Magician's End

  Oliver also didn’t know that while Bas-Tyra’s ships were tightly packed around Rillanon, proudly flying banners – isolated and confined by Oliver’s allies – Charles had the loan of a separate fleet, that one being Roldem’s. Charles was either already with Edward or would be shortly.

  It had taken a very persuasive Lady Franciezka Sorboz’s constant pressure on the king, coupled with King Carole’s own history of dealings with Oliver, to convince him that Roldem could not stand neutral in this coming civil war. It was clear that Oliver, should he take the Isles, would immediately become a threat to Roldem’s control of Olasko, and perhaps even to the home island itself.

  Jim had met with Lady Franciezka briefly in Salador, both of them in disguise, and had departed two days before her. He trusted in her wits and abilities to get herself out of Arthur’s city and to Prince Edward, but he found himself worrying about her, and he hated that he worried. Their relationship was very complicated, as she was the only woman he genuinely loved, despite her having tried to have him killed twice. He turned his mind away from her and back to his current plan.

  He had used his Tsurani orb to get to Rillanon and found that Oliver’s fleet had departed. After leaving his grandfather, Jim had availed himself of a talented young magician named Donato to transport him back to Rillanon, after a brief meeting with King Carole to cement the alliance between the Isles and Roldem, then returned to dine with his grandfather.

  The next morning he had boarded the Lord Archibald at first light. Once the ship’s captain read James’s letter of free passage signed by the King of Roldem himself, and bearing the royal seal, ordering any and all to give aid to the bearer, Jim was underway. In less than three days they had overtaken Oliver’s fleet and then began to shadow them. They could see the sails of the trailing ships until they reached Kingdom Isle, where Oliver’s fleet swung around to the north, heading for the coast south of Malac’s Cross, and the Lord Archibald swung south, heading for Salador.

  Jim, not for the first time, wished the damned orb had more settings, or he could somehow learn the magician’s trick of popping in and out of where they wanted to be, but at least he was arriving in Salador after Bas-Tyra’s army had occupied it. Waiting for the ship to berth, Jim reviewed his plan again.

  Oliver would land unopposed, and word would reach him that all was proceeding as planned. The only difference would be that when Oliver marched into Albalyn he would discover that the army he faced was twice the size of the one he anticipated and that no aid would be forthcoming from Silden or Salador.

  Still, Jim worried. History was full of battles in which the smaller army was victorious. Oliver’s biggest advantage was that his was an army with a core of battle-hardened Eastern Kingdom soldiers, mean bastards tempered by years of border clashes. Edward’s army comprised mostly westerners, and their primary tasks had been fighting disorganized bandits, goblin bands, or the occasional bar brawl on the frontiers between rival garrisons.

  His single greatest concern would be how Arthur of Salador reacted to the news that his city was taken. That bit of theatrics relied on a very stalwart commander named du Gale holding Silden for two weeks, and then Arthur fleeing to the east when hearing of Salador’s fall. Jim’s worst nightmare was Arthur taking Silden before the Roldem ship with the green banner arrived, or returning to Salador at the head of his army, marching right into Oliver’s forces and joining up with them.

  The captain gave orders and the ship began losing sail as it hove into sight of the city. Jim would land at Salador and see if Franciezka was safely gone and find out what, if any, news from Silden had reached the garrison. Then he would find a horse and make for the Fields of Albalyn. He had done everything he could and now the players were on their predetermined positions on the board.

  He had nothing left but to stand at his king’s side, when Edward was victorious, or to lie dead next to him.

  Salador was chaotic, as Jim had expected, but it was the level of chaos that troubled him. He made his way past a company of Roldemish marines who were stationed on the dock to guard their ships, and then looked for some sign of who might be in charge. He saw a squad of soldiers from Bas-Tyra standing at the corner and made his way over to them. A corporal saw him coming, tried to appraise him by his dress and decided a neutral course of action was appropriate.

  ‘Sir?’ he said in a noncommittal tone.

  ‘Where is the Duke of Bas-Tyra?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Departed a few days ago with the bulk of the army.’ The soldier glanced around as if not wanting to be overheard. ‘We sailed in and found about two hundred city watch – most of them conscripts – and some louts up in the duke’s castle trying to be all heroic, and in about four hours we had the city in hand. Not that it’s my place to speak ill of my betters, but my wife and kids could have defended this city with more heart. It’s as if the Duke of Salador had no notion anyone might see an undefended city as an opportunity.’

  Jim smiled. ‘I think he had bad intelligence.’

  ‘Well, I’m not speaking of his intelligence, mind you, him being a duke and all, but seems to me if you’re taking your army somewhere else, best leave enough men behind to make sure you have somewhere to return to, if you take my meaning.’

  ‘I do. Who’s in charge?’

  ‘That would be Captain Ronsard. He’s provost of the city and commander of the garrison. He’s over in the barracks.’

  ‘Thank you, Corporal.’

  Jim left the knot of soldiers behind and worked his way through the crowd. The city was simmering just below the level of a full-blown riot. He could smell it on the wind.

  No doubt Duke Arthur had left the city with a show of pomp and confidence, brave men in the mustard and crimson of Salador marching off to conquer for the new king. Rumours would be rampant, and those merchants, whores, beggars and thieves who hadn’t followed the army were all salivating over the prospect of a conquering army returning home loaded with booty. Then, a few weeks later, another army sailed into the harbour under cover of night and whatever was left of the local military was easily overcome. One night the citizenry went to bed with the banner of Salador snapping bravely in the breeze, then the next morning they awoke to see the black-and-gold banner of Bas-Tyra overhead. Those that could read found edicts nailed to every corner that the city was now under martial law, imposed by the Duke of Bas-Tyra on behalf of the Crown.

  Suddenly goods would become scarce, for whatever Bas-Tyra didn’t confiscate would be hidden away against shortages. People were suddenly frightened, and despite order being maintained, it was maintained under threat of violence from an invading army.

  Jim knew it would take skilful management to avoid riots, looting, and wholesale bloodshed during the occupation. He worked through a very crowded section of the city near the southern gate and passed a strange assortment of onlookers. There were very old men, and very young boys, but no one between the ages of fifteen and fifty. The women were gathered in clutches, whispering, as if afraid of being overheard. He realized that a day or two after he and Franciezka had met in this city, some sort of muster must have been called, as there wasn’t a man of fighting age not in uniform to be seen. That didn’t mean the city was safe from violence; old men and young women could run rampant through the streets just as easily as a mob of drunken men. There was likelihood of a full-scale rebellion.

  Jim reached the barracks and asked for directions to the captain’s location. He found the office and an orderly announced him.

  ‘Yes?’ said the captain impatiently.

  ‘I just arrived on a Roldemish cutter, Captain.’ Jim handed over a parchment and waited.

  The captain read it and his entire manner changed. ‘My lord,’ he said, handing it back. It was a carte blanche Jim had written himself, signed by his grandfather and bearing the duke’s seal.

  ‘How stands Salador?’

  ‘As you no doubt saw,’ the captain rose from behind his desk, ‘the city is verging on insurrec
tion and riot. I’ve given orders that should riot erupt, my men are to pull back to this garrison.’

  ‘Wise,’ said Jim.

  ‘How can I be of aid, my lord?’

  ‘I need a horse.’

  ‘A moment,’ said the captain. He picked up quill and leaned over to pen an order, signed it, and handed it to Jim. ‘Take your pick at the stable, though I would appreciate it if you’d pass over the big grey gelding; that’s my horse.’ He smiled.

  ‘I’ll find another,’ said Jim. ‘Tell me, have you encountered a lady of Roldem here?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ said the captain. ‘A specific lady, I take it.’

  ‘Very,’ said Jim, thinking Franciezka must have found a way out of the city. Had she been in hiding when Bas-Tyra had arrived, she would surely have made herself known to the duke.

  A shout from outside caused both men to go to the door. A guardsman ran up and said, ‘Captain, we have sight of a large column of dust from the north.’

  ‘That can’t be good,’ said the captain.

  ‘Perhaps not bad, either,’ said Jim. ‘May I join you?’

  Given the rank of this mysterious traveller and the carte blanche he carried, the captain realized asking permission was simply good manners, but he appreciated it and nodded.

  Both men climbed the steps to the city walls and moved to the northern tower. From the roof they peered northward.

  ‘It’s a big company,’ said Captain Ronsard.

  As they watched, the cloud of dust grew larger.

  One of the lookouts said, ‘It’s a bleeding army, sir.’

  ‘What banner?’

  ‘Can’t see yet, Captain.’

  Time dragged on and Jim waited. If things had gone according to plan in Silden, there was little threat. But if things hadn’t gone as planned, the approaching force could prove disastrous for Prince Edward and the Kingdom.

  Finally the lookout said, ‘They fly no standards, but they’re wearing Salador colours, Captain!’

  Jim asked, ‘Who rides in the van?’

  ‘No officers I can see, sir. Their horse are on the flank, riding at a walk, keeping pace with the infantry.’

  ‘Good,’ said Jim. He turned to Captain Ronsard and said, ‘I expect you’ll find a captain, lieutenant, or perhaps even a sergeant in command of that army. But if there’s one nobleman left I’ll be surprised.’

  ‘I’m not sure I take your meaning, sir.’

  ‘That’s the army of Salador come home, without the duke.’

  ‘Is Duke Arthur dead, you think?’

  ‘More likely trying to find a way to ride around Bas-Tyra and seek asylum with Chadwick of Ran.’ Jim headed toward the stairs. ‘I’ll take that horse now, just in case whoever’s in charge of that army isn’t in a good mood. But if I’m right, you’ll need to accept a lot of paroles for the rest of this day. Promise them whatever it takes, but start with back-pay. Tear apart Duke Arthur’s apartments – he thought he was coming back, so I expect much of his personal wealth is secreted there somewhere, likely a treasure room next to his own quarters, or somewhere in the lower dungeon. Make sure those men are disarmed, fed, given something to drink – not too much – and paid, and you’ll have little trouble. And you might even put some of them to work guarding their own city.’

  ‘I’m not sure any of this makes sense, my lord,’ said Ronsard, but Jim had vanished down into the tower. The captain returned his attention to the approaching army. ‘As soon as that nobleman is out of the gates, I want them closed until we find out what this is all about.’

  ‘Sir,’ said a nearby sentry, and he followed Jim down the steps.

  All eyes on the wall watched as the army of Salador slowly returned home.

  Jim rode without incident for two days. He had circled wide of the approaching army from the north, but rode close enough that he judged they’d be little trouble for Captain Ronsard and his garrison. From the look of them they were tired of fighting and just wanted to go home. The absence of mercenaries told Jim as much as he needed to know: Silden had withstood attack and the army of Salador had withdrawn. If he survived the rest of this coming war he’d read the reports and sift through the details later, but he knew that when this was over, an officer in Silden’s army – Knight-Marshall Geoffrey du Gale – should be sought out and personally thanked. Jim had left him in a very bad situation and it appeared he had made the best of it.

  The villages along the line of march between the coast and the Fields of Albalyn were deserted, as Jim had expected them to be. Villagers had an inbuilt sense of when trouble was headed their way and usually found places to be other than in front of approaching armies. The woods to the north and south of the highway would be speckled with camps and makeshift villages. These people had long experience of putting up a wattle-and-daub hut in short order. Some of the camps might even turn into permanent settlements.

  The road from Salador intersected the road from Malac’s Cross, a point accepted as the de facto line separating the Eastern and Western Realms of the Kingdom. Jim circled south and west around that particular intersection, as Oliver had no doubt put a company there, protecting his beachhead. He paused and stared up the road. In the matter of a few weeks, Prince Oliver and his army would be marching down this road to about where Jim sat his horse. Within a week after that, he would march over a rise and see a sweeping vista of fields, freshly harvested and now empty, dominated at the north by a rising tor. On that tor rested an ancient fortress, a single keep abandoned centuries ago, but once the first Kingdom fortification in what would become the Western Realm. The Tower of Albalyn, which gave its name to the fields below.

  There Oliver would be looking up at a deceptively long rise: he would have to charge his men uphill at Prince Edward’s entrenched army. If all went according to plan, the battle would be over in a day, with Oliver crushing himself against Edward’s position.

  At least that was Jim’s plan, and his hope.

  And Jim Dasher was enough of a realist to know that nothing ever goes as planned.

  He rode on.

  Jim spied the sentries along the ridgeline east of the fields and rode slowly to the two guards stationed along the highway. He waved casually and when he reached them, one said, ‘Your business?’

  Without speaking, Jim handed down his warrant of passage and the guard looked at it and handed it to his companion. Jim realized neither could read and said, ‘Message for Prince Edward from the Duke of Rillanon.’

  Alone, he was hardly a threat to Prince Edward, who was surrounded by several thousand soldiers, so they waved him along. He rode at a slow trot, his eyes travelling over the terrain. There were a dozen features that caught his eye, small deviations from the maps that had him recalculating a possible battle strategy. He stopped: there was a tent full of generals, marshals, dukes, and a prince to conduct this battle. There was unlikely to be anything he noticed that they had missed.

  When he reached the lines, a captain who could read glanced at his document, waved him through and pointed out the prince’s pavilion. There, a lackey took his mount and he entered. Several familiar faces greeted him as he approached Prince Edward and bowed. ‘Highness.’

  ‘Lord Jamison,’ said the prince. ‘I hope you bring good news.’

  ‘As good as can be had in a war. Oliver follows the trail we left him, like a dog after a rabbit.’ He removed his gauntlets and took an offered cup of wine. ‘Good,’ he said after taking a drink. He looked around the room, nodding greetings to all.

  The Dukes of Yabon, Darkmoor, Bas-Tyra, Krondor, Durony’s Vale, Sutherland, Silden, and Crydee were attending the prince, as were the other court officers. Jim noticed his cousin Richard standing next to the Duke of Krondor and nodded to him. He didn’t particularly like his cousin, but he respected him and was surprised to discover he was here. A dozen commanders were awaiting word of Oliver’s army approaching from the east, and reviewing plans to anticipate every contingency.

  Jim tur
ned to Prince Edward. ‘I left Salador three days ago, after I had followed Oliver’s fleet towards their beachhead. They did as anticipated and landed directly east of the Western Highway.’

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘If he doesn’t lag or piss around too much, two weeks, three at the outside. He’s got seasick horses, men who’ve been barracked a long time: he probably needs to forage and establish his scouts and skirmishers. Most importantly, he has to set up his base for his line of march. He’s got to unload a lot of cargo and be ready to resupply if this turns into a long campaign.’

  ‘How many men?’ asked the Duke of Darkmoor.

  ‘Silden cost him most of the western mercenaries,’ said Jim with a smile. ‘They didn’t like fighting and not getting paid. And he’s lost Salador, which is close to two thousand men. But he’s got all of Maladon and Simrick, eastern mercenaries, and Dolth, Euper, Tiburn, Timons, and Romney marching with him.’

  ‘What of Ran?’ asked Edward. ‘Chadwick made a deal with Oliver, correct?’

  ‘All our intelligence says that was so,’ Jim answered. ‘Chadwick is not with Oliver, but that doesn’t mean he’s not causing mischief somewhere.’

  ‘Without Chadwick’s army, we can crush them,’ said the Duke of Yabon.

  ‘My Lord of Crydee,’ Edward said, ‘you have that same look your father got when he had something to say, but didn’t want to say it.’

  Hal had been quietly standing to one side, being the youngest duke in the tent, but he frowned deeply at Edward’s remarks. Then, looking a little self-conscious, he stepped up to the maps and put the battlefield map on top of the one Jim used. ‘If I were Prince Oliver, I wouldn’t be marching up that highway as expected, but waiting, taking my time, perhaps sending some patrols west to keep you worried.’

  ‘Why?’ asked the prince.