Shards of a Broken Crown (63 page)

“If we get
amnesty, we’re back on the streets the next day, and most of us
are breaking laws and we’re right back where we started. There
was only one Jimmy the Hand who had a prince reach down and raise him
up to the heights.”

Trina gripped
Dash’s arm. She said, “Don’t you see? If your
grandfather hadn’t saved the Prince that one night long ago, he
would have lived out his life with these people. It might have been
him lying on that bed over there instead of his brother. And you
might be over there with the other young men, thinking of how to
survive the coming war, find a meal, and keep out of the Sheriff’s
clutches instead of being the Sheriff.

“You’re
only a noble by a quirk of fate, Dash.”

She looked into
his eyes, then she kissed him, long and hard. “You’ve got
to make a promise, Dash. Make a promise and I’ll do whatever
you ask.”

“What is
the promise?”

“You’ve
got to save them. All of them.”

“Save
them?”

“You’ve
got to see they are fed and clothed and warm and dry, and out of
harm’s way.”

Dash said, “Oh,
Trina, why don’t you ask me to move the city?”

She kissed him
again. “I’ve never felt anything for any man like I feel
for you,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m finally acting
the lovestruck girl after all these years. Maybe in my foolish dreams
I see myself living in comfort as the wife of a noble. Maybe tomorrow
I’ll be dead.

“But if we
fight for Krondor, then you must save us all. That’s the deal,
not some meaningless amnesty. You must take care of the Mockers.
That’s the promise.”

He looked at her
for a long time, studying every detail of her face, as if memorizing
it. Finally he said, “I promise.”

She looked at
him and a tear formed in each eye. As they ran down her face, she
said, “The deal is done. What do you want us to do?”

Dash told her
and they spent another moment together. TTien he tore himself away
from her, the hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life, and he
left Barret’s, knowing that his life would never be the same.

In his heart,
Dash knew that he had made a promise that would be impossible to
keep. Or, if he kept it, he would be betraying his duty to his
office.

He tried to tell
himself that the expediency of the moment required this, that saving
the city came first, and that should Krondor fall and they all die,
the promise was nothing anyway. But deep inside, Dash knew that he
would never look at himself or any oath he gave the same way.

Pug’s arm
shot forward.

A rippling
energy wave exploded forward, a wall of moving forces that distorted
the air as it passed. Bowmen who had just released their arrows saw
them shattered by it an instant before the wall struck them.

As if a giant
child’s arm had swept aside a table full of Coys, the soldiers
were thrown back. Horsemen died as their mounts were seemingly picked
up and tossed back a dozen feet, landing upon their riders. Horses
screamed in terror, and those that managed to land on their feet
bucked and kicked as they fled.

Pug, Tomas,
Miranda, and Nakor walked through the avenue cleared by Pug’s
magic, past men who lay groaning upon the ground. One more hearty
warrior rose to his feet, his sword in hand, and lunged toward them.
Tomas’s sword snaked out of his white scabbard silently and
took the man’s life before he had taken a step.

They walked to
the gates of Ylith.

A guard on the
gate had witnessed the assault and had frantically ordered the gates
closed. Men were pushing furiously on the gates as Tomas reached
them. They swung ponderously toward him but he reached out, placing
his shield against the left gate and his sword against the right and
with one massive push, the gates swung inward, knocking dozens of men
aside.

Nakor said, “I
wish he’d left Elvandar earlier.”

Pug nodded. “But
a vow is a vow. He couldn’t see the threat to his home until
now.”

Miranda said,
“Having power doesn’t free one from being short-sighted.”

“Not
short-sighted,” said Pug. “Just a different appreciation
of the situation.”

“Where to
now?” asked Miranda.

“If I
remember the layout of Ylith,” said Nakor, “straight down
this street to the High Road, turn right, and we walk straight up to
the citadel.”

Archers on the
wall loosed a barrage of arrows, and Pug erected a protective
barrier. “Ignore those,” he said to Tomas. “We have
weightier matters to address.”

Tomas smiled at
his boyhood friend. “Agreed.”

They walked
calmly through the city of Ylith, and the depredation of the
occupation was visible on every side. Some buildings had been
rebuilt, but others still lay abandoned, their doors off their hinges
and windows shattered, looking like nothing so much as empty faces.

Men ran from the
sight of the four people encompassed by a sphere of flickering blue
energy. From nearby alleys and streets, archers peered out and fired
arrows at them; they bounced harmlessly off the magic shell.

They reached the
corner where they needed to turn and found another company of archers
waiting. Dozens of arrows struck the barrier and bounced off, and
when Tomas reached a position a dozen feet before the first rank of
archers, they broke and ran.

Nakor said,
“These men are not dangerous to us as long as we pay attention
to them, but somewhere ahead is someone who is very dangerous.”

“Do you
know this as a fact,” asked Tomas, “or are you
conjecturing?”

“Conjecturing,”
said Nakor.

“But you
suspect something,” said Miranda.

“What?”
asked Pug.

“Nothing I
care to talk about yet,” said Nakor. “But yes, I have a
suspicion.”

“I’ve
learned over the years to take those seriously,” said Pug.
“What do you suggest?”

They were
nearing a large intersection where soldiers were rolling wagons
across the street in a barricade. Nakor said, “Only to be
careful.”

Arrows rained
down upon them, and even knowing the defense was in place, Miranda
and Nakor flinched. “This is irritating,” said Nakor.

Pug said, “I
agree. And as you observed, it could be dangerous if I let my
concentration slip.” He said, “Stop a moment.”

They did and Pug
raised his hand. He pointed up in the air, and outside the protective
sphere, directly over the tip of his finger, a spark of white light
appeared. Pug twirled his finger a moment, and the tiny white hot
point of light spun. “Protect your eyes!” Pug warned.

Abruptly the
scene became a harsh contrast in white and black, as the point of
light erupted to the brilliance of the sun at noon, then brighter.
The pulse of light lasted only for a moment, but the effect was
literally blinding.

Pug and his
companions opened their eyes to see men crying in panic and terror,
some reaching around, while others fell to their knees, their hands
to their eyes.

“I’m
blind!” was repeated on all sides by panic-stricken men. Tomas
walked through a gap between two wagons, the defense of the city
forgotten by men made blind. “How long will it last?”
asked Miranda.

“No more
than a day for some, hours for others,” said Pug. “But
this particular group will not be any further trouble to us.”

They made their
way around the last of the barriers and moved up the street toward
the citadel. The remaining soldiers who had retained their sight ran
at the vision of the four powerful beings walking purposefully down
the street.

A panic-stricken
sentry had called for the drawbridge to be raised, and as they came
within a hundred yards of the bridge, they saw it starting to rise.
Tomas broke into an effortless run, his sword drawn, and Pug realized
he had left the containment of the defensive shell. Pug let it lapse,
for while it didn’t take a considerable level of concentration
to maintain, it required energy he might need later.

Tomas leaped
atop the rising bridge as it reached a height of six feet above the
road. With a quick swing of his sword he severed the massive iron
chain on the right, links the size of a man’s head shearing
with an explosion of sparks and a deafening clang.

Then he severed
the left chain and the bridge crashed back into place. The soldiers
inside the citadel cut the restraining ropes on the winch that raised
the portcullis, and the heavy iron gate slid down before them, the
iron points slamming into the stones with a loud crash. “I can
raise it and you can all slip under,” said Tomas.

Miranda said,
“No, let me.” She waved her hands in a series of gestures
and raised her right palm, then extended her right arm toward the
gate. A ball of scintillating white-and-silver light formed around
her hand, then flew off, like a ball lazily tossed by a child,
arching gracefully to strike the center of the portcullis. The energy
ran along the bars, sparking and sizzling, and the iron in the gate
began to smoke. Then it heated up, turning first red, then white-hot.
Even standing yards away, they could feel the scorching heat of the
metal as it began to melt and crumble before them. The men in the
gatehouse above the portcullis began to shout and flee the structure,
due to the tremendous heat rising from the burning gate.

Where the molten
metal struck the wood of the gate, it flamed and smoke rose. In
minutes a hole more than adequate to allow them to pass had been
melted through the gate. “Watch where you step, Nakor,”
said Miranda.

“You
watch, too,” said Nakor.

“I’m
not the one wearing sandals,” she said.

They entered the
courtyard and no one was in sight. Whatever fight may have resided in
the garrison was driven from them by the destruction of the
portcullis. They crossed the small bailey and entered the keep.

A simple tower
keep had dominated the harbor at Ylith for years, for the original
rulers had been little more than pirates and traders and their harbor
was everything. But after the Kingdom had annexed Yabon, the new
Baron had decided to build this citadel at the north end of the city
to protect the city from goblins and Brothers of the Dark Path from
the Northlands, raiding down into Yabon. Here, for five generations,
the business of the Barony had been conducted.

They walked up a
broad set of steps to a daunting set of oak doors. Tomas pushed them
open, and they parted with a shattering crack as a bar the size of a
man’s arm behind the doors splintered and broke.

Before they
crossed the threshold, Nakor said, “Ware this place. It is a
seat of power.”

Tomas said, “I
can feel it. It has an alien feeling, something no Valheru has
encountered.”

Pug said,
“That’s saying something. If a Dragon Lord hasn’t
encountered what’s on the other side of that door. . .”
He closed his eyes and sent out his senses. At the portal a ward
existed; had they passed through without protection, they would have
been incinerated. Pug quickly ascertained the nature of the ward and
countered it. “It’s safe to pass,” he said.

Sword at the
ready and shield before him, Tomas entered the room first. Pug
followed with Miranda and Nakor.

As soon as they
entered the old baronial great hall, it was as if they had stepped
into anther world. The hall reeked of death and the floors were
stained with blood. Skulls and bones were scattered around the room,
and a faint haze darkened the air. Torches burned in sconces, their
light angry and red, as if something had sucked the light out of the
flames.

Men who were no
longer human stood on either side of the great hall. Their eyes were
glowing jewels of luminous red, their muscles unnaturally enlarged
and straining at the skin. They all wore facial scars and expressions
of madness. Some twitched and others drooled, and they all had mystic
tattoos covering their upper bodies. Some carried double-bladed axes
and others had swords and buckler shields.

They seemed
poised to attack, yet appeared to be waiting upon something. The
great vaulted windows of the room had been painted in red and black,
passing only the faintest illumination from outside. The runes upon
them were alien and repugnant to view.

Nakor glanced
from window to window. “These are wrong,” he whispered.

“What do
you mean?” asked Miranda.

“Whoever
painted those is trying to do something very . . . very bad. But they
didn’t do it . . . correctly.”

“How do
you know?” asked Tomas, holding his sword ready and watching
first one side then the other as he advanced slowly up the center of
the room.

“Years of
sleeping on the
Codex of Wodar-Hospur
. . . I remember
things when I need to know them. If I thought about that too much, it
might make me upset.”

As they crossed
the hall, they confronted a figure on the right-hand side of the
baronial throne that caused them all to pause. It was clearly not
human. It looked roughly human, though its skin had a pale blue
tinge. Upon its back large wings with brilliant white feathers
sprouted. On the left-hand side of the throne stood a man, dressed in
black robes with runes embroidered upon them. He had a silver collar
around his neck.

Sitting on the
throne was an old warrior, still strong-looking despite his age. His
grey-shot hair was cut short, though he retained the long fall common
to those who had chosen to serve dark powers. And upon his cheeks the
ritual scars clearly showed.

He regarded the
four intruders with a wary gaze and said, “One of you must be
the magician named Pug.”

Pug stepped
forward and said, “I am Pug.”

“I was
warned that eventually you would be troubling me.”

“You are
General Fadawah,” said Pug.