Shards of a Broken Crown (57 page)

Dash gave
instructions on the night’s raids and put Gustaf in charge of
the most delicate one; he had come to trust the former mercenary as a
steady influence on the other men. Dash got his horse and rode to the
palace.

As he rode
through the city, Dash registered the rhythm of the place, becoming
more familiar by the day. Krondor was reviving and it angered him to
the point of irrationality that anyone, Keshian or Fadawah, might
return to undo the work he had done. Rillanon had been his home until
three years before, when his grandfather had brought Dash and his
brother to Krondor. Since then he had worked for a while for Roo
Avery, though he was always in his grandfather’s employ. And
against any reasonable expectation he had made the city his own.

As he neared the
palace, Dash conceded there was more of his grandfather in him than
he might have once been willing to admit. Dash rode in past a pair of
guards at the main gate who saluted the Sheriff. A groom hurried
forward to take his horse. Dash moved quickly up the palace steps and
past guards standing in the entrance hall.

He was hurrying
to the point of almost running as he rounded the corner that would
take him directly to the great hall. Instantly he knew something was
wrong.

The great doors
were open and a pair of guards stood just inside, as if inquiring
over something. A servant was running from the hall, toward the rear
of the palace, shouting something.

Dash ran. He
pushed past the two guards at the door and saw people in agony or
unconscious. The hall had been set up with a giant U-shaped table,
allowing jugglers and entertainers to perform before the entire
court. The Prince, Francie, Dukes Brian and Rufio were at the head
table. Dash noted an empty chair at the far end on the Prince’s
left.

The other two
tables were occupied by the remaining nobles of the area and most of
the important citizens of Krondor. Half of them appeared unconscious,
slumped down in their chairs or on the floor, while a few others were
attempting to stand, and one or two were sitting, a vacant
disoriented expression on their faces.

Dash ran across
the room to the head table and vaulted over it, swinging his legs
over the prone form of Duke Brian. Francie was slumped over the table
between her father and Patrick, and Duke Rufio had fallen to the
floor and was lying on his back, eyes open and vacant. The Prince sat
back in his chair gasping for air, his eyes wide and unfocused.

Dash stuck his
finger into the Prince’s mouth, and Patrick vomited the
contents of his stomach. He repeated the action with Francie, who
also threw up what she had eaten. He turned to see startled-looking
servants and guards standing around, unsure of what to do. “Make
them vomit!” shouted Dash. “They’ve been poisoned!”

He reached Duke
Silden and got him to gag up food, but far less than Dash would have
liked. He reached Duke Rufio and could not force a response. The
Duke’s breathing was shallow and his face was clammy to the
touch.

Dash jumped up
and saw that three of the servants were attempting to get those still
conscious to throw up. He shouted to a guard, “Get a horse!
Ride to Temple Square! Bring back any clerics you can find. We need
healers!”

Dash organized
the servants and had more come bringing fresh water. He had no idea
what poison had been used, but he knew that some of them could be
diluted. “Make those who can drink swallow as much as they
can!” he shouted. “Don’t force those who can’t;
you’ll drown them.”

Dash grabbed a
sergeant of the guard and said, “Arrest everyone in the
kitchen.”

Dash realized
that whoever had poisoned the entire royal court was probably gone by
now, but perhaps he had not had time to flee. He certainly hadn’t
expected the Sheriff to be late and avoid being among those
afflicted.

The room stank
and Dash set some of the staff to cleaning up as others attended
those ill. It took nearly a half hour for the first cleric to arrive,
a priest of Astalon. He set about doing what he could do for the
stricken, starting with the Prince.

Dash did a
mental inventory of those in attendance: of the nobles in Krondor,
only he had been absent from this meal. Every other titled lord from
Duke to Squire in the area was at that table. Of the town’s
wealthy and powerful merchants, only Roo Avery was absent, being out
at his estate with his family.

Soon other
priests of the various orders appeared, including Brother Dominic,
the Ishapian who now served at Nakor’s temple. They tended
those in the room throughout the night, and Dash interrogated the
kitchen staff. Near sunrise he returned to the great hall, which now
resembled an infirmary. Dominic was near the door and Dash called him
over. “How do we stand?” he asked.

“It was a
close thing,” said the monk. “Had you not acted as you
had, you would be the only noble in the city still breathing.

“The
Prince will live, though he will be sick for a long time, as will the
Lady Francine.” He shook his head. “Her father is touch
and go. I don’t know if he’ll pull through.”

Dash said, “Duke
Rufio?”

Dominic shook
his head in the negative. “It was the wine that was poisoned.
He drank a great deal of it.”

Dash closed his
eyes. “I tried to tell Patrick that if we had one spy in the
palace . . .”

“Well,”
said Dominic, “while the loss is terrible, at least the Prince
will survive.”

“There is
that.” Dash looked at those dead who were being carried away.
“But we’ve lost too many already to have to endure this
insult. It could have been worse, but not by much,” said the
exhausted young Sheriff.

Then the alarm
bell began to ring and Dash realized the city was under attack.

Dash raced down
the street.

People ran
through the streets while soldiers raced to the walls. The gates were
closing and a panic-stricken constable in charge of the gate check
said, “Sheriff! A rider raced in claiming there’s a
Keshian army coming up the road.”

“Bar the
gate,” said Dash. He grabbed the constable and said, “What’s
your name?”

“Delwin,
sir,” said the agitated young man.

“You’re
now a sergeant, understand?”

The man nodded,
then said, “But we don’t have sergeants in the
constabulary, sir.”

“Right
now, you’re in the army,” Dash shouted. “Come with
me.” He led Delwin up the steps to the ramparts on the wall
above the gate and looked to the east. The sun was rising over the
distant mountains and caused him to squint.

Movement caught
his eyes and he held his hand up to shield them from the sun. He
squinted, and there, along a road running along the base of a distant
hill, he saw movement, nothing more than the appearance of a long
line undulating along the side of the hill.

“Gods,”
he whispered. To the newly created sergeant he said, “Send word
to the New Market Jail. I want every constable up on these walls with
the solders. We have an army coming to visit.”

Sergeant Delwin
hurried off. Dash looked to his right and his left and saw a sergeant
of the Palace Guard hurrying toward him. Dash grabbed him and said,
“What’s your name?”

“McCally,
sir.”

“Your
Captain is either dead or very sick; I do not know which. Are there
any other officers around?”

“Lieutenant
Yardley has the duty, sir, and should be above the palace wall.”

“Go fetch
him and tell him I need him here at once.”

The Sergeant ran
off and returned a few minutes later with the Lieutenant. “Sir,”
said the Lieutenant, “what are your orders?”

Dash said, “As
Baron of the court and Sheriff of Krondor, I find I am the only
functioning noble in the city. How many officers escaped the
poisoning last night?”

“Four,
sir, of which I am senior.”

“You are
now an acting Captain, Yardley. How many men have we?”

Yardley spoke
without hesitation, “We have five hundred members of the
Prince’s Household Guards, and fifteen hundred members of the
city garrison, spread out around the city. I don’t know the
current number of your constables, sir.”

“Slightly
better than two hundred. What about guards who came with the nobles
last night?”

“Maybe
another three hundred, honor guards, personal retinues,”
replied the newly made Captain.

“Very
well, have them support your men on the palace walls. Have whoever’s
in charge of the city garrison find me here and report.”

Yardley ran off,
and a short time later a grey-haired old sergeant appeared. “I’m
Sergeant Mackey, sir. Lieutenant Yardley said to report to you.”

“Where’s
your officer?” asked Dash.

“Dead,
sir,” replied the stocky old man. “He was dining with the
Prince last night.”

Dash shook his
head. “Well, Sergeant,” said Dash dryly, “for the
next few days, you’re going to play the part of Knight-Marshal
of Krondor.”

The old man
smiled and came to attention. With a glint in his eye, he said, “I
had hoped for a promotion before I retired, sir!” He then lost
his smile. “If I may be so bold, who then are you to be?”

“Me?”
said Dash with a bitter laugh. “I get to play the part of the
Prince of Krondor until Patrick’s strong enough to stand.”

“Well,
then,
Highness
,” said the Sergeant in a semi-mocking
tone, “I respectfully submit we better quit larking about and
get ready to defend this city.” He pointed to the advancing
column in the distance. “That lot doesn’t appear very
tender to me.”

“Right you
are,” said Dash with a tired smile. “I want you to deploy
three men in four on the walls. I want the remaining men held in
reserve.”

“Sir!”
said Mackey with a salute. As Mackey ran off, Gustaf and the
constables ran down High Street toward the main gate. Dash yelled
down, “How did the raids go last night?”

Gustaf shouted,
“We netted another score of the bastards, but I know there are
more out there.”

“Here’s
the duty: call martial law and tell everyone to remain in their
houses. Then I want the constables to check all the places we’ve
talked about.” Gustaf knew exactly what Dash meant: those
places within the city vulnerable to attack from within. ‘
“Then sweep the city and arrest anyone on the streets. Then
report back to the jail and wait.”

“Wait for
what, Sheriff?”

“Wait for
word the Keshians are breaching the defenses, then come fast.”

Gustaf saluted.
He turned and gave orders to groups of constables, who ran off in
different directions, shouting, “Martial law! Get inside! Get
off the streets!”

Dash turned and
watched as the sun continued to rise in the east, and the enemy
continued their advance.

Erik leaned
over, perspiration dripping off his brow, as the enemy retreated once
more. He stood at the point of the center diamond, the dead piled
outside the shield wall to chest height. He turned when someone
touched his shoulder and saw Jadow behind him, his face a mask of red
from the splattered blood. “We held,” said the
Lieutenant. “We did it.”

The attack had
been unrelenting; a wave of soldiers who had simply pushed themselves
upon the waiting defenses of the Kingdom. Eik had been able to
repulse them without having to rely on horses which he no longer had.
The left diamond had threatened to collapse at one point, but a
reserve company had been thrown in and the enemy pushed back. Archers
had continued a slaughter between the diamonds and two flying
companies had been able to respond to threatened flanking attacks
from either side. On the whole, it had been a masterful defense.

Erik said to
Jadow, “I’m worried about arrows. Get scavengers out
there picking up as many as can be salvaged.”

Jadow hurried
off and Erik waved over another soldier, named Wilks. “Run to
the command tent and inform Earl Richard I’ll be along
presently, and ask him if any supply trains have caught up with us.
Then come back here and report.”

Erik was handed
a waterskin by a commissary and he drank greedily. He then poured
water over his face and wiped off whatever blood and dirt he could.

Around him men
were pushing bodies outside the diamonds. The enemy showed no
interest in removing their dead, and Erik was worried: beyond the
obvious problems of the stink and the danger of disease, there was
the added burden of his men having to clear the positions so they
could be defended.

Erik directed
the cleanup, and Jadow returned saying that the scavengers were hard
at work recovering any arrows that could be used again. Even some
that were damaged would be repaired by a trio of fletchers hard at
work at the rear of their position. But Erik was nearly out of
supplies and was concerned, because a baggage train due to arrive the
previous day was overdue. He had dispatched a patrol to the south to
find them and hurry them along. While a smith’s apprentice,
Erik had tended mules and donkeys and knew they were even more
fractious and difficult at times than horses, but now he was
concerned that something beyond a difficult team or two was slowing
down the supplies.

Jadow said,
“Man, that was some fight.”

“Not much
in it, save stand and slaughter.”

“Nightmare
Ridge all over again.”

Erik hiked his
thumb at the enemy. “They’re not very smart, but they are
fearless.”

“I’ve
been thinking,” said Jadow. “We know that those we faced
before were under some spell or another, a demon or what have you,
according to the rumors, and that’s why they fell apart after
the battle at the ridge, but they don’t seem to have learned
anything over the winter.”

“I know
what you mean,” said Erik. “From everything we know about
Fadawah, I’d expect something different. He must have
discovered by now that we’re not going to chase him.”
Erik rubbed his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the
fatigue.