Krondor: The Assassins

  Suddenly the stalker was flailing, first with one arm, then the other, smashing back any soldier who hindered it. The blows were pulverizing, breaking arms, smashing shoulders, crushing faces. Tough, experienced veteran soldiers were tossed aside amid cries of agony and fury, as if they were no more than bothersome boys. Injured men were held in place by the press of other soldiers. More than one unconscious man was held upright until the movement of the mass allowed them to fall, threatening them with being trampled.

  More soldiers raced in to protect their monarch and his royal guest. Again they pressed the stalker back, pushing it to the floor. The soldiers piled onto the stalker, pinning it to the floor. The groans of the men near the bottom of the heap revealed the price paid for enduring the weight of the men and armor on top of them. Those closest to the creature risked their 346

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  own lives twice, from the creature’s blows and the crushing weight of their own comrades.

  The pile of soldiers heaved, as if the stones beneath them shook, once, twice, three times. Then suddenly the heap collapsed, as if on a ball that had suddenly deflated. From within the pile a voice said, ‘‘Sire! It’s gone!’’

  James shouted, ‘‘No it hasn’t!’’

  A shadow slithered out from under the pile and moved across the room to Arutha and Vladic, where it rose and solidified again.

  Arutha attacked.

  His sword was a blur as he slashed at the creature. His blade had been given the power of an Ishapian talisman by Macros the Black before Arutha’s final confrontation with Murmandamus at the end of the Great Uprising. Since then, only the demon he had killed at the fortress had tested the strength of that magical power.

  This shadow-stalker seemed more annoyed than harmed by Arutha’s blade. It flinched from Arutha’s cuts and it lashed out at him with a powerful blow.

  Arutha dodged aside, and James stepped in from the rear, striking as hard as he could with his sword. The blow rang as it bounced off the stalker, and James felt the shock all the way up to his shoulder.

  Looking at Father Belson, James shouted, ‘‘Is there anything you can do?’’

  The cleric called back, ‘‘I can only think of one thing, but it’s very dangerous!’’

  Arutha was caught in a duel he couldn’t win, but he was effective enough in staying between the creature and Prince 347

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  Vladic that Vladic was still unharmed. He shouted, ‘‘It can’t be any more dangerous than this, Father! Do it!’’

  The priest stepped aside and began an incantation in the mystical language of his order. James again attacked the stalker from behind, and again felt as if he were striking unyielding stone.

  The bedroom brightened and grew hot. Father Belson held his hand aloft, and above his head a ring of fire formed, swirling flames that could be felt by everyone nearby. The circling flames moved faster and faster, growing larger and hotter by the second. The priest finished his spell and shouted, ‘‘Run!’’

  No one had to be told twice. Everyone who could turned and sprinted out of the room, save Arutha, who attacked the stalker one last time to buy those around him a few seconds of safety before he, too, backed away, turned and ran.

  Wounded men lying on the floor behind the creature crawled away, leaving behind unconscious comrades.

  The priest shouted a single word in his order’s secret language and the flames coalesced into a form as man-like as the stalker. The intense heat could be felt by those running: Arutha’s back felt as if he was standing too close to a forge.

  James turned and saw the flame creature interpose itself between the stalker and Vladic, who stood watching with mute fascination.

  Father Belson cried out, ‘‘O creature of flame, elemental of fire, destroy that darkness!’’

  The elemental attacked and a wave of heat struck the onlookers, intense enough to make them retreat even farther from the conflict. Only the priest of Prandur seemed unfazed by the searing air near the creature.

  The stalker turned from its inexorable pursuit of Vladic and 348

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  defended itself. The creatures came to grips, silently, and the only sound heard was the crackling of flames.

  James left the hallway and moved through an antechamber into a side passage. He ran down it, and crossed through a gallery, returning to the main hall near Arutha and Vladic. He signaled to a nearby guard, saying, ‘‘Go through there,’’ pointing to where he had come from. ‘‘At the other end of this hall lie injured men. The heat is doing them no good. Call a squad and get them out of there.’’

  ‘‘Yes, squire,’’ said the soldier. He motioned for others to follow, and led a half-dozen men the way James had outlined.

  Arutha didn’t take his eyes off the struggle, but he said, ‘‘I should have thought of that.’’

  ‘‘You’re busy,’’ said James, motioning for one of the remaining guards to remove his cloak. He handed it to Prince Vladic and said, ‘‘I know it’s warm, but . . .’’

  Vladic, riveted by the scene before him, covered himself and said, ‘‘Thank you.’’

  The two magical creatures were locked together, each gripping the other’s arms, staggering first this way, then that, like two drunken wrestlers pushing one another around the arena.

  Each time the elemental came close to something combustible the item would smoke and char, or burst into flames if the blazing creature lingered long enough. The stalker slammed the elemental against the stone wall in an attempt to shed its grasp, but the elemental’s fiery grip held tightly and it endured the blow in silence. Then the elemental spun and slammed the stalker into the wall in return.

  Arutha said, ‘‘If this doesn’t end soon, that thing is going to burn the palace down.’’

  Several decorative tapestries were smoldering and two had 349

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  started to flame. The stalker pushed the elemental backward, into a decorative table upon which sat a vase of fresh cut flowers. The blooms withered in seconds, and the table burst into flames as the vase shattered from the heat.

  ‘‘Look,’’ said James. ‘‘Something’s happening.’’

  Where the elemental gripped the stalker, smoke was starting to rise, black, oily wisps that thickened by the moment. Soon clouds of black smoke reached the ceiling, where they spread out, engulfing the hall in a malodorous dark miasma.

  The stalker thrashed wildly, whipping the elemental first one way, then another, but the flaming creature would not release its death-grip.

  The hall was now ablaze and Arutha shouted to nearby soldiers, ‘‘Clear everyone out of this wing of the palace! Call for water!’’ A bucket-line would have to be formed quickly, as the heaving bracing timbers which held up the stonework of the hall were beginning to smolder and smoke.

  ‘‘Look!’’ shouted James. ‘‘They’re getting smaller!’’

  The two mystic figures clung to one another in a revolving struggle, a twisting dance of power, moving faster as they di-minished in size. Smoke now billowed off the pair, filling the hall with a choking, greasy cloud that threatened to suffocate everyone.

  ‘‘Out!’’ ordered Arutha. ‘‘Everyone get out to the garden!’’

  One of the palace’s several carefully-tended gardens was near the guest wing. James reached the large double glass doors that opened from the hall into the garden, and threw them wide. The evening air was cool and fresh after the soaring temperature in the hallway.

  People staggered out of the door behind James, coughing, 350

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  eyes streaming as they escaped the smoke now filling the corridor with a reek of burning sulfur and rotting garbage.

  Voices reverberated from nearby precincts of the palace as the fire alarm was sounded. James turned to look at the conflagration. ‘‘Did Father Belson get out?’’ he
asked Amos.

  ‘‘He was behind us,’’ replied the admiral. ‘‘I don’t see him.’’

  James hurried back to the door, falling to the floor to get as low under the smoke as he could. Acrid smoke made his eyes water as the pungent stench filled his nose. The ceiling rafters were ablaze and the conflagration flowed along overhead like a river of flame. James blinked hard to clear his eyes of tears and saw a solitary figure at the far end of the hall.

  The priest of Prandur stood with arms spread wide above his head, singing a spell of magic. James could barely make him out, a dark outline in the blue-gray haze that filled the hall under the black, billowing clouds of smoke.

  The priest’s song turned dark and solemn, a funereal keening that struck a note of sadness in James as he listened. Glancing upward, fearful of stones falling, James shouted, ‘‘Father Belson!

  Come away! The fire will consume you!’’

  Abruptly the flames racing along the hall shuddered, then drew back, as if sucked away from the ceiling and walls by some great intake of a god’s breath. The flames and smoke withdrew.

  James looked back at the people who waited in the garden and saw them staring in amazement at the sight of the retreating flames and smoke. Then he turned back and saw all the flames and smoke gather in a giant ball above the head of the priest, who stood motionless. The ball quickly contracted into a smaller sphere, which grew brighter as it got smaller. At last it was compacted to the size of a child’s ball, though it burned as bright as the sun at noon. James had to turn his eyes 351

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  away from the glare, and the garden outside the doors was ablaze with light.

  Then suddenly the light vanished, and the hall was plunged into darkness. James sat up and returned to the garden, coughing and rubbing his eyes.

  ‘‘What happened?’’ asked Arutha.

  James said, ‘‘I think it’s over.’’

  A moment later Father Belson walked out the door. Smoke swirled at his feet and came off his robes in wisps. His face was blackened with soot, but otherwise he appeared unharmed.

  ‘‘Are you all right?’’ asked James.

  Belson said, ‘‘The last thing a priest of Prandur needs to fear is fire, young man.’’ Looking at the Prince of Krondor, he said, ‘‘Highness, the damage—’’ He shrugged as if apologizing.

  Prince Vladic, clutching the cloak tightly around him, laughed and said, ‘‘For saving my life, I’ll rebuild this entire wing, and I’ll raise a new temple to Prandur in Olasko, priest!’’

  Father Belson looked pleased, and said, ‘‘That would be nice . . .’’ before collapsing.

  James was the first at his side, kneeling to examine the cleric. ‘‘He’s fainted,’’ said the squire.

  ‘‘Carry him to his quarters,’’ Arutha instructed, and four guards were detailed to carry the exhausted cleric to his bed.

  A scribe wended his way through the garden, blinking at all the smoke and the crowd around the Prince. ‘‘Sire!’’ he called.

  ‘‘What is it?’’ asked Arutha.

  ‘‘We’ve . . .’’ he blinked and tears started to run down his cheeks as he coughed. ‘‘Sorry, Highness, but smoke makes me dizzy.’’

  ‘‘What is it?’’ Arutha repeated.

  ‘‘Sorry, sire. We’ve deciphered more of the messages. Some 352

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  are from agents here in Krondor, as well as other cities. One in particular seemed urgent, so I came as soon as it was pointed out to me.’’

  ‘‘What is it?’’ Arutha demanded finally, his patience clearly at its limit.

  The scribe held out a parchment. ‘‘This message specifies the need to deliver a sealed chest to the palace. It contains a trap of some sort. I thought it important enough to warn you, should such a chest be delivered here.’’

  Arutha shook his head in amazement. After a long moment, he looked at the members of the court. ‘‘Let’s get some supper.’’

  To the scribe he said, ‘‘Return to your work. Let me know what the other scrolls say after we break fast tomorrow morning.’’

  ‘‘Sire.’’ The coughing scribe bowed and quickly departed, obviously glad to get away from the smoke.

  James said, ‘‘Highness, don’t be too hard on him.’’

  Arutha nodded. ‘‘I won’t be. He tried his best. It just wasn’t all that . . . timely.’’

  William and Amos both laughed, and Prince Vladic said, ‘‘I shall return to my chambers if they’re not too befouled with smoke, and don . . . something more appropriate for dining, Highness.’’

  Arutha nodded and motioned for guards to accompany the royal guest. To James, he said, ‘‘If we’d known . . .’’

  ‘‘We’d still have opened the trunk,’’ said James. ‘‘Only we’d probably have been in the deepest cell in your dungeon with only a dozen guards, and that would have been a disaster.’’

  Arutha cast a long, sideways glance at him. ‘‘You always have such a positive view of things, squire. Come, let’s eat. I’m sure my wife will want to know why we tried to burn down a significant portion of our palace.’’

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  With a wolfish grin, James said, ‘‘Just tell her you hope she’ll redecorate the suites, and that will make her happy.’’

  Arutha returned a pained expression, and said, ‘‘Someday, squire, when you meet the right woman, I pray she takes pity on you, else your days as a husband are certain to be rocky.’’

  ‘‘I’ll keep that in mind,’’ James replied dryly.

  William came up beside the Prince and said, ‘‘Highness, do you require my presence?’’

  Arutha stopped and looked at the young officer. ‘‘Why?

  Have you somewhere more important to be?’’

  William flushed. ‘‘No, sire, just that . . .’’

  James laughed, and Arutha said, ‘‘I’m just having some sport at your expense, William. Go and see your young lady and have some fun.’’

  ‘‘Young lady, sire?’’ William was taken aback by the reference. Glancing at James he said, ‘‘Does everyone know?’’

  James grinned, while Arutha said, ‘‘My squire insures that I am aware of all significant situations involving a family member.

  Now go.’’

  ‘‘Sire,’’ said William with enthusiasm, but blushing a little at the joke.

  ‘‘We shall have a serious talk in the morning, all of us. But until then, a little relaxation is in order.’’

  William turned to go, and James said, ‘‘Willy!’’

  William stopped and looked over his shoulder. ‘‘What, James?’’

  ‘‘If I were you, I’d go change first. You look like a chimney sweep.’’

  Noticing that everyone around him was covered in soot, and that therefore he must be as well, William said, ‘‘Ah, thanks for that.’’

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  ‘‘No matter.’’

  James watched as William hurried off towards the armory, and said, ‘‘I envy him.’’

  Arutha said, ‘‘What, his infatuation?’’

  ‘‘Yes. I expect some day I’ll meet someone special, or perhaps not, but either way, I have never had that . . . boyish joy at meeting a young lady.’’

  Arutha laughed. ‘‘You were a cynical old man when I met you, Jimmy. What were you, fourteen years old?’’

  James returned the laughter. ‘‘I guess so, Highness. With your permission I’ll withdraw and clean up before joining you for supper.’’

  ‘‘As shall I,’’ said Amos. ‘‘I’m feeling a little cooked myself.’’

  Arutha nodded. ‘‘Go, and I’ll order in extra wine and ale, and let us have a little revelry.’’ His expression darkened. ‘‘Tomorrow, we turn our attention back to bloody works.’’

  James and Amos exchanged glances and then departed. Bot
h knew Arutha well enough to know he expected to find whoever was behind the assassination attempt on the Prince of Olasko and, when he did, to extract a bloody penalty for bringing destruction to his palace.

  William worked his way through the crowded inn, and found Talia behind the bar, helping her father to serve ale. The demand for food was minimal, and the inn was filled with working men taking their ease before going home for the night.

  He reached the end of the bar and waited until she caught sight of him.

  ‘‘Will!’’ she said with a broad smile. ‘‘When did you get back?’’ She hurried over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  Blushing, he said, ‘‘Just this evening. There was some busi-355

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  ness at the palace, and then the Prince gave me the rest of the night off.’’

  ‘‘Have you eaten?’’

  Suddenly he realized he had last eaten at midday, aboard the admiral’s ship. ‘‘Why, no.’’

  ‘‘I’ll fix you something,’’ she said. ‘‘Father, look, it’s Will!’’

  Lucas looked up and waved a greeting. ‘‘Good evening, lad.’’

  ‘‘Sir,’’ said William.

  Talia vanished into the kitchen.

  Lucas came over. ‘‘You’ve got that look.’’

  ‘‘What look, sir?’’

  ‘‘Seen some duty.’’

  ‘‘Some,’’ William said, with a nod.

  ‘‘Rough?’’

  ‘‘Rough enough,’’ William conceded. ‘‘We lost some good lads.’’

  Lucas gave William a fatherly pat on the forearm. ‘‘Glad to see you back, boy.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, sir.’’

  Talia returned with a plate heaped with food. ‘‘I’ll get you an ale,’’ she said.

  She drew a large jack of ale and placed it next to his plate.