Nicholas had his first laugh since they had left to go hunting. “That had to be him.”
Robin, a page who had worked for Housecarl Samuel, picked his way through the crowded room and sat next to the two Squires. The three boys compared notes on what they saw during the day, and the picture was as bleak as they had feared. The entire castle staff except for Megar and Magya, another cook and a scullery boy, two other Squires, and a handful of pages and servants had been killed during the raid or died from wounds shortly after. During the night and morning, another dozen soldiers had died from wounds, and many of the townspeople were sick or injured.
After the meal, Nicholas, Harry, and Robin went to where Martin spoke with Anthony and Marcus. Seeing the boys arrive, Martin said, “Have you eaten?”
The three nodded, and Martin said, “Good. The rain has ended the fires, so at first light head up to the castle and help me see what can be salvaged. Now get some sleep.”
Nicholas and Harry looked around the room for some clear space in which to sleep and saw a small opening near the far wall. The three boys picked their way over sleeping townspeople and crowded their way into the mass. Nicholas found himself sleeping between Harry and an old fisherman who snored loudly. Rather than minding the noise, he was comforted by the closeness and the warmth.
—
DAYS PASSED, AND life began again in Crydee. The carpenter and his helpers finished putting the roof on the inn, and that became the Duke’s headquarters, though Martin refused to sleep in any of the rooms on the second floor, giving them over to the injured and sick most in need of shelter and warmth. Another hundred or so townspeople and soldiers had died from wounds or sickness, despite all of Anthony’s and Nakor’s skills. Somehow word of the tragedy had reached the distant Abbey of Silban on the edge of Elvandar, and a half-dozen monks of that order had arrived to lend aid.
Harry had become the unofficial innkeeper, as the man who was building the new inn had died in the raid. He passed out what food there was, settled arguments, and kept an orderly establishment. Despite his irreverent attitude before the raid, Harry displayed an unexpected gift for negotiation and mediation. Given how short-tempered and emotionally battered everyone in Crydee was, Nicholas was impressed with his skills. Harry had the knack of bringing out the reasonable in people who were in no mood to act rationally. Nicholas made a mental note that someday, when they had returned home to a world less mad than this, Harry would make a valuable administrator in the Prince’s court.
Nicholas had accompanied Martin and Marcus to the keep, finding nothing left intact. Between the naphtha used to start the fires and the combustibles in the keep, the flames had become so hot they scoured everything in their path. The fire had reached such intense heat that many of the century-old stones had cracked or exploded, and even the metal holders in the torch sconces on the walls had melted.
Wending their way through the blackened halls, they had found the top floor burned clean of anything recognizable. Martin and Marcus had both lingered for a long time near the door to Margaret’s room, looking down at the scorched and cracked flagstones, and the fragments of melted hinges where doors had hung. Those who had died left no remains, as the intense flames had even reduced their bones to black ash. A few puddles of metal, now hardened to the stone, showed where weapons had been dropped and left behind.
Down in the lowest basement, a few usable stores survived: some cloth, cloaks, and blankets that reeked of smoke, and several trunks of old clothing, as well as old boots, belts, and dresses.
Harry discovered battle stores; Martin inspected the food. He observed that it must have been there since the Riftwar. The jerked beef was now blackened and hard as ancient leather; the hard bread crumbled like dried clay. But three barrels were of more recent vintage, and were sealed with paper and wax. When one was opened, it contained still-edible dried apples. And to everyone’s amusement, a half-dozen casks of fine Keshian brandy were uncovered as well. All were marked to be carried to the town, under Nicholas’s supervision.
As they left the castle, Nicholas was silent; he had waited for some remark by Martin or Marcus about the Duchess’s death, but neither husband nor son said a word.
—
THE DAYS DRAGGED by and slowly the town began to heal itself. A second, then a third building was repaired, and as the injured returned to health, they joined in the hard work, speeding the recovery.
Later in the week, Calis returned, with a dozen elves carrying game. Three deer were dressed out and carried on poles, while quail and rabbits were carried in bunches tied at the feet. The hungry people of Crydee thanked the elves and set to cooking everything offered.
Calis spent an hour with his grandparents, then joined Martin’s group for supper. Nicholas and Harry ate venison steaks as the young elfling said, “My mother and father were very disturbed by this raid, and I have more bad news. Your fortress at Barran was hit as well.”
Martin’s eyes widened. “Amos?”
Calis nodded. “His ship as well, though he fought off those who tried to burn it. He’s made repairs and should be here in a day or two.”
Martin said, “This makes less sense as we uncover more information. Why would slavers strike a garrison of soldiers?”
“My father thinks it may be to prevent you from following after,” ventured Calis.
Marcus shook his head. “Why would we spend weeks chasing those slavers to Durbin when we can get word to Krondor with Bellamy’s pigeons and cut them off?”
Calis’s gaze narrowed in an expression of concern as he said, “Has any word from Carse reached you yet?”
Martin put down the rib he had been eating and said, “Gods! The packet boat from Carse. It never did arrive.”
Marcus said, “If Bellamy’s been raided…”
Martin rose and looked around the room. Seeing a familiar face, he called one of the garrison’s soldiers to him. “At first light I want a pair of riders off to Carse. If they should encounter any men of Carse bringing news of a raid down there, have them continue down to Bellamy, change horses, and then on to see Tolburt at Tulan. I want full reports on what has happened as soon as possible.” The soldier saluted and left. The remaining horses were staked out in a picket outside the inn, and there had been enough odds and ends of tack found to outfit a pair of riders.
Martin sat again. Ghuda and Nakor entered the inn and came to where Martin sat brooding. The little man said, “I think most of those who live now will recover.”
Marcus said, “At last a little good news.”
Martin motioned for them to sit and eat, and after a while said, “I have a very bad feeling that we’ve only seen the start of something far more significant than a raid.”
Ghuda said, “I’ve seen Durbin slavers’ handiwork before, my lord, and this is nothing like it. This was butchery.” He shook his head. “For sport, if you can believe it.”
Martin closed his eyes a moment, as if he had a headache, then opened them and said, “I haven’t felt this uneasy since the Riftwar.”
Marcus said, “Do you think the Tsurani are again turning their eyes toward us?”
Martin shook his head. “No. The Mistress of the Empire has too firm a hand on things for that. She’s proven a shrewd trading partner since her son became Emperor, but a fair one. A few unlicensed merchants, slipping though the rift somehow to trade for metals, I might accept that. But this”—his hand described an arc indicating the entire town—“makes little sense if it was Tsurani renegades.”
“But Charles said some of the raiders were Tsurani, Father,” Marcus pointed out.
“What did he call them?” asked Ghuda. “Tong?”
Nakor said, “Brimanu Tong. That means ‘Golden Storm Brotherhood.’ ”
Martin said, “You speak Tsurani?”
Nakor nodded. “Enough. Those were assassins. Tsurani Nighthawks if you prefer: guild killers who are paid for death. The Mistress of the Empire destroyed the most powerful Tong, the Ha
moi, fifteen years ago, but there are others.”
Martin shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What does it all mean?”
“It means you’ve got serious trouble, my friend,” said a familiar voice from the door of the inn.
Everyone turned and saw the bulky outline in the doorway as he stepped forward.
“Amos!” said Martin. “You’re here sooner than I thought.”
“I piled on every inch of canvas I could and worked the men to dropping,” said Trask as he moved across the common room, removing a canvas foul-weather coat. He tossed it on the floor and sat next to Martin.
“What happened at Barran?” asked the Duke.
Amos removed his wool cap, stuffed it in his pocket, and took a mug of hot tea offered him by Harry. Where Harry had found the tea no one knew, but in the cool of the evening, everyone welcomed its pungent comfort. “We were hit seven nights back, which means the night before you were, I think.” Martin nodded. “Ever since my run-in with the Tsurani during the war, I’ve kept an extra watch up during the night when I’m at anchor. Good thing, because most of the watch died before the alarm was raised. One of my men got us up in time, though, and we killed all the bastards who tried to burn my ship.” He sighed. “The garrison wasn’t as lucky. We’d just finished unloading most of the arms and stores—one more day would have seen us done. Your Knight-Lieutenant, Edwin, halted work on the stockade to help get the ship unloaded, so the gate wasn’t finished. The raiders were inside killing men in the barracks before the alarm was sounded. Still, we bled the bastards before they fired the fort.”
“The fort burned?” asked Marcus.
“To the ground,” Amos confirmed.
“The garrison?” asked Martin.
“I had no choice. I brought them back with me.”
Martin nodded. “How many survived?”
Amos sighed. “A little fewer than a hundred, I’m sorry to say. Edwin’s getting them off the ship now. He’ll give you a full report when he gets here.”
“We managed to get some goods out of the wreckage, and there was the little that hadn’t been unloaded, but most of the weapons and stores were destroyed. There was no fortress, and winter’s heading our way, so it seemed prudent to abandon the entire project until next spring.” Amos ran his hand over his face. “From the looks of Crydee, you need every able hand you can find down here, anyway.”
Martin said, “That’s the truth.” He filled Amos in on what they knew about the raid, and as he recounted facts, Amos’s face clouded over.
When he reached a description of the raiders’ boats, provided by one of the fisherman, Amos said, “This makes no sense!”
Marcus said, “You’re not the first one to say that, Amos.”
Amos said, “No, not just the raid. Anyway, go on.”
Martin continued his recounting of the raid, gleaned from reports gathered from eyewitnesses since the Duke returned. It took another half hour to finish the narrative.
Amos stood and attempted to pace around the crowded floor of the inn, his hand rubbing his bearded chin as he thought. At last he said, “From what you’ve told me, there must have been close to a thousand men involved in just this part of the caper.”
“Caper?” asked Harry.
“Job, undertaking, endeavor,” supplied Nakor with a grin. “Criminal idiom.”
“Oh,” said the Squire.
“So?” asked Marcus.
Amos turned to look at him. “That would mean at least six, probably eight Durbin captains working together. That’s not happened since I left.”
“Really?” said Martin dryly. Amos’s distant past was known to him; he was once the most feared raider on the Bitter Sea, Captain Trenchard, the Dagger of the Sea. As the years had passed, Amos’s personal history had changed as he told it, so that by now he was fond of saying that he had been a privateer, working for the Governor of Durbin.
“Yes, really!” said Amos. “The Captains of the Coast are a fractious lot and don’t cooperate in much of anything. The only reason they’re allowed to remain in the city is that they keep Queg at bay, and that’s fine with Kesh, for the Empire doesn’t wish to pay money to provision a fleet there.” Looking at Martin, he said, “And as your brother’s Admiral, I’m a lot more comfortable with a dozen argumentative pirate captains I can personally bully in Durbin than an Imperial Keshian squadron. Politics, my dear Martin, can make almost anything respectable.”
“So they put aside their usual differences and banded together for one haul?” said Ghuda.
Amos shook his head. “Not likely. A raid on Carse and Crydee? And the new fortification up at Barran as well? I’ll bet there’s not one deep-water ship left in Tulan, either.” He struck his hand on the bar, which he leaned against. “What I would give for a brandy,” he muttered.
Harry said, “Well, I was saving this for Anthony and Nakor to use with the sick,” as he reached under the bar and produced a small bottle of Keshian brandy. He poured a cup and Amos lifted it.
Smacking his lips, Amos said, “Heaven will remember you for this, boy.” Returning to Martin’s circle, he knelt. “Look, this wasn’t any raid out of Durbin.”
“The slavers—” protested Marcus.
Amos held up his hand. “I don’t care. It’s a false trail, son. Slavers will slip up on a village and hit it, stealing healthy children and fit men and women. They don’t go burning everything in sight. They don’t conduct wholesale warfare, and they don’t go kidnapping the nieces of Kings. Tends to bring too much trouble down upon them.” He rubbed his chin. “If I knew who was in on this, which of the captains…”
“One of the soldiers says the leader was a tall, fair-skinned man with tattoos all over his face.”
“With teeth filed to points and blue eyes?” asked Amos.
Nicholas nodded.
Amos’s eyes widened and he whispered. “Render. I thought he was dead.”
Martin leaned forward. “Who is this Render?”
Amos spoke softly, a note of astonishment in his tone. “A foul son of a demon. He was lost in the western archipelagoes when he was a seaman. He and the rest of his crew were captured by Skashakan Islanders. Render somehow gained their trust and they adopted him into their tribe. He was the only one of his crew to survive. He’s covered from head to toe with clan tattoos and his teeth were filed to points in the ritual that made him one of the clan. To be initiated, he had to eat one of his shipmates. The Skashakan Islanders are cannibals.”
Amos sat. “I first met him in Margrave’s Port. He was first mate on Captain Mercy’s ship.”
“Mercy?” asked Nicholas with a disbelieving laugh.
“Most of the Captains of the Coast are known by false names,” said Amos. “I was Trenchard, and Trevor Hull was White-eye; Gilbert de Gracie was Captain Mercy; he’d once been an initiate in the Temple of Dala the Merciful. He obviously didn’t have the calling, but the name stuck.” Amos turned away, a small frown on his face.
Martin said, “What is it, Amos?”
“Render knew the slave trade, for that was one of Mercy’s pastimes, but he was never a Durbin captain, Martin. He wasn’t even a captain when I knew him; last I heard, he was part of John Avery’s crew, and Avery betrayed Durbin to a Quegan raiding fleet. Render’s a dead man if he ever sets foot in Durbin again.”
One of the soldiers nearby said, “Begging your pardon, Admiral, but did you say Quegan?”
Martin turned to the soldier. “What is it?”
“My lord, I didn’t recall until this moment, but there was one other man who looked familiar, though I barely noticed in all the chaos. Remember that Quegan trader who visited a few nights before you left to hunt? He was with some of the raiders.”
“Vasarius,” said Nicholas. “I didn’t like the way he kept looking at Abigail and Margaret.”
“And he asked the Swordmaster and Horsemaster a lot of questions about the castle and how we were garrisoned,” said the soldier. “Frie
ndly like, but probably measuring the defenses.”
Amos said, “This grows more complicated by the moment. Durbin raiders wouldn’t pull this sort of caper. It’s declaring war. Their reputation is partially due to picking their prey carefully, and avoiding those capable of retaliation. The only reason for a raid of this scale would be to keep anyone from following, because it’s obvious that’s the only thing they fear.”
Martin looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Your people reported Durbin guild slavers among the raiding party. What if they weren’t real? What if the raiders wanted you to think they were heading for Durbin? They should know you have means to send messages faster than they could return to the Bitter Sea. You could get riders over the mountains and to the Free Cities and have a fast ship take you to Krondor and have the fleet at sea ambush off the Durbin coast by the time they could get down the coast and through the Straits of Darkness this time of the year. No, they’re not heading for Durbin, and they don’t want us following after them.”
Nicholas said, “How could we follow? I mean, there’s no trail on the sea.”
Amos grinned. “Because I know where they’re going first, Nicky.”
Martin sat up straight at this. “Where are they taking my daughter, Amos?”
“Freeport. Render’s a Sunset Islands man—at least, that’s the last I heard of him—and from what you’ve told me about those boats that they used, that’s about as far as they can travel.”
“I don’t understand,” said Marcus. “What about the boats?”
To Martin, Amos said, “Remember when I said it didn’t make sense?”
Martin nodded.
Amos said, “I was speaking of the boats. They were pinnaces. They’re small, narrow craft with a single mast that can be taken down. No large ship could have come close enough to Crydee to unload such a force and not have been spotted by your lookouts on Longpoint and down at Sailor’s Grief. From what you’ve said, nearly a thousand men struck here, and we had another two hundred on our necks up at Barran. The only place those sorts of boats could have come from without the scum manning them starving to death in transit is the Sunset Islands.”