A Crown Imperiled

  Hal realized he was falling desperately in love with her.

  He buried such emotions deep inside. His father had always expected him to marry Bethany, but had often talked of political marriages for Martin and Brendan. This much Hal knew: his wife, if it wasn’t Bethany, would be a woman who gained some political advantage for Crydee, and the marriage would be a benefit to the Kingdom as a whole, or at least the Western Realm. And in this time of war, who knew what that might mean? But if it was Bethany, it would be a woman he loved already, even if it was as a sister, and one who would prove to be worthy of all the devotion he could provide. He closed his eyes a second and tried to will his mind away from his true feelings.

  Moments later, the door to the cabin opened and the captain stuck his head in. ‘It’s time.’

  They rose and followed him up to the main deck.

  The departure went quickly and quietly. A dinghy rigged with a sail was already halfway over the side by the time they had reached the deck and a rope ladder was thrown down. Ty and Hal were first over the side, followed by the Princess and Lady Gabriella. The captain had pointed the heading and Hal and Ty fixed their position by the early morning stars and shoved off.

  The sail had proven problematic as the boat tended to drift to port, but as they were aiming for a long stretch of Kingdom coastline, a slight deviation from their course shouldn’t be a problem. Either side of the Kingdom city of Ran would be acceptable, and should they spy the harbour, all the better.

  There was little conversation as the women huddled under a great cloak provided by the captain against the night’s chill. The two young men were intent upon keeping their course as the sun rose and when it did they thought they could see land.

  Hal pointed to a brown smudge to the north west and said, ‘Head for that!’

  Ty nodded. If Hal was correct that smudge would be cooking fires from a coastal town or even the port of Ran. The wind rose with the morning sun, a spanking breeze but from the north-west, forcing them to tack on some very long reaches. Hal sat at the tiller with Lady Gabriella and the Princess sitting on the windward side of the boat, while Ty waited in the bow ready to haul on the sheet to trim the single sail. Each time they shifted course, Hal had to duck his head under the wide swinging boom while the girls ducked down and waited, then shifted to the opposite side of the dinghy.

  The coast grew progressively closer each time they swung to the north, but as they were almost sailing into the teeth of the wind it made for slow going. Two hours after sunrise, Ty shouted, ‘Sails, off to port!’

  Ty risked standing for a moment, then sat down again and said, ‘That can’t be the Keshian picket. We haven’t sailed that far.’

  Ty shielded his face from the low sun. Finally he said, ‘I see red sails!’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Hal. ‘Pirates.’

  Ty said, ‘That’s a Ceresian raiding fleet or I’m a duck. Turn about and make a run for the coast!’

  ‘Ready about!’ Hal cried warning he was turning the boat hard, and to be wary of the swinging boom. It would be very inconvenient if someone fell over the side at that moment. The girls ducked as he pulled on the tiller, saying, ‘Hard a’lee!

  The two women moved swiftly to the windward side of the boat and Hal lost any concern for a cautious approach to the coast. He shouted to Ty, ‘Are we seen?’

  As low as their boat was to the water and as far as they were from the sails, it was possible that they would go unnoticed by any lookouts aloft on the pirate ships.

  ‘I can’t tell!’ Ty called back. Then he pointed. ‘Look!’

  The brown smudge they had first spied was resolving itself into a column of smoke rising from fires along the coast. As they were heading straight to it, it quickly became apparent this was a coastal raid.

  ‘Where are we?’ shouted Hal.

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Ty. ‘That’s too small to be Ran. Lister perhaps? Or maybe Michaelsberg?’

  The air now had the acrid tang of smoke and was turning hazy as they were sailing directly into the wind as best as Hal could manage. Their eyes teared from the sting and Gabriella sneezed.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ said Ty.

  Hal pulled gently against the tiller until the sails started to luff. He was gauging when best to turn back towards the coast on a long tack away from the fight.

  Ty said, ‘That ship we’re following is slowing!’

  Hal stood slightly to look over the girls’ heads. ‘They’re trimming sails.’

  Suddenly they were running straight at the stern of the ship and Hal shouted, ‘Ready about!’

  The girls ducked as Hal turned the boat and the wind blew away a particularly hazy patch of smoke so that the sterncastle of the ship they had been trailing could now be clearly seen.

  The three-masted ship heeled over slightly as the crew adjusted the sails and Ty shouted, ‘It’s a Ceresian dromon!’ This one was painted black with red trim around the rails, and the sails were dark red tanbark. The ship was common to Kesh, but many such had found their ways north to the shores of the Eastern Kingdoms. Usually crewed by forty to sixty men, plus a bank of rowers, they were not as fast as Kingdom ships but their shallow draft and lateen sails allowed them to sail much closer into shore than the deepwater square-masted Kingdom frigates. And in close, with the rowers providing the power, they were good for short bursts of speed that could bring them into contact with their prey before a ship with only sails could manoeuvre away.

  A lookout on the stern chanced to turn; he saw the small dinghy, pointed and shouted.

  Ty cried, ‘We’re seen!’

  Hal hauled over on the tiller without warning and the two women ducked under the boom just in time. Ty almost lost his balance.

  ‘Sorry!’ shouted Hal.

  The dromon was a shallow draught ship, but it couldn’t ride into the beach as the dinghy could. If they beached the dromon the crew would have to dig sand trenches beneath the hull at low tide, unload every piece of cargo and provisions, then wait for high tide to lift her and try to tow her back to sea with longboats.

  Hal glanced back a moment and saw that the pirate vessel was now reefing sails and that men on deck were scrambling to lower boats. ‘They’re coming after us!’

  Ty said, ‘There!’ pointing at the shoreline.

  Hal stared at the open beach on the other side of the white foam breakers. Ty waited until they could feel the shore current and the boat lifting on a swell and he leapt to unfasten the sheets and lower the sail. Hall let go of the tiller and lashed down the boom so it wouldn’t swing.

  Lady Gabriella was already pulling up one oar as Ty reached to grab the other. Unceremoniously, Ty shouted, ‘Move!’ to Stephané, then belatedly added, ‘Er, Highness.’

  Stephané ignored the lack of formality. ‘Their boats are in the water.’

  Hal looked over his shoulder and saw a boat pushing away from the ship, now anchored, and another with crew climbing down ropes ready to follow. He looked ahead and shouted, ‘Pull!’

  Ty and Gabriella both hauled on their oars and the boat moved up and away, rising on another swell as they edged closer to the beach. Hal looked back again and saw the pirates’ longboats each had six oarsmen and he knew they’d be a lot closer by the time the dinghy reached the beach.

  Hal looked beyond the approaching shore and saw a fairly uniform rise beyond the sand. Tableland overlooked the beaches, but no more than ten or twelve feet above. With careful slow climbing they could probably reach the grass if they had time to find a suitable gully. Then he spied a sand mound that rose up to the tableland. He turned the bow of the dinghy towards it.

  ‘Ready!’ shouted the Princess as they were picked up by a comber that turned into a wave and accelerated them into the shore. The dinghy rode it into the sand then ground to a sudden halt.

  ‘Over there!’ Hal shouted, pointing to the mound he had spied. They climbed quickly out of the dinghy. Ty grabbed one bundle of provisions and
Hal the other as he leapt out. The pirate longboats were bearing down. Hal judged they might be lucky to have a five-minute head start.

  They turned and ran.

  • CHAPTER SIX •

  Conspiracies

  JIM RAN.

  The vaguely important, always elusive minor noble from the west forced his way past startled courtiers and annoyed servants as he raced through the halls of the King’s palace in Rillanon. Dishevelled and dirty from miles of fast travel, he was nearly exhausted yet found the strength to single-handedly disrupt the business of the palace for the day. His violent haste was understandable and those who recognized him quickly nodded in sympathy: his grandfather was dying.

  Jim cursed the gods, the fates, whim, bad luck, any other agency he could imagine who might have conspired to have him away from the Kingdom’s home island when word reached him of his grandfather’s illness. His last Tsurani transport orb had been destroyed by a Keshian agent, and he had to rely on Pug’s son Magnus to return to Rillanon from Sorcerer’s Isle after his last meeting with Pug. He had agents, if he could trust them, attempting to secure more orbs from a LaMutian artificer of Tsurani descent who claimed he could make them, but as yet none of the promised devices had been forthcoming.

  As a result of this, when word of his grandfather’s situation had reached him on the mainland he had been halfway to the city of Ran to observe Keshian activities in that region. He had ridden like a madman to the royal docks in the city of Rodez, only to discover the entire royal fleet had been dispatched to picket duty in support of the fleet out of Ran. So he had purchased outright the fastest ship he could find, a dilapidated fishing boat in need of a complete overhaul, and made straight for Rillanon.

  Jim had encountered no Keshian ships this far inside Kingdom waters but had been challenged on the outskirts of Sadara, the Kingdom’s second-largest city outside the mainland. He presented his documents, then ordered the crew to sink the schooner rather than bother towing it, and commandeered their frigate.

  Riding horses into the ground, sailing on a filthy fishing boat, and having no means to improve his appearance on the frigate lent him an entirely woeful and disreputable appearance when he finally reached the royal docks in Rillanon City But if the naval guards at the quay wondered who this dirty traveller might be, the fact that he was rowed ashore by a very deferential crew of sailors from a royal frigate caused them to stand aside as he hurried past and up the long incline to the main street above.

  Jim had dodged indifferent workers, curious merchants, and concerned guards. Rillanon was on a full wartime footing and the appearance of anyone out of the ordinary was cause for alarm. He had been challenged by the officer at the gate, but in less than a minute he was riding on that officer’s horse, racing up the long road from the harbour to the palace.

  Nearing his grandfather’s private chambers now, he saw two guards posted outside. He spoke forcefully, ‘Open the bloody doors!’

  ‘No one is admitted without—’

  That was as far as he got before Jim shoved past the guard and started to push open the door. The other guard reached over and found himself on the floor before he could put hands on Jim.

  The doors swung wide into the antechamber of his grandfather’s apartment, and Jim was confronted by another pair of sentries, but with the addition of a sergeant of the royal household guard. Rather than try to physically attack Jim, the old soldier merely stood before the door with his hands up, palms out saying, ‘Hold up a minute, Jimmy.’

  Recognizing the sergeant, Jim said, ‘I want to see grandfather, Jacky.’

  Sergeant Jack Mallory nodded. ‘He’s sleeping, and you’re a fright.’

  Jim began to calm down as the guards he had knocked over hurried up behind him. The sergeant made a shooing motion towards the outer door.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Jim.

  Motioning for Jim to follow him, the sergeant moved away and keeping his voice low, said, ‘Well, your grandfather’s old, Jimmy. But there’s something else . . .’

  ‘What?’ asked Jim, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘You know I’ve been with the old man for . . . well, since you were a baby,’ whispered the sergeant.

  Jim nodded.

  ‘I think I know him pretty well, his moods, his good days, his bad days, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jim. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something’s not quite right here. I can’t put my finger on it, but your grandfather started complaining about his stomach a month ago. You know him. He doesn’t complain.’

  Jim nodded again. After a moment he said, ‘You suspect poison?’

  ‘After the way things have been around here, I suspect everything.’

  Jim felt exasperated. He had raced without rest from halfway to the eastern border of the Kingdom only to return to this. ‘What do the healers say? The priests?’

  ‘No one says anything, and whatever you hear comes from the office of Sir William Alcorn. That’s why those lads outside were so anxious to stop you. Orders are no one sees your grandfather without Sir William’s writ.’

  Jim reached into his tunic and pulled out a small purse hanging from a cord around his neck and opened it. A folded piece of parchment was all it contained and Jim took it out, unfolded it and handed it to the sergeant.

  Sergeant Mallory read it. Then he said, ‘You play Follow-the-Queen Poker, Jimmy?’

  ‘Terrible game. What’s the point?’

  ‘Well, as we’d say in that game, a command from the Duke of Rillanon trumps any orders given by Sir William, despite him having the title of King’s Magistrate.’ He grinned. ‘Or at least that’s how I see it and even if the King should think otherwise, I’ll stand before him and say that’s how I see it right now.’

  ‘Thank you, Jacky.’

  ‘Now, you get to your quarters and get cleaned up, and as soon as he stirs, I’ll send for you. You look like you could use a bath, meal, and nap, Jimmy.’

  Jim smiled. Sergeant Mallory was one of the few around who called him ‘Jimmy.’ It came from when he had been a little boy and used to play being ‘Jimmy the Hand’ his legendary great-grandfather, Lord James, the first Jamison.

  Without another word, Jim nodded, turned and left the antechamber to his grandfather’s private apartment and walked slowly towards his own quarters. He saw a page hurrying down the hall and stopped him.

  ‘Sir?’ the boy asked.

  ‘Do you know me?’

  The boy almost squinted as he looked at the dishevelled, dirty man before him, then recognition dawned. ‘Sir James?’

  ‘Close enough. I’m going to my quarters. I wish to be undisturbed for two hours. After which I want a hot bath, and while it’s being prepared I need half a roasted chicken, a bowl of rice, roasted potatoes, or turnips. A flagon of wine, and whatever fruit and vegetables they have ready to serve. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’

  Jim walked to his own quarters and was almost staggering by the time he reached them. He fell onto his bed and was asleep before his head struck the pillow.

  Jim was vaguely aware of a warm body snuggled in close behind him as he woke up. It took him only moments to be aware of his surroundings, but he still felt groggy as he asked, ‘You awake?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the female voice behind him.

  He rolled over and found himself looking into a pair of dark eyes set in a lovely face of dusky skin – Keshian ancestry that had served her well over the years. James lifted himself on one arm and saw a maid’s dress draped over the chair at his writing desk. He glanced down at the naked young woman. ‘You’re a maid again?’

  ‘I thought it best to be in a believable role should someone interrupt your sleep. It also explains why I might have lingered after bringing in all that food you ordered.’ She indicated the large tray placed on a table opposite the bed, an ornate silver affair with a matching flagon.

  ‘The young lord and the willing maid, it is then?’
br />   With a mocking smile she said, ‘Young lord?’

  ‘I said to be awoken, then brought food while I bathed.’

  ‘I tried to wake you,’ she returned. With lowered lashes and a half-smile, she added, ‘In several ways. It was obvious you needed sleep. You were exhausted. You slept through the night. I’m afraid the wine is no longer chilled and the chicken is cold.’

  ‘Better than I’ve had for a while.’

  ‘No doubt. I can send for fresh.’

  ‘Don’t bother. Now, what do you know?’ said James as he rolled off the bed and realized he was also naked. ‘Did you undress me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said standing up. ‘It wasn’t very convincing me being naked under the covers and you being fully dressed on top.’ She grinned. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve removed your clothing.’

  He returned the smile. ‘Well, you certainly didn’t bathe me,’ he said, wrinkling his nose.

  ‘Your bath’s been ready for almost an hour. I ordered it when I thought you likely to wake.’

  ‘So what’s your name?’ he asked as he followed her into his bathing chamber, admiring her nearly-flawless body as she proceeded him into the bathing chamber. Her soft curves belied a toughness he had personally honed over the years. Of all his agents, she was not only one of the best at getting information, she was as hard to kill as a cockroach. A childhood with the Mockers of Krondor had trained her in ways few not born on the street could begin to imagine. He had never asked her to play the role of assassin, but he suspected she would do so without question and very effectively.