Prince of the Blood (17 page)

“What are your skills?” The slaver stood above Borric, whose wits were slowly returning. He had been dragged to a horse and forced to ride with his hands manacled.
The pounding he had taken had added to the disorientation he had felt since his capture. He vaguely recalled the storm suddenly being over and arriving at an odd oasis, surrounded by three ancient palm tree trunks, broken off by some cataclysmic storm of years gone by.

Borric shook his head to clear it and answered back in the formal court language of Kesh. “What skills?”

The slaver took his answer as a sign of confusion from the head blow. “What tricks? What magics do you do?”

Borric understood. The slaver judged him a magician from Stardock, which accounted for the magic-blanking chains. For an instant, Borric felt an impulse to explain who he was, but thoughts of his father receiving ransom demands on his behalf kept him from answering quickly. He could come forth at any time between now and the slave auction at Durbin, and perhaps between now and then he could conspire to escape.

Suddenly the man lashed out and struck the Prince a backhanded blow. “I’ve no time to be gentle with you, mage. Your party is but a few hours away and no doubt will be looking for you. Or even if they have no love of you in their hearts, there are still many Imperial patrols out. We mean to be far from here, quickly.”

Another man came to stand over the kneeling man. “Kasim, just kill him and leave him. No one pays a good price for a magician at the slave blocks. Too much trouble keeping them in line.”

Kasim looked over his shoulder and said, “I lead this band, now. I’ll decide who we kill and who we take to market.”

Borric said, “I’m no magician. I won the robes in a game of poker.”

The second man ran a hand over his dark-bearded face. “He lies. It’s some magician’s trick to get free of the manacles and kill us all with his magic. I say kill him now—”

“And I say if you don’t shut up and quit arguing, there’ll be another worthless carcass for the vultures to feast on. Get the men ready. As soon as the horses have been watered and rested, I want to put as much distance as I can between those guards and us.” To Borric he said, “We found some pretty baubles in the bottom of the baggage, mage. The lady you rode with had enough gold for me to pay these brigands. You’re my profit.”

With an inarticulate grunt, the raider moved away, signaling the others to ready for riding. Borric managed to sit upright against a large boulder.

“I’m no magician.”

“Well, you’re no fighting man, either. To travel unarmed at the edge of the Jal-Pur, one must either have a great company of guards or a great deal of faith. Faith is for priests, which you’re not. You don’t look the fool, but then I’ve never been one for casual appearances.” Shifting from Keshian to the King’s Tongue, he said, “Where are you from?”

“Krondor”—Borric decided through his aching head he would be best served by obscuring his identity—“but I’ve traveled a lot.”

The slaver sat back on his haunches, arms resting on his knees. “You’re not much more than a boy. You speak Keshian like a courtier and your Kingdom tongue is nearly as fair. If you’re not a spellcaster, what are you?”

Improvising, Borric said, “I … teach. I know several languages. I can read, write, and do sums. I know history and geography. I can recite the line of Kings and Empresses, the names of the major nobles and trading houses—”

“Enough!” interrupted Kasim. “You’ve convinced me. A tutor, then, is it? Well, there are rich men who need educated slaves to teach their children.” Without waiting for any response from Borric, he stood up. As he stepped
away, he said, “You are worthless to me dead, teacher, but I am also not a patient man. Do not be too much trouble and you will live. Cause me difficulty, and I’ll kill you as soon as spit on you.” To his band he said, “Mount up! We ride to Durbin.”

E
RLAND TURNED HIS HORSE
.

“Borric!” he shouted over the still-howling wind.

James and the guards watched from where they stood holding their horses. The newly elevated Earl shouted, “Get off your horse before she runs away with you!”

The already excited mount was snorting and whinnying at the frightening noises and stinging blasts from the sandstorm, despite her training and Erland’s firm control. The Prince ignored James’s orders and continued to circle away from the others, shouting his brother’s name. “Borric!”

Gamina stood beside her husband and said, “It’s difficult to concentrate with this wind screaming in my ears, but there are thoughts coming from that direction.” She covered her face with her forearm, turned, and pointed to the west.

“Borric?” asked Locklear, who stood next to James, his back to the biting wind.

Gamina held up her arm, letting the sleeve of her gown shield her face. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know these men, but none of the minds I’ve touched is his. When I attempt to focus on what I remember of his thoughts during the battle …”

“Nothing,” James finished.

“Could he be unconscious?” Locklear’s expression was hopeful.

Gamina said, “If he’s stunned or farther away, then I would not sense him. My abilities are limited by the strength and training of the other mind. I can speak to my father from over a hundred miles away and he can speak to me across incredible distances. But those who attacked us are no more than a few hundred feet away; I get images and stray words about the fight.” With sadness in her voice, she said, “I can’t sense Borric anywhere.”

James reached out to her and she came into the comfort of his arm. His horse nickered at the change in pressure on the reins and James gave an impatient yank on the leathers, silencing the animal. Softly, so that only Gamina would hear, he said, “I pray the gods let him be alive.”

For an hour the wind blew, and Erland circled his companions to the limit of his ability to see them, while he cried his brother’s name. Then the winds ceased, and in the silence that followed, his hoarse cries rang across a desolate landscape: “Borric!”

Locklear signaled to the Captain of his company for a report. The officer said, “Three men dead or missing, m’lord. Two more wounded enough we should get them to shelter. The rest are fit and ready.”

James considered his options, then decided. “You remain here with Erland and search the immediate area, but don’t wander too far. I’ll take two men and ride to the Inn of the Twelve Chairs and see if that Keshian patrol can help us locate Borric.” With a glance around the barren landscape, he added, “I’m certain I have no idea where to begin looking.”

For the next few hours, through the early afternoon, it took all of Locklear’s powers of persuasion, with some
not-so-idle threatening, to keep Erland from riding farther into the wastes than Locklear judged safe. The young Prince was frantic to search for his brother, in case he was lying unconscious a few yards away, in a gully or ravine, in need of care. Locklear spread the men out to patrol the surrounding area, always keeping a chain of guards posted so that someone was in sight of the impromptu camp. Gamina tended the wounded, getting them ready to ride to the closest shelter.

Finally, James returned, accompanied by the Keshian patrol. Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi was obviously displeased to have his respite interrupted, especially given the potential for personal difficulty should his superiors judge him somehow at fault, as the attack came in his patrol area. He wished to put as much distance between himself and these cursed Islemen as possible, but the possibility of an international incident between the Empire and her largest neighbor gave sufficient reason to put his irritation aside and help in the search for the lost Prince.

Experienced trackers quickly discovered the gully wherein the raiders had hidden. Shouts brought the entire company to the edge of a gully, where two scouts were inspecting a large rock fall. One continued poking about in the rubble while the second scout carried a single boot up to where the Islemen waited. There was no mistaking the scarlet-and-yellow design of the boot. Pointing back down at the mass of boulders, he said, “M’lord, I found this. A little farther in, under the rocks, I can see what’s left of the foot that wore it.”

Erland sat in silent shock as James asked, “Can we dig him out?”

The Keshian scout at the bottom of the rockfall shook his head. “It would take a company of engineers a day or two at best, m’lord.” He pointed up to the place the slide had begun. “It was recently done, from the signs. To cover the owner of this boot, and others, perhaps.” Then he
pointed to the far side of the gully. “And if too much movement occurred here, the other side might come down as well. I’m afraid it will be risky.”

Erland said, “I want him dug out.”

James said, “I understand—”

Erland interrupted. “No, you don’t. That may not be Borric down there.”

Locklear attempted to be understanding. “I know how you must feel—”

“No,” said Erland, “you don’t know.” To James he said, “We don’t know that’s Borric down there. He could have lost the boot during the struggle. He could be a prisoner. We don’t know if that’s him under the rocks.”

James said, “Gamina, is there any sign of Borric?”

Gamina just shook her head. “The thoughts I detected earlier were in this gully. But there was no pattern of thinking that was familiar.”

Erland was unmoved. “That proves nothing.” To James he said, “You know how close he and I are. If he were dead … I’d feel something.” Looking across the broken landscape of the high desert he said, “He’s out there somewhere. And I intend to find him.”

“And what are you going to do, m’lord?” asked the Keshian Sergeant. “Ride out into the plateau country alone and without water or food? It doesn’t look it, but it’s as much a desert here as in the great sand ergs of the Jal-Pur. Beyond that rise of ridges over there the true sandy wastes begin, and if you don’t know where the Oasis of the Broken Palms is, you’ll not live long enough to find the Oasis of the Hungry Goats. There are thirty or so places out there you can find water and a few with food-bearing plants as well, but you can walk within yards of several and not know them. You would die, young lord.”

Turning his horse back toward the way they had come, Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi said, “My lords, I grieve for your loss, but my duty dictates I ride on and discover others
bent upon breaking the Empire’s peace. I shall file a report on this when I reach the terminus of my patrol. If you would like, I’ll leave a scout with you and you may continue your search. When you are satisfied that nothing more can be done, head back to the road.” Pointing south, he said, “The road continues past the foothills of the Pillars of the Stars to Nar Ayab. We keep many stations and patrols along that route. Dispatch riders move constantly among those stations and into the heart of the Empire. Send word ahead of your arrival and a state welcome will be mounted by the Governor of Nar Ayab. From there, he will send mounted soldiers to protect you until you reach the city of Kesh.” He left unsaid that had this been done from the start, the bandits would never have been able to surprise the Islemen. “I will mark this location, and ensure exact directions are in my report. In time, the Empress, blessings be upon her, will order engineers out to retrieve your young Prince, and he will be returned home for a fitting burial. Until then, I can only wish you the gods’ favor in your travels.”

With a wave and heels to the side of the horse, the Sergeant and his patrol headed away from the gully. James skirted the top of the fall and looked down to the lone Keshian scout who remained. “What do you see?”

The scout considered the signs. “Many men, milling about. A murder, there.” He pointed to a dark spot upon the already dry ground.

“Murder!” said Locklear. “How can you be certain?”

“Blood, m’lord,” answered the scout. “Which would not be unusual after a struggle, save this is in a large pool, with no signs of a wounded man approaching this spot. See the large splatter on those rocks there? I would guess a throat was cut.” He pointed to two lines of faint scratches in the dust leading from the bloodstain to the rockfall. “Two heels as someone was dragged to where the rocks were pushed.” He pointed again to the top of the
gully. “One climbed there.” He glanced about once more, then scampered up the incline to where his horse waited. “They move south, to the Oasis of the Broken Palms.”