Magician (39 page)

“Erland spoke of the strain
between himself and his nephew, but even in light of the news I
carry, said nothing about His Majesty’s actions.”

Kerus drew a deep breath and started
walking once more. “Borric, I spend so much time with the
sycophants of the King’s court, I forget that you of the West
are given to plain speech.” Kerus was silent a moment, then
said, “Our King is not the man he once was. Sometimes he seems
his old self, laughing and open, filled with grand plans for the
Kingdom; other times he is . . . someone else, as if a dark spirit
has taken possession of his heart.

“Take care, Borric, for only
Erland stands closer to the throne than yourself. Our King is well
aware of that fact—even if you never think of it—and sees
daggers and poison where none exists.”

Silence descended over the group, and
Pug saw Borric look openly troubled. Kerus continued. “Rodric
fears others covet his crown. That may be, but not those the King
suspects. There are only four conDoin males besides the King, all of
whom are men of honor.” Borric inclined his head at the
compliment. “But there are perhaps a dozen more who can claim
ties to the throne, through the King’s mother and her people.
All are eastern lords, and many would not flinch from the opportunity
to press their claim to the throne before the Congress of Lords.”

Borric looked incensed. “You
speak of treason.”

“Treason in men’s hearts,
if not in deeds . . . yet.”

“Have things come to such a pass
in the East, without us of the West knowing?”

Kerus nodded as they reached the far
end of the garden. “Erland is an honorable man, and as such
would keep unfounded rumors from his subjects, even yourself. As you
have said, it is thirteen years since you last were at Rillanon. All
warrants and missives from the King still pass through the Prince’s
court. How would you know?

“I fear it is only a matter of
time before one or other of the King’s advisers positions
himself over the fallen heads of those of us who hold to our beliefs
that the nobility are wardens of the nation’s welfare.”

Borric said, “Then you risk much
with your frank speech.”

Duke Kerus shrugged, indicating they
should begin their return to the palace. “I have not always
been a man to speak my mind, Lord Borric, but these are difficult
times. Should anyone else have passed through, there would have been
only polite conversation. You are unique, for with the Prince
estranged from his nephew, you are the only man in the Kingdom with
the strength and rank to possibly influence the King. I do not envy
your weighty position, my friend.

“When Rodric the Third was king,
I was among the most powerful nobles in the East, but I might as well
be a landless freebooter for all the influence I now hold in Rodric
the Fourth’s court.” Kerus paused “Your
black-hearted cousin Guy is now closest to the King, and the Duke of
Bas-Tyra and I have little love between us. Our reasons for disliking
one another are not as personal as yours. But as his star rises, mine
falls even more.”

Kerus slapped his hands as the cold was
beginning to bite. “But one bit of good news. Guy is wintering
at his estate near Pointer’s Head, so the King is free of his
plotting for the present.” Kerus gripped Borric’s arm.
“Use whatever influence you can muster to stem the King’s
impulsive nature, Lord Borric, for with this invasion you bring word
of, we need to stand united. A lengthy war would drain us of what
little reserves we possess, and should the Kingdom be put to the
test, I do not know whether it would endure.”

Borric said nothing, for even his worst
fears since leaving the Prince were surpassed by Kerus’s
remarks. The Duke of Salador said, “One last thing, Borric.
With Erland having refused the crown thirteen years ago, and the
rumors of his health failing, many of the Congress of Lords will be
looking to you for guidance. Where you lead, many will follow, even
some of us in the East.”

Borric said coldly, “Are you
speaking of civil war?”

Kerus waved a hand, a pained expression
crossing his face His eyes seemed moist, as if near tears. “I
am ever loyal to the crown, Borric, but if it comes to the right of
things, the Kingdom must prevail. No one man is more important than
the Kingdom.”

Borric said through clenched jaws, “The
King is the Kingdom.”

Kerus said, “You would not be the
man you are and say otherwise. I hope you are able to direct the
King’s energies toward this trouble in the West, for should the
Kingdom be imperiled, others will not hold to such lofty beliefs.”

Borric’s tone softened a little
as they walked up the steps leading from the garden. “I know
you mean well, Lord Kerus, and there is only love of the realm in
your heart. Have faith and pray, for I will do whatever I can to
ensure the survival of the Kingdom.”

Kerus stood before the door back into
the palace. “I fear we will all be in deep water soon, my lord
Borric. I pray that this invasion you speak of will not be the wave
that drowns us. In whatever way I can aid you, I will.” He
turned toward the door, which was opened by a servant. Loudly he
said, “I will bid you a good night, for I can see you’re
all tired.”

The tension in the room was heavy as
Borric, Arutha, and Pug re-entered, and the Duke’s mood one of
dark reflection. Servants came to show the guests to their rooms, and
Pug followed a boy near his own age, dressed in the Duke’s
livery. Pug looked over his shoulder as they left the hall to see the
Duke and his son standing together, speaking quietly to Kulgan.

Pug was shown to a small but elegant
room and, ignoring the richness of the bed covers, fell across them
still fully clothed. The servant boy said, “Do you need aid in
undressing, Squire?”

Pug sat up and looked at the boy with
such a frank expression of wonder that the servant backed away a
step. “If that will be all, Squire?” he asked, obviously
uncomfortable.

Pug just laughed. The boy stood
uncertainly for an instant, then bowed and hurriedly left the room.
Pug pulled off his clothing, wondering at the eastern nobles and
servants who had to help them undress. He was too tired to fold his
garments, simply letting them fall to the floor in a heap.

After blowing out the bedside candle,
Pug lay for a time in the darkness, troubled by the evening’s
discussion. He knew little of court intrigue, but knew that Kerus
must have been deeply worried to speak as he did before strangers, in
spite of Borric’s reputation as a man of high honor.

Pug thought of all the things that had
taken place in the last months and knew that his dreams of the King
answering the call of Crydee with banners flying were another boyish
fancy shattered upon the hard rock of reality.

T
he
ship sailed into the harbor.

The climate of the Kingdom Sea was more
clement than that of the Bitter Sea, and the journey from Salador had
proven uneventful. They’d had to beat a tack much of the way
against a steady northeast wind, so three weeks had passed instead of
two.

Pug stood on the foredeck of the ship,
his cloak pulled tightly around him. The winter wind’s
bitterness had given way to a softer cool, as if spring were but a
few days in coming.

Rillanon was called the Jewel of the
Kingdom, and Pug judged the name richly deserved. Unlike the squat
cities of the West, Rillanon stood a mass of tall spires, gracefully
arched bridges, and gently twisting roadways, scattered atop rolling
hills in delightful confusion. Upon heroic towers, banners and
pennons fluttered in the wind, as if the city celebrated the simple
fact of its own existence. To Pug, even the ferrymen who worked the
barges going to and from the ships at anchor in the harbor were more
colorful for being within the enchantment of Rillanon.

The Duke of Salador had ordered a ducal
banner sewn for Borric, and it now flew from the top of the ship’s
mainmast, informing the officials of the royal city that the Duke of
Crydee had arrived. Borric’s ship was given priority in docking
by the city’s harbor pilot, and quickly the ship was being
secured at the royal quay. The party disembarked and were met by a
company of the Royal Household Guard. At the head of the guards was
an old, grey-haired, but still erect man, who greeted Borric warmly.

The two men embraced, and the older
man, dressed in the royal purple and gold of the guard but with a
ducal signet over his heart, said, “Borric, it is good to see
you once more. What has it been? Ten . . . eleven years?”

“Caldric, old friend. It has been
thirteen.” Borric regarded him fondly. He had clear blue eyes
and a short salt-and-pepper beard.

The man shook his head and smiled. “It
has been much too long.” He looked at the others. Spying Pug,
he said, “Is this your younger boy?”

Borric laughed. “No, though he
would be no shame to me if he were.” He pointed out the lanky
figure of Arutha. “This is my son. Arutha, come and greet your
great-uncle.”

Arutha stepped forward, and the two
embraced. Duke Caldric, Lord of Rillanon, Knight-General of the
King’s Royal Household Guard, and Royal Chancellor, pushed
Arutha back and regarded him at arm’s length. “You were
but a boy when I last saw you. I should have known you, for though
you have some of your father’s looks, you also resemble my dear
brother—your mother’s father—greatly. You do honor
to my family.”

Borric said, “Well, old
war-horse, how is your city?”

Caldric said, “There is much to
speak of, but not here. We shall bring you to the King’s palace
and quarter you in comfort. We shall have much time to visit. What
brings you here to Rillanon?”

“I have pressing business with
His Majesty, but it is not something to be spoken of in the streets.
Let us go to the palace.”

The Duke and his party were given
mounts, and the escort cleared away the crowds as they rode through
the city. If Krondor and Salador had impressed Pug with their
splendor, Rillanon left him speechless.

The island city was built upon many
hills, with several small rivers running down to the sea. It seemed
to be a city of bridges and canals, as much as towers and spires.
Many of the buildings seemed new, and Pug thought that this must be
part of the King’s plan for rebuilding the city. At several
points along the way he saw workers removing old stones from a
building, or erecting new walls and roofs. The newer buildings were
faced with colorful stonework, many of marble and quartz, giving them
a soft white, blue, or pink color. The cobblestones in the streets
were clean, and gutters ran free of the clogs and debris Pug had seen
in the other cities. Whatever else he might be doing, the boy
thought, the King is maintaining a marvelous city.

A river ran before the palace, so that
entrance was made over a high bridge that arched across the water
into the main courtyard. The palace was a collection of great
buildings connected by long halls that sprawled atop a hillside in
the center of the city It was faced with many-colored stone, giving
it a rainbow aspect.

As they entered the courtyard, trumpets
sounded from the walls, and guards stood to attention. Porters
stepped forward to take the mounts, while a collection of palace
nobles and officials stood near the palace entrance in welcome.

Approaching, Pug noticed that the
greeting given by these men was formal and lacked the personal warmth
of Duke Caldric’s welcome. As he stood behind Kulgan and
Meecham, he could hear Caldric’s voice. “My lord Borric,
Duke of Crydee, may I present Baron Gray, His Majesty’s Steward
of the Royal Household.” This was a short, plump man in a
tight-fitting tunic of red silk, and pale grey hose that bagged at
the knees “Earl Selvec, First Lord of the Royal Navies.”
A tall, gaunt man with a thin, waxed mustache bowed stiffly. And so
on through the entire company. Each made a short statement of
pleasure at Lord Borric’s arrival, but Pug felt there was
little sincerity in their remarks.

They were taken to their quarters.
Kulgan had to raise a fuss to have Meecham near him, for Baron Gray
had wanted to send him to the distant servants’ wing of the
palace, but he relented when Caldric asserted himself as Royal
Chancellor.

The room that Pug was shown to far
surpassed in splendor anything he had yet seen. The floors were
polished marble, and the walls were made from the same material but
flecked with what looked to be gold. A great mirror hung in a small
room to one side of the sleeping quarters, where a large, gilded
bathing tub sat. A steward put his few belongings —what they
had picked up along the way since their own baggage had been lost in
the forest—in a gigantic closet that could have held a dozen
times all that Pug owned. After the man had finished, he inquired,
“Shall I ready your bath, sir?”

Pug nodded, for three weeks aboard ship
had made his clothes feel as if they were sticking to him. When the
bath was ready, the steward said, “Lord Caldric will expect the
Duke’s party for dinner in four hours’ time, sir. Shall I
return then?”

Pug said yes, impressed with the man’s
diplomacy. He knew only that Pug had arrived with the Duke, and left
it to Pug to decide whether or not he was included in the dinner
invitation.

As he slipped into the warm water, Pug
let out a long sigh of relief. He had never been one for baths when
he had been a keep boy, preferring to wash away dirt in the sea and
the streams near the castle. Now he could learn to enjoy them. He
mused about what Tomas would have thought of that. He drifted off in
a warm haze of memories, one very pleasant, of a dark-haired, lovely
princess, and one sad, of a sandy-haired boy.

The dinner of the night before had been
an informal occasion, with Duke Caldric hosting Lord Borric’s
party. Now they stood in the royal throne room waiting to be
presented to the King. The hall was vast, a high vaulted affair, with
the entire southern wall fashioned of floor-to-ceiling windows
overlooking the city. Hundreds of nobles stood around as the Duke’s
party was led down a central aisle between the onlookers.