Shards of a Broken Crown (18 page)

“I will be
pleased to go, Highness.”

“Good,”
said Patrick, his tone leveling off. “I’ve sent word to
Captain Subai, who’s in charge of the northern elements of our
forces along the ridge, that someone would be coming. I want you to
have him accompany you and I want this matter resolved. I’ve
got enough to worry about with this business down in Stardock, Kesh
acting foolish, and Fadawah living in my Principality to have the
Saaur act up.

“If
they’ll listen to reason, I’ll listen to reason. Have
them tell me what we must do to get them out of our Kingdom and I
will do it. But if they refuse, there’s only one thing you can
do.”

“What is
that, Highness?”

Patrick looked
at Pug as if he were missing the obvious. He said, “Why, you
must destroy them, magician. You must obliterate them from the face
of the world.”

Jimmy grimaced.

He had one good
night’s sleep, in Owen Greylock’s camp, then had spent
the next five days in the saddle, tiring out a string of relay
horses. He and the Knight-Marshal of Krondor rode as quickly as
possible to Darkmoor, where Prince Patrick’s court was
established.

Now he stood
outside Patrick’s quarters, having ridden in just before dawn.
He waited along with other courtiers, while the Prince was dressing
for the day’s court, and thanked all the gods he could think of
that at least here an ample supply of Keshian coffee was still to be
found. Tsurani chocha was a reasonable substitute, but nothing kept
him going like a hot mug of coffee, cut with a tiny bit of honey.

“James!”
said a familiar feminine voice from behind, and Jimmy was suddenly
wide awake. He turned to see a young woman approaching.

“Francie?”
he asked in astonishment.

In a serious
breach of court protocol, the girl threw her arms around Jimmy’s
neck, and said, “It’s been years!”

Jimmy hugged the
girl back. He then stepped back and regarded her. “You’re
all grown up,” he said, admiring that fact. She was a tall
girl, slender yet muscular in his embrace, as if she had spent a
great deal of time outdoors in vigorous physical activity. Her face
was lacking the usual cosmetics of the women of court; sun freckles
lightly brushed her cheeks and nose. Her hair, usually a light brown,
was lavishly streaked with blond highlights. She wore a very mannish
vest and trousers, white shirt, and riding boots.

“I was
just coming back from an early morning ride with Father and saw you
standing here. Let me go change and put on something more
appropriate. Where can I find you?”

As the Prince’s
door opened, Jimmy said, “Wherever His Highness puts me, but
most likely in the officers’ mess.”

She nodded.
“I’ll find you.” Kissing him lightly on the cheek,
she dashed off, and Jimmy was forced to admire the way she moved.

Owen, who had
stood silently next to Jimmy throughout the exchange, said, “And
that would be . . . ?”

“The Duke
of Silden’s daughter, Francine. She used to play with Dash and
me when we lived in Rillanon and business would bring Lord Brian to
court. She’s Dash’s age, and last time I saw her she was
just a skinny kid. She had a terrible crush on me for the longest
time.”

“Ah,”
was all Owen said, as the Prince’s page appeared.

The page saw
Greylock, and said, “Marshal Greylock, His Highness will see
you first.”

Owen motioned
for Jimmy to follow him, and they entered Patrick’s quarters.

The Prince
remained seated behind his desk, cluttered with papers and a small
silver tray with hot rolls and a pot of coffee. Duke Arutha sat
quietly at the left end of the desk. He looked at his son and smiled.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you. Dash?”

Jimmy shook his
head. “He’s out there somewhere.” Arutha’s
smile faded.

Patrick finished
a mouthful of roll and said, “What news of Krondor?”

Owen said,
“Jimmy brings a message from General Duko.”

Patrick asked,
“From General Duko?”

Jimmy said, “The
invaders are having a falling-out, it seems.” He outlined what
Duko had told him of his suspicions regarding Fadawah and Nordan, and
finished up with, “So the General has a proposal to keep
himself and his men from being sacrificed and return Krondor to Your
Highness without bloodshed.”

Patrick’s
face was an unreadable mask. Jimmy could see the Prince already could
sense where this was going. “Go on,” said the Prince of
Krondor.

“Duko sees
no point in returning to Novindus. The continent is a waste after ten
years of warfare, and . . .” Jimmy paused.

“Go on,”
repeated Patrick.

“He sees
something special in our idea of a nation, Highness. He wishes to
belong to something larger than himself. He proposes to return
Krondor to Your Highness, and to swear fealty to the crown. He will
turn his army northward, and march against Nordan up in Sarth.”

Patrick’s
color started to rise. “Swear fealty!” He leaned forward.
“And perhaps he wishes to be named Duke of Krondor in place of
your father, as well?”

Jimmy attempted
to keep it light. “Nothing so grand, Highness. A Barony,
perhaps.”

“Barony!”
Patrick exploded, slamming his hand on the table, upsetting the
coffeepot and spilling the hot liquid over the rolls and across a
dozen parchments. The page standing nearby sprang to clean up the
mess while the Prince stood up. “The murdering dog has the
effrontery to seize my city then hold me up for a Barony to give it
back! The thief has no lack of gall.” He looked at Owen and
Arutha. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t order the army
into the field and simply hang the bastard after we retake Krondor?”

Arutha said,
“There are several reasons, Highness.”

Patrick looked
at him. “They are?”

“By making
a bargain with Duko, we take the enemy’s forces and reduce them
by a third. We increase our forces by that much. We save the lives of
countless men. We then have an advance unit to throw at Sarth, and we
free up men needed to reinforce the southern marches, holding Kesh at
bay.” Arutha seemed reluctant to continue, but finished by
saying, “If Duko is being forthright and this isn’t some
sort of elaborate ruse, it’s too good an opportunity to pass
up.”

“Invade my
realm, steal my city, destroy my citizens’ lives and property,
then turn around and extort a patent of office from my father, and
it’s ‘too good an opportunity to pass up’?”
Patrick looked at Arutha, and shouted, “Are you bereft of all
reason, my lord?”

Jimmy stiffened
in anger at his father being addressed in such a way, but said
nothing. Arutha, showing the patience of a parent faced with a child
throwing a tantrum, said, “I am reasoning very well, Highness.”
Then, in the tone a schoolmaster used with a student, he calmly said,
“Sit down, Patrick.”

Prince of the
Western Realm or not, Arutha had been one of Patrick’s tutors,
and old habits were hard to break. He sat behind his desk, looking
daggers at Arutha, but remaining silent.

“You must
think like a Prince. No matter what else you do with the invaders,
you must also deal with Kesh. They are only restraining themselves
because the magicians at Stardock are as likely to destroy their
forces as they are ours should either side not abide by the present
truce. The only way you can deal with Great Kesh is from a position
of strength.

“You must
reclaim Yabon. To do that you must clear the Western Realm west of
the Calastius Mountains, and to do that you have to take Sarth. If
you are forced to fight for Krondor, you will not be able to launch a
campaign against Sarth until the middle of summer, at the soonest!”
Arutha’s temper was also rising, but he did a masterful job of
keeping his tone under control. “If you have any sort of
protracted campaign against Sarth, that means a winter campaign
against Ylith or holding off until the following year. By then LaMut
will have fallen. If you give Fadawah another winter to consolidate
his holdings, we may never regain the North!” He lowered his
voice. “Fadawah has already bribed key officials in the Free
Cities. They’re trading with him from all reports. In three
months, his army will be better provisioned than our own. He’s
also making overtures to the Quegans, who are likely to listen, given
how badly they were treated during the invasion.” He glanced at
Owen.

Greylock said,
“Taking Ylith is going to require naval support, Highness. If
Fadawah is as clever as he seems, he’ll have Quegan ships
anchored in the harbor by the time we get there, and that would mean
another war with Queg.”

Patrick looked
as if he was frustrated to the point of tears. But he kept his voice
and anger under control as he said, “So you’re telling me
unless I make a bargain with this murderous scum I may be fighting a
three-front war I can’t win?”

Arutha sighed
loudly. “That’s exactly what we’re telling you,
Highness.”

Patrick’s
fury was barely held in check. He was intelligent enough to know that
Arutha was right, but angry enough to be unwilling to admit it.
“There must be another way.”

“Yes,”
said Owen. “You can march to the walls of Krondor, through the
assembled mercenaries camped outside, swarm the city and fight house
to house for a week, then spend another month licking your wounds and
getting ready to march north.”

Patrick seemed
to lose his anger. “Damn,” was all he said. For a long
moment, he was silent, then one more time he said, “Damn.”

Arutha said,
“Patrick, you can’t reject this offer. An invading
general is seeking to make a separate peace with us, and only the
King can reject that offer. Do you want to guess that your father
will say no? He’ll ratify any deal you and I strike with Duko,
that much I know. All we need are some assurances that this isn’t
a trick of Fadawah’s.”

Jimmy said,
“Highness, I only spent a few days with the man, but I think
him sincere. There’s a. . .” He paused, searching for the
right words to describe what he saw in Duko.

“Say on,”
prompted Patrick.

“There’s
something in the man, a hope. He’s tired of the killing, the
endless conquest. He told me of the time when he discovered the evil
that possessed the Emerald Queen, when she created her Immortals, her
Death Guard, the men who surrounded her and who willingly died for
her, one each night, so that she might keep intact her death magic.
By then any man who showed the slightest hesitation was destroyed,
common soldier or general, it didn’t matter. That was
demonstrated early in the campaign when some captains tried a revolt,
and all were impaled, with the bulk of her army forced to march by
the men while they still twitched as they died. After the fall of
Maharta, General Gapi was staked out over an anthill for letting
Captain Calis and his men escape. That showed no one, no matter what
rank, was safe from her wrath. Companies were instructed to watch
other companies, so no one knew who could be trusted not to report if
even a hint of defiance was suspected.

“Duko
spent the winter talking to Kingdom prisoners, soldiers and
commoners, some officers from the garrisons down at Land’s End
and up at Sarth. He’s fascinated by our way of living, our
government, our Great Freedom, and he thinks it a wondrous thing, our
idea of nation. He was trapped, a prisoner, and jailer of every
other, prisoner in the army.” Jimmy took a deep breath, and
said, “I think he wants to be part of something bigger,
something that will live on after his death and something about which
he can feel giving his life might be worthwhile.”

Arutha said,
“And he’s been betrayed by his own commander. He may be
exactly what he says he is.”

“I want
reassurances,” said Patrick sharply. “I want whatever
guarantees you can dream up to convince me I should bring this
murdering butcher into our nobility.”

Owen laughed.

“Is there
something funny in this, Lord Greylock?” asked the Prince.

“Only that
I imagine an ancestor of yours may have said exactly the same thing
about the first Baron to live in this castle,” said Greylock,
smiling.

Patrick paused,
then sighed. After a moment, he chuckled. “One of my teachers
told me the King of Rillanon had drunk himself into near
insensibility over the need to accept Bas-Tyra into his service,
rather than hang him from the walls of his city.”

“Many of
our most noble lords had ancestors who were nothing more than enemies
we chose not to hang, Highness,” said Arutha.

“Well,”
said Patrick, “we have no shortage of openings for nobles in
the West. Where shall we place ‘Lord’ Duko?”

Arutha said,
“There are several Earldoms, a score of Baronies, and one Duchy
in need of new nobles.”

Owen said, “We
need a Duke of the Southern Marches.”

Patrick looked
at James. “What do you think of throwing that rabble in Krondor
at the Keshians?”

Jimmy said,
“Highness, I hesitate to advise . . .”

Patrick looked
sharply at Jimmy. “Don’t get modest on me at this late
date, James. You’d be the first in your family in three
generations and I wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

James smiled.
“If you move Duko and his men down into the Sutherlands,
between Shandon Bay and Land’s End, you could move those
soldiers up into Krondor and still keep a presence along the border
to the southwest. We can assume there are Keshian agents all over who
are keeping the Emperor’s generals up on our dispositions by
the minute. You could then turn at Krondor and move straight up to
take Sarth, before Nordan gets dug in.”

Patrick looked
at Owen. “Greylock, you’re Knight-Marshal of Krondor.
What do you think of young James’s thesis?”

Owen knew
exactly what he thought of it; he had been discussing this plan with
Jimmy the entire journey from his headquarters camp to Darkmoor.
“It’s risky, Highness, but far less risky than trapping
Duko between our army and Nordan’s and making his men fight for
their lives. And if we move them down to face Kesh, we don’t
have to worry about Duko’s men facing their former comrades, or
any spies Fadawah might have in their ranks. Besides, half the men
living in the Vale of Dreams are mercenaries, fighting for us or
against us at whim; Duko may be exactly the man to rule such as
those.” He paused, as if thinking about his next statement,
which had been rehearsed in his mind many times already. “If we
continue to dredge the harbor, and get the city back into a semblance
of order in the next month, we can drive on to Sarth in six weeks.
That would put us six weeks ahead of schedule. We could be at the
gates of Ylith before the fall rains come.”