Shards of a Broken Crown (35 page)

Erik and his men
rode into the midst of a furious, surging battle, with horsemen and
men on foot locked in a death struggle. Erik struck at the first
horseman he faced, knocking him completely out of his saddle. The
abrupt appearance of Kingdom soldiers riding in through the now open
gate demoralized the remaining invaders. Quickly they started to back
away and throw down weapons in surrender.

Erik caught his
breath and took in the scene around him. Men lay all across the
courtyard, as well as a few wounded or dead horses.

Erik motioned
for Jadow Shati to move the prisoners over to the stable. Erik
dismounted and led his horse to the entrance of the abbey building.
He glanced up at the old keep tower and realized that with proper
supplies, this fortress could withstand a year of siege. He counted
himself lucky the Prince had agreed to launch the attack as soon as
possible, rather than led Nordan get entrenched.

“Erik!”
called a voice. Erik turned to see Captain Subai motioning for him to
come over. Erik hurried to the abbey’s main entrance. Just
inside the door lay Duke Arutha. Erik glanced at Subai, who shook his
head slightly. Softly the Captain of the Pathfinders said, “He
tried to keep the raiders from opening the gates. If you had arrived
a half hour earlier. . .”

Erik looked at
the fallen Duke. He appeared to be asleep. “He fought well?”
Erik asked.

Subai said,
“Very well. He may not have been a warrior in life, but he died
like one.”

Erik said, “As
soon as we’ve secured the abbey, I’ll send word to
Greylock. The Prince must be informed as soon as possible.”

“Patrick
will want to enter Krondor with his new Princess as soon as
possible.”

“Rillanon?”
asked Erik, referring to the rumors circulated to mislead enemies
about the Kingdom’s intentions.

“No need,”
suggested Subai. “With Arutha dead, Patrick needs to be in
Krondor, with or without a bride.” Looking southward, as if
seeing Krondor in the distance, Subai said, “There’s our
weakness, Captain. If Kesh learns we are committing all our soldiers
to retake Ylith, and have only Duko’s mercenaries along the
border, without support troops within the city, they can wreak
havoc.”

Erik said, “Let
us hope we can keep Kesh from discovering this before the war in the
North is over.”

Subai looked
down at Arutha. “It was his task to see that they didn’t.”
Looking at Erik, he added, “Now it is someone else’s
task. But it is the Prince’s responsibility.” With a
gesture, he indicated the Duke’s body was to be carried inside.
To Erik he said, “As soon as Greylock has soldiers sent up here
to secure this location, my Pathfinders will return to Krondor. We
will return the Duke home.”

Erik nodded.
“And I will go north with Greylock.” Erik turned and
walked out into the courtyard, to bring order out of chaos and get
the situation under control as quickly as possible. They had won a
stunning victory, at far less cost than anticipated, and far quicker
than they had imagined. Yet there was so very much to do still before
them.

Jimmy wept.

Standing at
attention on the steps of the palace in Krondor, next to his brother,
a step behind the Prince, his tears ran freely down his face. He
could not imagine a life without his father. He had known those who
fight might die, but his father had not been a warrior. He had
studied arms and armor, like every noble in the Kingdom, but his life
had been one of administration, diplomacy, and judgment. Only once
had he chosen to fight, and that decision had cost him his life.

Dash had never
imagined his father’s return to Krondor would be on a wagon
acting as a bier. He kept his features set in an unreadable mask as
he watched the wagon carrying his father’s body pass by. A day
of mourning had been announced for Duke Arutha and the others who had
fallen in retaking Sarth.

Dash wondered if
it was worth it. He didn’t feel anything, save a numb empty
place within. Jimmy was expressing his anger and pain, yet within
Dash something lay buried. Looking at the the assembled nobles and
military captains of the Kingdom, all bowing their heads in respect
as his father’s body was returned to Krondor, Dash just
couldn’t make any sense of it.

His father had
always been such a sensible man. He was a decent enough swordsman, at
least for practice duels, and he kept himself fit, riding and
swimming when the opportunity presented itself, but he had never
fought in a military action. Then Dash realized he was thinking in
present tense. He had been, from what Captain Subai said, a brave
soldier at the last, but he should never have been allowed to go on
that mission. Dash discovered tears forming in his eyes and he
blinked them back.

Duke Arutha had
been the practical member of the family. Their mother was always
obsessed with the gossip of the royal court in Rillanon, and with
long visits back to her own family in Roldem. The boys’
childhood had been dominated by nannies, tutors, and their
grandfather, who would teach them how to climb walls, pick locks, and
all manner of outrageous behavior. Their grandmother had been a
soothing presence and their father had been a rock, a calm, quiet man
who had been affectionate and caring in little ways. Dash couldn’t
remember a time his father hadn’t greeted him with a warm hug.
He recalled the many times he would stand there, one hand upon Dash’s
shoulder as if making contact physically was important.

Suddenly Dash
was aware he was mourning the loss of his entire family. His
grandparents in Roldem were strangers, for the most part. He had a
half-dozen visits to that island kingdom in his childhood—his
maternal grandparents only came to Rillanon once, for his parents’
wedding. His sister was married to the Duke of Faranzia in Roldem and
had never returned to the Kingdom for a visit since her wedding. All
that remained was his brother Jimmy.

As the wagon
vanished into the stable area, Prince Patrick said, “Gentlemen,
the entire nation mourns the loss of your father. Now, if you would
join me in council in an hour, please.” He nodded across the
courtyard to where Francie stood with her father, and turned and
mounted the broad palace steps. As soon as the Prince was out of
sight, the rest of the assembled nobles in Krondor dispersed.

Jimmy took a
deep breath, getting his emotions under control, and motioned for
Dash to accompany him. They followed the wagon around the central
palace to where an undertaker was overseeing the removal of their
father’s body from the wagon. Two soldiers gently removed the
body of Duke Arutha, wrapped from head to foot in faded linen someone
had found in Sarth. The undertaker turned to Jimmy and said, “You
are Lord Arutha’s son?”

Jimmy nodded,
indicating with a gesture that he and Dash were the Duke’s
sons.

The undertaker
attempted a compassionate pose. “The nation mourns with you,
young lords. How will you wish to dispose of your father’s
remains?”

Jimmy stopped
and looked at Dash. “I . . . never . . .”

Dash said, “What
is usual?”

“As Duke
of Krondor, your father is entitled to be interred in the palace
vault. As the Earl Vecar, he is entitled to be interred in the Royal
Palace in Rillanon. Or if you have family estates . . . ?”

Jimmy looked at
Dash, who was silent. Finally the elder brother said, “My
family’s estates are this city. But my father was born and
raised in Rillanon. That was always his home. Return him there.”

“As you
wish,” said the undertaker.

Dash put his
hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and said, “Let’s get a
drink.”

“Only one.
We need to see the Prince in an hour. We can get drunk in Father’s
memory after.”

Dash nodded as
they walked back toward the main entrance to the palace.

Malar Enares was
standing before the entrance when they reached it. “Sirs,”
he said. “Most regrettable. You have my sympathies.”

The servant from
the Vale of Dreams had found a hundred ways to make himself useful
around the palace. When Jimmy had returned, expecting to find the
servant still under guard, he had been both amused and surprised to
discover him working frantically around Duko’s headquarters. He
seemed a wonder when it came to organizing, cleaning, and keeping
things orderly. He had attached himself to Jimmy again when Duko rode
south to take command of the Southern Marches and oversee the sentry
forts along the Keshian border.

Malar followed
the brothers inside. “May I do something for you, young lords?”

Jimmy said, “If
you would bring a bottle of very good brandy to my quarters, I would
appreciate it.”

“I’ll
see what I can do,” said Malar, rushing off.

Dash and Jimmy
walked the long corridors of the palace, now restored to nearly the
state they had enjoyed before the destruction of Krondor. Workers
still scurried throughout the palace, repainting trim around windows
and doors, laying tiles, and hanging tapestries. The rearmost stairs
to the upper floors were still in need of repair, but the last of the
cracked stones had been removed and replaced by masons, and the soot
and fire damage erased.

“Do you
remember how this place looked before?” asked Dash.

Jimmy said, “You
know, I was just thinking the same thing. I know the tapestries are
different, but I’m damned if I can tell you what the ones that
hung on the walls before looked like.”

“Patrick’s
having all the old war banners from the Prince’s hall remade.”

“It’s
not the same,” said Jimmy, “but I can see the reason.”

They reached
Jimmy’s quarters and entered. They sat in silence for a minute,
then Dash said, “I am so mad at him.” He looked up and
his eyes brimmed with tears.

Jimmy’s
eyes watered as well, as he said, “I know. How bloody stupid
was that? Going off and getting killed.”

“You’ve
written to Mother and the aunts?”

“Not yet.
I’ll do so this night. I’m still not sure what I’ll
say.”

Dash let his
tears flow. “Tell them he died bravely. For King and Country.”

“Cold
comfort,” said Jimmy.

Dash wiped at
his eyes. “He had to go.”

Jimmy said, “No,
he didn’t.”

“Yes, he
did,” said Dash. “All his life he has been in the shadow
of Grandfather, and of the man for whom he was named.”

Jimmy wiped his
own eyes and said, “History will only acknowledge one Arutha of
Krondor.” He sighed. “Father will possibly be a small
notation somewhere. The man named for a great prince who served
admirably as administrator in Rillanon and Krondor. Isn’t there
more for him than just that?”

Dash said, “Only
to those of us who knew him and loved him.”

Jimmy stood as a
knock came at the door. He opened it and found Malar Enares standing
there, holding a tray upon which rested a bottle of brandy and two
crystal goblets.

Jimmy stepped
aside and allowed the servant to enter. Malar put the tray down on
the table and said, “I wish to express my deepest regrets,
young sirs. While having not the pleasure of meeting your
distinguished father, I have heard nothing of the man that was not
salutary.”

“Thank
you,” said Jimmy.

Dash took the
decanter and poured drinks as Malar left and closed the door behind
him. Offering a goblet to his brother, Dash lifted his and said, “To
Father.”

“To
Father,” echoed Jimmy. They drank in silence.

After a minute,
Jimmy said, “I know how Father felt.”

“How so?”
asked Dash.

“No matter
how good I am, no matter how high I rise, there will only be one
James of Krondor,” he said.

“Only one
Jimmy the Hand,” agreed Dash.

“Then,
Grandfather would tell us it has nothing to do with fame.”

“He
enjoyed the notoriety, though,” said Dash.

“Agreed,”
said Jimmy. “But he gained it from being so bloody brilliant at
what he did. He didn’t set out to be the most fiendishly clever
noble in history.”

“Maybe
that’s what Father knew from the start; it’s just getting
the job done and let history decide what history will decide,”
observed Dash.

Jimmy said, “No
doubt you’re right. Well, we’d better get to Patrick’s
office and see what the Prince will decide.”

Dash stood up,
adjusted his tunic, and said, “Do you think he’ll make
you Duke of Krondor? Eldest son and all that.”

Jimmy laughed.
“Hardly. He’ll want someone with more experience in the
office, as will the King.”

Dash opened the
door. “You’re only two years younger than Patrick,
Jimmy.”

“Which is
exactly why Borric will want someone older and wiser in Krondor,”
said Jimmy as he moved through the door. “Had Father been the
Duke of Crydee or Yabon, I most certainly would have gotten the
title, with a strong Kingdom advisor on the first ship west, but
Krondor? No, there’s too much to be done and too many potential
mistakes.” As he moved down the hall, he added, “Besides,
there are too many headaches. Whatever Patrick offers me will be
better than the office of Duke.”

They hurried
along until they reached the side entrance to the Prince’s
quarters. Jimmy knocked and the door opened. A page stepped aside and
allowed them to enter. Compared to the cramped offices endured in
Darkmoor, these offices were spacious. The books and scrolls that
their father had ordered hauled to safety were being returned to
their appropriate shelves or cubicles. Malar was handing a bundle of
scrolls to a clerk. “Lending a hand?” asked Jimmy as they
passed.

“One helps
where one can,” said the servant with a smile.

They passed into
the Prince’s private chambers and Patrick looked up. Standing
next to the Prince’s desk was Duke Brian of Silden. He nodded
at the brothers. They both knew that Brian and their father had been
among the closest of friends at court, and that more than any other
noble in the realm, Brian would share their sense of loss.