet: you, me, Tad and Zane, at the River House tomorrow? If your wife doesn’t object, just us boys?’
‘I’d like that,’ said Jommy. ‘She won’t mind. It’s why I married her: who else would put up with a fool like me?’ His face openly showed a profound gratitude for her existence. He glanced over to where she was in conversation with a knot of ladies, and as if she felt his gaze she turned and looked right at her husband. She smiled and with a slight inclination of her head asked silently how long he would be.
Jommy shook his head slightly then nodded. He turned back to Jim. ‘She’s feeling neglected.’ With a grin he added, ‘I’d best be back to her before she thinks we’re plotting over here.’
As his broad-shouldered friend walked back to his wife, Jim thought: plotting indeed.
Jim Dasher crouched atop the roof of Lady Franciezka Sorboz’s townhouse, feeling the cold ocean night air in his knees. He was definitely getting too old to be out in the field, or at least playing Jimmy the Hand meets a Nighthawk.
That story was family lore and it reminded Jim that there were certain feats attributed to his ancestor he found somehow incredible. The falling off the roof and catching himself without dislocating his shoulders while the Nighthawk overbalanced and fell to his death … Jim glanced down. Dislocated shoulders certainly, then falling all the way to the cobbles, to die in agony. Then again, when Jimmy had accomplished that legendary feat he was but a lad of thirteen or fourteen years – no one was quite sure at what age he had come to Prince Arutha’s attention – and everyone knew boys had incredible flexibility in their joints.
He would give half his fortune for the flexibility and resilience he had possessed at twenty-four years, let alone fourteen. Sitting and sliding to the eaves overhanging the balcony to Franciezka’s bedroom was far less dashing, but as no one was watching, Jim really didn’t care. He was tired and cold, his joints creaky and stiff. While he welcomed Franciezka’s company for either pleasure or business, he still thought getting to see her unobserved was perhaps more trouble than it was worth.
He lowered himself down off the eaves and dropped lightly to the balcony. As he had expected, the door inside had been left unlatched. He entered the bedroom.
Franciezka sat at a writing table, wearing a comfortable-looking lounging robe. ‘On time, as always,’ she said with a smile.
‘You’re not trying to kill me this time, then?’ He sat on the bed opposite her.
She turned and handed him a large document. ‘Not this time. For better or worse it seems we’re allies again.’
He read the two pages and then re-read them. She remained silent while he did so. When he had finished, he said, ‘Is he certain?’
‘Does he sound uncertain?’
‘No,’ said Jim. He let out a long sigh, half relief, half aggravation.
‘Are any of your agents reporting anything like that?’
‘None of my agents are reporting anything.’ All my agents south of the Girdle have gone silent.’
‘Not good,’ she said, looking distressed at the news. ‘Hallon is my only agent who’s managed to get anything out of that region.’
He tapped the document which named the author.
‘Everyone else has gone silent, too.’
‘Hazara-Khan.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded at the name of the man who was almost certainly the head of the Keshian Intelligence Corps.
‘I like him a great deal, personally, but he can be a murderous bastard when he wants.’
She stretched. ‘As can we all.’
‘If he’s killing our agents, war is certain,’ said Jim, suddenly feeling older than his age.
Her sigh matched his mood and for the briefest instant he felt a slight twinge inside and shut it out as quickly as he could. It was one of the gods’ little jokes that the perfect woman in his life was the one he could never have.
His shoulders sagged as he returned the document he had just read to her. ‘Six hundred ships?’
‘That’s Hallon’s best estimate, and he’s one of my best.’ Franciezka rose, crossed to sit next to him, and put her hand over his. ‘And if what he heard at the docks was correct, three hundred of them have already left Hansulé and are sailing past the Forest of the Lost. This isn’t another minor prince of Kesh deciding to make a name for himself grabbing land in the Vale of Dreams, Jim.’
‘No,’ he said, falling back on to the bed. Staring at the canopy overhead he let out another long sigh. ‘This has all the earmarks of an invasion.’
‘But why the West?’ she asked. ‘Kesh has shown no interest in reclaiming Queg, the Free Cities, or the Far Coast since it abandoned them.’
‘I do not know,’ said Jim, looking up at her. ‘You know, you have an incredible face,’ he added, sitting up. ‘Would you consider for just a moment grabbing all the gold you’ve squirreled away over the years while I do the same, then running away with me to some tiny island miles from here where we can settle down with trusted servants and have some children?’
‘I’ve been considering it since the moment I met you, Lord James Jamison, agent of the King, Jim Dasher, thief of Krondor and leader of the Mockers. But we both know that can never happen.’ A moment of sadness passed across her face, then she brightened. ‘Besides, can you imagine what a murderous little crew our children would turn out to be?’
For a brief instant, he appeared to want to say something, then he smiled. He kissed her on the cheek and said, ‘Good night.’
She feigned a pout. ‘And I thought you were going to stay.’
‘So did I,’ he admitted with honest regret. ‘When you’re not trying to kill me, there’s no one I’d rather spend my time with.’ ‘Flatterer,’ she said, theatrically batting her lashes. ‘I’m pleased that we’re going to be on the same side when the bloodletting begins.’
‘Apparently it’s already begun. I’ll instruct key agents to ensure you get copies of all the information we get; as Hazara-Khan is shredding our networks, we need to share intelligence. You know where to send me copies of what you find.’
‘Of course I do. What are you planning?’
‘If my agents are dead, I’ve got to get down there and see for myself what is happening.’
She removed her ring and tossed it to him and he caught it in midair.
‘Look for Hallon. You’ll find him at your usual haunts, the seedier dockside taverns in Hansulé. Rough-looking fellow, dark hair, facial scars—’
‘You’ve just described half the men in that city.’
‘Tattoo of a dagger on his left forearm. He’ll recognize that signet and help if he can.’
‘Thank you, Lady Franciezka Sorboz, lady-in-waiting to the Princess, also Frankie the Razor, Madam Francis …’ He stopped naming her aliases. ‘I really do thank you, Franciezka,’ he said in earnest.
‘We’re allies now,’ she replied in a serious tone. ‘The half of the fleet that didn’t leave Hansulé is almost certainly heading this way. The combined fleets of Roldem and the Isles should be able to deal with the Keshians, but at no small cost. And if they’re also marching an army this way …’ She let the thought go unfinished.
Jim nodded. He tossed the signet into the air, then let it fall into the palm of his hand. Without another word he was out the door and over the balcony.
‘And don’t get yourself killed, Jim,’ Franciezka said after him. Lying back on the bed, she stared up at the canopy and repeated, ‘Don’t get yourself killed.’
Supper was far more pleasant than Jim had anticipated. Jommy, Tad and Zane were the closest thing to friends he had. As Jim Dasher, thief and confidence trickster from Krondor, he had served with them when they were young soldiers training under Kaspar of Olasko for special service. They were still in special services, to the Conclave of Shadows, though they all three currently enjoyed court rank in Roldem, as a result of that special service. All had gained the rank of Court Knight, and each had secured small estates in Olasko, though they all maintained apartments on Roldem Island.
Jommy was married to the King’s niece, which gave him an additional entrée to the court. His brother-in-law, Servan, was Franciezka’s most important agent at court, though almost no one knew this; indeed, Jim had only chanced upon that information by dint of luck and being very good at his job. Jim wondered absently if Jommy had any idea who his brother-in-law really was, and if he might benefit from Jim telling him.
Tad and Zane had been rough-and-tumble village boys who had been raised by Pug’s youngest son, Caleb. As such they stood in a unique position, for they were his foster-grandchildren. Jommy was in a fashion as well, though there were no ties of birth or marriage.
Both were still unwed, but for entirely different reasons. Tad fell in love with every woman of quality he met, to the detriment of his winning a heart. He was too easy. Zane on the other hand was a womanizer with a bad reputation in most social circles; this had the double effect of keeping serious women away while making him even more attractive to young women who seemed not to know better. Not a handsome pair, Tad was showing early grey, as sandy-haired people often do and Zane had an intense darkness about him with a merry glint in his eyes. While not particularly striking, he had learned how to talk women into all manner of things against their own personal best interest.
Talwin Hawkins was another matter. He was an occasional ally of the Conclave, and a former servant, but by dint of his earlier service he had been cast free of any obligation to the Conclave by Pug. Jim had occasionally wondered how wise that had been, but reminded himself that as much as he would have loved to have had the River House restaurants in both Roldem and Olasko as listening posts for intelligence, willing servants were far more reliable than those pressed to duty. And in a crisis, he believed he could count on Tal to stand alongside the Conclave. It was not in his nature to stand aside or serve evil.
That left the boys: Ty knew a little of his father’s role in destroying those who had nearly obliterated his people, the Orosini of the Mountains, a tribal people who were slowly reclaiming their heritage. Many like Tal and his wife, Teal, had spent too many years in cities, years which had blunted their interest and ability to live the old life. It was a life of which Ty knew nothing.
Jim turned to see Henry smiling at a joke Tad had made and thought: there’s a prince without a principality. He had grown up with conDoin kings, as had every other citizen of the Kingdom of the Isles. They were the founding dynasty; they had united the tribes on the Island of Rillanon and spread their banner to the mainland, eventually conquering enough territory to create a nation to rival Great Kesh on this continent.
But it was a dynasty at its end, Jim feared. The vigour was gone, the energy and drive that had given the line a rebirth after the short unhappy reign of Rodric IV. His successor, Henry’s great-great-uncle, Lyam I, had been a great king, a charismatic leader who had inspired love and loyalty in his people after twelve brutal years of war with the invading Tsurani.
Tragedy had kept Lyam from having a son, so the crown went to Borric II, his nephew, who proved as apt and able a ruler as his uncle. Borric’s twin brother, Prince Erland, had been as able in his role as his brother and between the two of them the Kingdom of the Isles had been well served.
But Borric’s son Patrick had been the last of the able rulers and Patrick’s son Gregory had no heir, For the third time since the conDoins took the crown of the Isles, there had been a chance for multiple claimants to the throne. The last time civil war had been stemmed by Henry’s ancestor Martin renouncing the crown for himself and his heirs. But the time before that a great deal of blood had been shed before Borric I took the head of Jon the Pretender.
And the last thing Jim wished to contemplate was a kingdom divided on the eve of what he was certain was going to be a major war with Great Kesh.
‘Lost in thought?’ asked Tal.
Jim smiled. ‘Yes.’ He glanced around the table then said, ‘Tal, could we have the room?’
Tal nodded. The other dinner guests had left an hour before and with a quick word to the serving staff, who hurried to the kitchen, the room was empty save for Jim and his guests.
‘Not to belabour the point, but I’m certain war is coming,’ said Jim. He held up his hand before questions could be asked. ‘I will sum up. There are factions within the Imperial Keshian Army, specifically within the Inner Legion, who are calling for expansion.’
Tad interrupted. ‘The Vale of Dreams?’
‘Traditionally that’s always been their first target. The Vale is the lushest farmland on Triagia and because of the constant warfare, sparsely populated. A colony of Keshian or Kingdom farmers there could double the region’s output of farm goods within two years, tenfold in five.’
Henry was silent, but he knew he had suddenly been propelled into something far more important than a pleasant social evening.
‘But this is something massive. On a far greater scale, perhaps, than we’ve ever seen. A fleet of perhaps as many as three hundred ships departed Hansulé recently, sailing south.’
Jommy looked confused. ‘South? Are they sailing to Novindus?’
‘My best guess is around the southern coast between the Lost Forest and the Island of Snakes and then up to Injune or Elarial. From there …?’ He shrugged.
‘If they mean to take the Vale,’ said Tad, ‘they could be supported out of Durbin. They’d need a fleet that big to keep the Quegans from getting involved as well as keeping the Kingdom’s Western Fleet in Port Vykor busy.’
‘They could go anywhere.’ He looked at Henry and said, ‘Including the Far Coast. The Prince of Krondor has called the Western Muster.’
Henry, Tal, and Ty knew this from two nights before, but Tad, Zane, and Jommy all looked surprised. ‘War footing on the Far Coast?’ asked Jommy. ‘Is it that dire?’
‘I think so.’ Jim pushed himself back from the table. ‘And I need to travel, so to the end of this night, let me add this.’ He looked at Tal. ‘While I’m gone, I would appreciate it if you would agree to aid these other three in their charge.’ Both men knew Jim wasn’t speaking of any political loyalties, but rather Tad, Zane, and Jommy’s responsibility to the Conclave of Shadows. ‘I know your relationship to our mutual friends is complicated, but I trust you implicitly.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Hawkins, and Jim knew that was as good as a promise.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said to the three foster-brothers, ‘I leave this to you. You’ve never failed me or the crowns of Isles or Roldem, and I expect you won’t now.’
Henry looked confused. ‘I’m not sure I understand. I’m not even sure why you asked me here.’
Jim moved around the table and put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. ‘These four men – and young Ty there – are going to take my place while I’m gone. In my absence you’re to consider them your protectors.’
‘We will do whatever is needed,’ said Zane.
‘Yes,’ agreed Tad.
‘I don’t understand. What is “whatever is needed”?’ asked Henry.
It was young Ty who answered. ‘Too much wine? You’re a little slow today, Hal. They’re going to keep you alive when Kesh sends assassins to kill you.’
• CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_15ed40bd-3913-5421-a5da-8ae925fbd0f0) •
Muster (#ulink_15ed40bd-3913-5421-a5da-8ae925fbd0f0)
MEN SHOUTED ORDERS.
Brendan and Martin sat their mounts beside their father, watching and learning as much as if they were also on the muster field. In the distance the archers were shooting at the butts, large piles of loosely-packed earth, each with a target before it. Unlike the King’s army, the Western Muster had no company of fletchers planing arrows, flocks of geese to cull for the arrow flights, or a score of blacksmiths turning out steel arrowheads. Each man of the muster would be given a freshly-made longbow, a score of arrows, and when he was home he’d be obliged to practise for an hour a morning on the butt he’d build alongside his hut, home, or barn. Should a man return with less than eighteen arrows intact, he would be fined a copper coin for each additional replacement beyond two.
Such was the state of military economy in the Western Realm of the Kingdom.
As soon as Reinman and his drunken weather magician had left Crydee, the Duke had begun the muster. This group was the second of three that would train here. It was difficult for the frontier duchy, for there were farmsteads scattered along the entirety of the Far Coast.
Martin looked over at the makeshift workshed where two experienced bowyers, with the help of their apprentices, showed five young men how to turn thick yew branches into bow staves. He remembered his own time in the shed and remembered the other woods that could be used: ash, some oaks, and elm, but yew wood was the finest. He recalled the delight he had felt when he had turned his first branch into a stave and the elder bowyer had studied it and proclaimed it well done, seeing how Martin had shaped it with the heartwood at the grip and along the rear spine, the sapwood in front, an ideal natural lamination that was the best a simple bow could be.
It was ironic, though Martin found no humour in it, that as much as he had enjoyed making that bow, he had been a terrible archer. Not really terrible, he amended as he gave himself some credit, but average. His younger brother and even Bethany were better archers. Having equalled his elder brother Hal didn’t placate the dour young man; Hal was the finest swordsman in Crydee, perhaps in the world if he won the Masters’ Court. Martin disliked constantly being second to others, though there was no one else in Crydee besides Hal who could best him.
Glancing to where Lady Bethany approached beside her father, he realized he was frowning and forced himself to a smile.
‘Robert!’ the Duke said, ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon. Lady Bethany, always a pleasure. Robert, did your wife not travel with you?’
‘She’s not one for long rides,’ said Earl Robert. ‘And I felt the need to come along quickly with some news.’
Duke Henry said, ‘Boys, keep the men at it. They’re lagging in the afternoon heat. No stopping until the supper bell rings.’
His sons indicated they would and watched as their father and Lord Robert rode off a short distance. Bethany rode up and turned her horse so that she was alongside Martin’s. ‘Well, I guess you didn’t expect to see me again so soon?’
Brendan’s eyes narrowed slightly. She had her head cocked as if she were looking past Martin at him, but her eyes were trained on Martin’s face, while he seemed intent on overseeing a sloppy drill of swordsmen banging away with practice swords against one another’s shields. Despite being made of wood, the swords and shields were actually heavier than their metal counterparts so that when the footmen went to battle, the equipment would be lighter than what had become familiar to them. The same was true of the heavy pikemen and spearmen running with their weapons across a distant field.
After a second too long, Martin glanced at her and said, ‘What? Oh, yes. Always a pleasure to see you, Bethany.’ But then something caught his eye and he shouted, ‘You, there!’ He put his heels to his horse’s sides and moved out, circling around the duelling footmen, then dismounted. Taking one man’s place he took his sword and shield and demonstrated how the combat practice was supposed to be conducted. A sergeant of the castle guard saw the young lord dismount and came over to see what was happening.
Martin threw himself into the drill and delivered two ringing blows that soon had his opponent stumbling backwards.
