Arutha watched as the thin strip of land in the distance grew clearer in the afternoon light. While not bright, the day was relatively fair, only slightly overcast. “We should have time. I’ll want to return to Crydee as soon as Erland’s convinced of the risk, but even if he agrees at once, it will take some time to gather the men and ships.”
Martin said, dryly, “And I for one would not care to pass the Straits of Darkness again until the weather is a bit more agreeable.”
Amos said, “Man of faint heart. You’ve already done it the hard way. Going to the Far Coast in the dead of winter is only slightly suicidal.”
Arutha waited in silence as the distant landfall began to resolve in detail. In less than an hour they could clearly make out the sights of Krondor’s towers rising into the air, and ships at anchor in the harbor.
“Well,” said Amos, “if you wish a state welcome, I’d better have your banner broken out and run up the mast.”
Arutha held him back, saying, “Wait, Amos. Do you mark that ship by the harbor’s mouth?”
As they closed upon the harbor, Amos studied the ship in question. “She’s a beastly bitch. Look at the size of her. The Prince’s building them a damn sight bigger than when I was last in Krondor. Three-masted, and rigged for thirty or better sail from flying jib to spanker. From the lines of her hull, she’s a greyhound, no doubt. I’d not want to run up against her with less than three Quegan galleys. You’d need the rowers, for those oversized crossbows she mounts fore and aft would quickly make a hash of your rigging.
“Now we know why those Quegan galleys were so far from home. If the Kingdom’s bringing warships like this to the Bitter Sea, Queg’s—”
“Mark the banner at her masthead, Amos,” said Arutha.
Entering the harbor, they passed near the ship. On her bow was painted her name, Royal Griffin. Amos said, “A Kingdom warship, no doubt, but I’ve never seen one under any banner but Krondor’s.” Atop the ship’s highest mast a black banner emblazoned with a golden eagle snapped in the breeze. “I thought I knew every banner seen on the Bitter Sea, but that one is new to me.”
“The same banner lies above the docks, Arutha,” said Martin, pointing toward the distant city.
Quietly Arutha said, “That banner has never been seen on the Bitter Sea before.” His expression turned grim as he said, “Unless I say otherwise, we are Natalese traders, nothing more.”
“Whose banner is that?” asked Amos.
Gripping the rail, Arutha replied, “It is the banner of the second-oldest house in the Kingdom. It announces that my distant cousin, Guy, the Duke of Bas-Tyra, is in Krondor.”
6
Krondor
The inn was crowded.
Amos led Arutha and Martin through the common room to an empty table near the fireplace. Snatches of conversation reached Arutha’s ears as they took their seats. On close inspection the mood in the room was more restrained than it had first appeared.
Arutha’s thoughts raced. His plans for securing Erland’s help had been crushed within minutes of reaching the harbor. Everywhere in the city were signs that Guy du Bas-Tyra was not simply guesting in Krondor, but was now fully in control. Men of the city watch followed officers wearing the black and gold of Bas-Tyra, and Guy’s banner flew over every tower in the city.
When a dowdy serving wench came, Amos ordered three mugs of ale, and the men waited in silence until they were brought. When the servingwoman was gone, Amos said, “We’ll have to pick our way carefully now.”
Arutha’s expression remained fixed. “How long before we can sail?”
“Weeks, at least three. We’ve got to get the hull repaired, and the keelson replaced correctly. How long will depend on the shipwrights. Winter’s a bad time: the fair-weather traders haul out their ships, so they’ll be fit come spring. I’ll begin inquiries first thing tomorrow.”
“That may take too long. If needs be, buy another.”
Amos raised an eyebrow. “You’ve funds?”
“In my chest aboard ship.” With a grim smile he said, “The Tsurani aren’t the only ones who play politics with war. To many of the nobles in Krondor and the East, the war is a distant thing, hardly imaginable. It has gone on for nearly nine years, and all they ever see is dispatches.
“And our loyal Kingdom merchants don’t donate supplies and ships out of love for King Rodric. My gold is a hedge against underwriting the cost of bringing Krondorian soldiers to Crydee, both in expenses and bribes.”
“Well then,” said Amos, “even so it will be a week or two. You don’t usually stroll into a ship’s brokerage and pay gold for the first ship offered, not if you wish to avoid notice. And most of the ships sold are fairly worthless. It will take time.”
“And,” put in Martin, “there’re the straits.”
“That’s true,” agreed Amos, “though we could take a leisurely turn up the coast to Sarth and wait to time our run through the straits.”
“No,” said Arutha. “Sarth is still in the Principality. If Guy’s in control of Krondor, he’ll have agents and soldiers there. We won’t be safe until we’re out of the Bitter Sea. We’ll attract less attention in Krondor than in Sarth: strangers are not uncommon here.”
Amos looked long at Arutha, then said, “Now, I don’t claim to know you as well as some men I’ve met, but I don’t think you’re as concerned for your own skin as something else.”
Arutha glanced about the room. “We’d better find a less public place to talk.”
With a sound between a sigh and a groan, Amos heaved himself out of his chair. “The Sailor’s Ease is not where I’d prefer to stay, but for our purposes it will serve.” He made his way to the long bar and spoke at length to the innkeeper. The heavyset owner of the inn pointed up the stairs, and Amos nodded. He signed for his companions to accompany him and led them through the press of the common room, up the stairs, and down a long hall to the last door. Pushing it aside, he motioned for them to enter.
Inside they found a room with little to recommend itself by way of comforts. Four straw-stuffed pallets rested on the floor. A large box in the corner served as a common closet. A crude lamp, a simple wick floating in a bowl of oil, sat upon a rude table; it burned with a pungent odor when Longbow struck a spark to it.
Amos closed the door as Arutha said, “I can see what you meant about choices in rooms.”
“I’ve slept in far worse,” answered Amos, settling down on one of the pallets. “If we’re to keep our liberty, we’d best establish believable identities. For the time being, we’ll call you Arthur. It’s close enough to your own to afford a passable explanation should someone call out your real name and cause you to turn or answer. Also, it will be easy to remember.”
Arutha and Martin sat down, and Amos continued. “Arthur—get used to that name—of navigating cities you know less than a thimbleful, which is twice as much as Martin knows. You’ll do well to play the role of some minor noble’s son, from some out-of-the-way place. Martin, you are a hunter from the hills of Natal.”
“I can speak the language passing well.”
Arutha gave a half-smile. “Get him a grey cloak and he’d make a fair ranger. I don’t speak the language of Natal, or the Keshian tongue, so I’ll be the son of a minor eastern noble, visiting for recreation. Few in Krondor could know half the barons of the East.”
“Just so long as it’s not too close to Bas-Tyra. With all those black tabards about, it would be a pretty thing to run into a supposed cousin among Guy’s officers.”
Arutha’s expression turned dark. “You were correct about my concerns, Amos. I’ll not leave Krondor until I’ve discovered exactly what Guy is doing here and what it means for the war.”
“Even should I find us a ship tomorrow,” said Amos, “which is unlikely, you should have plenty of time to snoop about. Probably find out more than you’ll want to know. The city’s a lousy place for secrets. The rumormongers will be plying their trade in the market, and every common
er in the city will know enough to give you a fair picture of what’s taken place. Just remember to keep your mouth shut and ears open. Rumormongers’ll sell you what you want to know, then turn around and sell news of your asking to the city guard so fast it’d make you spin to watch.” Amos stretched, then said, “It’s still early, but I think we should have a hot meal, then to bed. We’ve a lot of prowling about to accomplish.” With that he rose and opened the door, and the three men returned to the common room.
—
ARUTHA MUNCHED UPON a nearly cold meat pie. Lowering his head, he forced himself to continue consuming the pieman’s greasy ware. He refused to consider what was contained within the soggy crust in addition to the beef and pork the seller claimed.
Casting a sidelong glance across the busy square, Arutha studied the gates to Prince Erland’s palace. Finishing the pie, he quickly crossed to an ale stand and ordered a large mug to wash away the aftertaste. For the last hour he had moved, seemingly without purpose, from seller’s cart to seller’s cart, purchasing this and that, posing as a minor noble’s son. And in that hour he had learned a great deal.
Martin and Amos came into sight, nearly an hour before the appointed time. Both wore grim expressions and kept glancing nervously about. Without comment Amos motioned for Arutha to follow as they walked by. They pushed through the midday throng and passed quickly away from the great-square district. Reaching a less hospitable-looking though no less busy area, they continued until Amos indicated they should enter a particular building.
Once through the door, Arutha was met by a hot, steamy atmosphere as an attendant came to greet them. “A bathhouse?” said Arutha.
Without humor Amos said, “You need to get rid of some road dirt, Arthur.” To the attendant he said, “A steam for us all.”
The man led them to a changing room and handed each a rough towel and a canvas bag for belongings. They undressed, wrapped the towels about them, and carried their clothing and weapons in the bags into the steam room.
The large room was completely tiled, though the walls and floors were stained and showed patches of green. The air was close and fetid. A small half-naked boy squatted in the center of the room, before the bed of rocks that supplied the steam. He alternately fed wood to the huge brazier below the stones and poured water upon them, generating giant clouds of steam.
When they were seated upon a bench, in the farthest corner of the room, Arutha said, “Why a bathhouse?”
Amos whispered, “Our inn has very thin walls. And a great deal of business is conducted in places such as these, so three men whispering in the corner won’t draw undue attention.” He shouted to the boy, “You, lad, run and fetch some chilled wine.” Amos tossed a silver coin at the boy, who caught it in midair. When he didn’t move, Amos tossed him another, and the boy scampered off. With a sigh Amos said, “The price of chilled wine has doubled since I was last here. He’ll be gone for a while, but not too long.”
“What is this?” asked Arutha, not taking pains to hide his ill humor. The towel itched and the room stank, and he doubted if he’d be any cleaner for the time spent here than if he’d stayed in the square.
“Martin and I both have troublesome news.”
“As do I. I already know Guy is Viceroy in Krondor. What else have you learned?”
Martin said, “I overheard some conversation that makes me believe Guy has imprisoned Erland and his family in the palace.”
Arutha’s eyes narrowed, and his voice was low and angry. “Even Guy wouldn’t dare harm the Prince of Krondor.”
Martin said, “He would should the King give his leave. I know little of this trouble between the King and the Prince, but it is clear Guy is now the power in Krondor and acts with the King’s permission, if not his blessing. You told me of Caldric’s warning when you were last in Rillanon. Perhaps the King’s sickness has grown worse.”
“Madness, if you mean to speak clearly,” snapped Arutha.
“To further cloud things in Krondor,” said Amos, “it seems we are at war with Great Kesh.”
“What!” said Arutha.
“A rumor, nothing more.” Amos spoke quietly and quickly. “Before finding Martin, I was nosing around a local joy house, not too far from the garrison barracks. I overheard some soldiers at their ease saying they were to leave at first light for a campaign. When the object of one soldier’s momentary ardor asked when she would see him again, he said, ‘As long as it takes to march to the vale and back, should luck be with us,’ at which point he invoked Ruthia’s name, so that the Lady of Luck would not view his discussion of her province disfavorably.”
“The vale?” said Arutha. “That can only mean a campaign down into the Vale of Dreams. Kesh must have hit the garrison at Shamata with an expeditionary force of dog-soldiers. Guy’s no fool. He’ll know the only answer’s a quick, unhesitating strike from Krondor, to show Great Kesh’s Empress we can still defend our borders. Once the dog soldiers have been driven south of the vale, we’ll have another round of useless treaty talks over who has the right to it. That means even should Guy wish to aid Crydee, which I doubt, he could not. There’s no time to deal with Kesh, return, and reach Crydee by spring, or even early summer.” Arutha swore. “This is bitter news, Amos.”
“There is still more. Earlier today I took the trouble to visit the ship, just to ensure Vasco had everything in hand, and that the men weren’t chafing too much at being kept aboard. Our ship is being watched.”
“Are you sure?”
“Certain. There’s a couple of boys who stand around, playing at net mending, but they do no real work. They watched closely as I rowed out and back.”
“Who do you think they are?”
“I can’t begin to guess. They could be Guy’s men, or men still loyal to Erland. They could be agents of Great Kesh, smugglers, even Mockers.”
“Mockers?” asked Martin.
“The Guild of Thieves,” said Arutha. “Little goes on in Krondor without notice by their leader, the Upright Man.”
Amos said, “That mysterious personage runs the Mockers with tighter control than a captain has over his crew. There are places in the city where even the Prince cannot reach, but no place in Krondor is beyond the Upright Man. If he’s taken an interest in us, for whatever reason, we have much to fear.”
The conversation was interrupted by the serving boy’s return. He set down a chilled pewter pitcher of wine and three cups. Amos said, “Fetch yourself to the nearest incense vendor, boy. This place stinks. Buy something sweet to toss upon the fire.”
The boy regarded them a little warily, then shrugged as Amos tossed him another coin. He ran from the room, and Amos said, “He’ll be back soon, and I’ve run out of reasons to send him away. In any event this place will soon be thick with merchants taking an afternoon steam.
“When the boy comes back, sip some wine, try to relax, and don’t leave too soon. Now, in all this bleak mess, there is one small glimmer of light.”
“Then I would hear what it is,” said Arutha.
“Guy will soon be gone from the city.”
Arutha’s eyes narrowed. “Still, his men will be left in charge. But what you say does have some aspect of comfort. There are few in Krondor likely to mark me by sight, for it’s nearly nine years since I was last here, and most of those have likely disappeared with the Prince. Also, there is a plan I’ve been considering. With Guy out of Krondor, I would have an even better chance of success.”
“What plan?” asked Amos.
“I’ll tell you when I’ve had more time to dwell upon it. Where could we safely meet?”
Amos considered. “Brothels, drug houses, and gambling halls are all as bad as inns. Either the Mockers control them and note everyone coming and going, or there are others about looking for information to sell. If someone overheard you speaking the wrong phrase, the Mockers or the city guards could be down on you in minutes.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. “I have the very place! When the town w
atch rings the hour bell, two hours after sunset, meet me at the east end of Temple Square.”
The boy returned and tossed a small bundle of incense upon the fire, cutting off conversation. Arutha settled back and drank the chilled wine, rapidly warming in the heat of the steam room. He closed his eyes, but was not relaxing, as he considered the situation. After a while he began to feel his plan might work if he could reach Dulanic. Running out of patience, he was the first to rise, rinse off, dress, and leave.
—
ARUTHA WAITED AS Martin and Amos approached from different parts of the city, crossing Temple Square. On all sides the temples of the greater and lesser gods rose up. Several were busy with pilgrims and worshipers entering and leaving, while others were nearly deserted.
Reaching the Prince, Amos said, “How fared you this afternoon?”
Arutha spoke softly. “I occupied my time in a tavern, keeping to myself. I did overhear some conversation about Erland, but when I tried to get closer, the speakers moved off. Otherwise I considered the plan I spoke of.”
Martin glanced about, then said, “An ill-omened place you picked, Amos. Gathered at this end of the square are all the gods and goddesses of darkness and chaos.”
Amos shrugged. “Which means few travelers nearby after night fall. And a clear view of anyone approaching.” To Arutha he said, “Now, what is this plan?”
Quietly and quickly, Arutha said, “I noticed two things this morning: Erland’s personal guards still patrol the palace grounds, so there must be limits to Guy’s control. Second, several of Erland’s courtiers entered and left freely enough, so some large portion of the daily business of governing the Western Realm must remain unchanged.”
Amos stroked his chin, thinking. “That would seem logical. Guy brought his army with him, not his administrators. They’re still back running Bas-Tyra.”
“Which means Lord Dulanic and others not entirely sympathetic to Guy might still be able to aid us. If Dulanic will help, I can still succeed with my mission.”