The King's Buccaneer

  Briana smiled. “Your old room is yours again, Amos.”

  Amos glanced at the main gate to the castle, noting the pair of guards standing their posts. “You might tell those lads that in a few minutes a pair of very unlikely characters will heave into view. One’s a short madman from Shing Lai named Nakor, and the other is a tall mercenary from Kesh, name of Ghuda Bulé. Let them in, as they’re companions to Nicky.”

  Briana’s only reply was to raise an eyebrow. She turned to Swordmaster Charles and said, “See to it, please.”

  He saluted and hurried off to the gate to inform the guards.

  Briana said, “Who are these men, Amos?”

  Forcing a light air, Amos said, “As original a pair as you’d meet anywhere.”

  Briana put her hand upon Amos’s shoulder. They had served together in Armengar, her home, when Amos had aided in its defense against the armies of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. “I understand you well enough to know there’s something else. What is it?”

  Amos shook his head. “Just…something Arutha told me before I left.” He glanced at the main door of the castle through which Martin and Nicholas had just passed. “He said that should anything happen, listen to Nakor.”

  Briana was silent a moment, thinking, then said, “I have no doubt that ‘anything’ means trouble.”

  Amos forced a laugh. “Well, I doubt he meant listen to the wizard if there was a surprise party!”

  Briana answered with a smile. She gave Amos a hug and kissed his cheek. “We’ve missed you, and your humor, Amos.”

  Amos glanced around, remembering. “I’ve seen too many men die on those walls and spent too many days defending them to have missed Crydee, Briana.” Then he kissed her cheek and squeezed her in a bear hug. “But damn me if I haven’t missed you and Martin.”

  Arms around each other’s waists, the tall Duchess and the large sea captain walked up the steps into Castle Crydee.

  —

  MARTIN INDICATED NICHOLAS should sit and moved behind a large desk. The Duke’s office looked small compared to Arutha’s in Krondor, and Nicholas glanced around.

  Behind Martin, on the wall, was the sea gull banner of Crydee. Above the bird’s head were the faint outlines of a crown, where a piece of material had been removed. Nicholas knew that once his own grandfather had held this office, and had also been second in line to the crown Nicholas’s uncle now wore. But Martin’s line was prevented from inheritance by an illegitimate birth, and all marks of such succession had been removed from the family coat-of-arms.

  Martin said, “This office was your father’s for a while, during the years of the Riftwar, Nicholas. Before that it was your grandfather’s, and his father’s and grandfather’s before him.”

  Nicholas noticed that beyond that one ducal banner, the walls were devoid of personal mementos or trophies; only a large map of the Duchy and another of the Kingdom graced the otherwise bare stone. Martin’s desk was equally well ordered, with a solitary inkwell and quill, a bar of red wax for the ducal signet, and a candle. Two rolled parchments hinted at some unfinished business, but otherwise there was a sense of organization in this room, as if the present occupant was loath to leave at the end of the day with any task unfinished or unresolved. There was something familiar in that, Nicholas realized, as that drive for order was also a hallmark of his father. He returned his attention to his uncle, who was watching him closely. Nicholas flushed.

  Martin smiled and said, “You are with family, Nicholas, never forget that.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “I’ve heard Father tell of Crydee, and Amos has war stories that never end, but…” He glanced around once more. “I guess I didn’t know what to expect.”

  Martin said, “That’s why you’re here. Arutha wished you to know something of your heritage.

  “We’ve a rough court, by Krondorian standards,” he continued. “Close to primitive by the standards of Rillanon and the other eastern courts. But you’ll find it comfortable enough in the ways that matter.”

  Nicholas nodded. “What exactly will I be doing?”

  Martin said, “Arutha has left that up to me. I think for the time being I’m going to name you my Squire. You’re a little old for the position, but that way you can stay close, and perhaps after a while I’ll find better use for you. I’ll assign your friend to Marcus.”

  Nicholas was about to object when Martin said, “Squires do not have squires, Nicholas.” Nicholas nodded.

  “Tonight we’ll have a formal reception, with a troupe of players who are in the town. Then tomorrow you’ll begin your duties.”

  “What will those be?”

  “Housecarl Samuel will fill you in on some of your duties. Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon will have others for you. You will do several things every day, mostly to make my time more efficient in governing the Duchy. You may have noticed new buildings above the south bluffs and beyond. Crydee is becoming quite the metropolis by Far Coast standards. There is much to be done. Now I’ll have a servant show you to your rooms.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Martin.” Nicholas rose as Martin came around the desk and opened the door, signaling for a servant to approach.

  Martin said, “Beginning tomorrow, Your Highness, you will address me as ‘Your Grace.’ You will be addressed as ‘Squire.’ ”

  Nicholas flushed, feeling embarrassed but not knowing why. He nodded and followed the servant to his quarters.

  —

  THAT NIGHT NICHOLAS sat between his uncle and his cousin Marcus. The food was hearty if plain, the wine was robust and flavorful, and the entertainment adequate. Nicholas spent the better part of the evening glancing past his aunt and uncle to where Abigail sat beside Margaret. The two girls seemed to have their heads together the better part of the meal, and several times Nicholas found himself blushing without quite knowing why. The few attempts he made at speaking with Marcus resulted in short answers and long silences. Nicholas was beginning to feel that somehow his cousin disliked him.

  Amos, Nakor, and Ghuda Bulé were all at the far end of the table, beyond Nicholas’s ability to speak to them. They were obviously having a good enough time swapping stories with Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon.

  Looking down the table, Nicholas saw Harry attempting to engage a quiet young man in conversation. The man seemed to speak quietly, as Harry was constantly leaning over to hear him. The man seemed not much older than the boys, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties. He had a shock of blond hair that hung to his shoulders, and had bangs that seemed to threaten his vision every moment, as he was constantly brushing them back with his hand. His eyes were blue, and Nicholas imagined that if he ever smiled, he’d be a likable-enough-looking chap.

  “Cousin, who is that?”

  Marcus looked to where Nicholas indicated. “That’s Anthony. He’s a magician.”

  “Really?” asked Nicholas, pleased that he had finally gotten more than one sentence from his cousin. “What’s he doing here?”

  “My father asked your father to intercede with the masters of Stardock to send a magician to us a few years ago.” Marcus shrugged. “Something to do with Grandfather, I think.” He put down the rib bone he had been gnawing, dipped his hands in the finger bowl, and wiped them on a linen napkin. “Did your father ever talk about having a magician at court?”

  Relieved that they were at last engaged in something like a conversation, Nicholas shrugged. “A few stories. About Kulgan and Pug, I mean. I met Pug on this journey.”

  Marcus kept his eyes upon the magician. “Anthony is a good fellow, I’ll warrant you that, friendly when you get to know him. But he keeps to himself a great deal, and those few times Father asks him for counsel, he tends toward the evasive. I fear the magicians at Stardock sent him here as something of a joke.”

  “Really?”

  Marcus fixed Nicholas with a sour look. “You keep asking ‘really’ as if I’m making this up.”

  “Sorry,” said Nicholas, b
lushing a little. “It’s just a habit. What I mean is, why do you think the masters of Stardock would do that, send him here as a joke?”

  “Because he’s not a very good magician, from what I can tell of such things.”

  Nicholas caught himself as he was about to say “Really?” and instead changed it to, “Interesting. I mean, you don’t see a lot of magicians anywhere, but the few who’ve come to court don’t do much by way of magic, at least not anywhere you can see them.”

  Marcus shrugged. “I guess he has his uses, but there’s something about him that makes me cautious. He’s got secrets.”

  Nicholas laughed. Marcus turned to see if Nicholas was laughing at him. Nicholas said, “I think that’s part of the act, you know. Lurking in shadows and mysteries and the rest.”

  Marcus shrugged again, allowing himself a faint smile. “Perhaps. Anyway, he’s Father’s adviser, though he doesn’t do much of that.”

  Glad to be involved at last in something other than silence, Nicholas pursued the conversation. “You know, I knew Horsemaster Faxon’s father. I didn’t know he’d bear such a resemblance to the old Duke.”

  Marcus grunted a noncommittal sound. “Gardan was an old man when he came back from Krondor. I never noticed.”

  Feeling the conversation slipping away, Nicholas said, “I was sorry to hear of his death last year.”

  Marcus shrugged, his most expressive gesture, it seemed. “He didn’t do much but fish and tell stories. He was an old man. I liked him enough, but…” Again he shrugged. “You get old, then you die. That’s the way it works, isn’t it?”

  It was Nicholas’s turn to shrug. “I hadn’t seen him for almost ten years. I guess he got older.” Realizing instantly that the remark was inane, he let the conversation lapse into silence for the rest of the meal.

  At the finish of the meal, Martin rose and said, “We welcome to our home our cousin Nicholas.” The gathered court and servants gave polite applause. “Beginning tomorrow, he shall be acting as my Squire.” At this, Harry glanced at his friend with a questioning expression. Nicholas shrugged.

  Martin said, “And his companion, Harry of Ludland, will be Squire to my son.”

  Harry made a face that said, Well, that answers that.

  “Now,” said Martin. “I bid you all a good night.”

  He extended his hand and Briana placed hers upon it, in ceremonial fashion, and he led her from the table. The ladies Margaret and Abigail followed, and then Marcus rose. Turning to Harry, he said, “Well then, if you’re to squire for me, I need you awake an hour before sunrise. Ask any servant where my quarters are and don’t be late.” Turning to Nicholas, he said, “Father will want you ready, too.”

  Nicholas didn’t care much for his cousin’s tone, but he refused to be anything but polite. “I’ll be there.”

  Marcus smiled and it was a shock, for it was the first time since meeting him that Nicholas had seen any expression other than a neutral frown. “I expect you will.” Waving to the servants, he said, “Show the Squires to their quarters.”

  The boys fell in behind two servants, and as they passed by the magician, Harry said, “See you around, Anthony.”

  The magician muttered a reply. When they entered a long hallway, Harry said, “That’s the Duke’s magician.”

  “I know,” answered Nicholas. “Marcus said he wasn’t very good at his job.”

  Harry indicated he had no opinion on that topic, but added, “He seems a right enough fellow, if a little shy. Mumbles a bit.”

  The servants led the two young men to doors next to one another. Nicholas opened the indicated one and entered what could only be considered a cell. It was barely ten feet in length and eight feet wide. A straw pallet lay on the floor and a small chest for personal belongings took up one corner of the room. A tiny table, a chair, and a rude lamp on the table were the only other features. Nicholas turned to the servant, who was walking away, and said, “Where are my things?”

  The servant said, “In storage, Squire. His Grace said you won’t need them until you’re ready to leave, so he had them put down in the sub-basement. You’ll find all you need in the chest.”

  Harry clapped his friend upon the shoulder. “Well, Squire Nicky, better turn in and get a good night’s sleep. We’re up early tomorrow.”

  “Don’t let me oversleep,” said Nicholas, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  Nicholas said, “How about I don’t knock you on your backside?”

  Harry appeared to consider this for a moment, then said, “Seems fair to me.” With a laugh he said, “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to being a squire. Look at me; I’ve done right well being yours.”

  He entered his own room, and Nicholas looked heavenward, as if to say, because you’ve never had to act like one. With a feeling of deep foreboding, he entered his cell, closed the door, and undressed. Blowing out the lamp, he made his way in the dark toward the pallet, and lying on the straw-packed sack, he pulled the single blanket up over him. The rest of the night was spent tossing and turning, with only a little rest and a deep sense of dread.

  —

  NICHOLAS WAS AWAKE when the knock came. He fumbled his way in the dark and realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn’t located any means to light the lamp before he had blown it out. He found the door handle in the dark and opened the door. Harry, who stood there, said, “You planning on going like that?”

  Feeling silly standing in only his undertrousers, Nicholas said, “I forgot to locate the flint and steel.”

  “They’re on the table, behind the lamp, where they usually are. I’ll light it; you get dressed.”

  Nicholas opened the chest and found a simple tunic and trousers in brown and green, which he took to be the uniform of a Crydee squire, as Harry was garbed in like fashion. He put them on and found them a close enough fit. Pulling on his own boots, he said, “What is this business of awaking before dawn?”

  Harry put down the now burning lamp, closed the door, and said, “Farmers, I guess.”

  “Farmers?”

  “You know. Country people. Always up before dawn, asleep with the chickens.”

  Nicholas grunted a vague acknowledgment of the remark as he pulled on his boots. His left foot seemed slightly swollen, which made getting the specially made boot on that more difficult. “Damn,” he said, “must be damper here than at home.”

  Harry said, “You noticed! You mean the mold growing on the stones next to your bed didn’t give you a hint?”

  Nicholas swung a lazy backhand at Harry, which he avoided easily. “Come on,” he said with a laugh, “it wouldn’t do to be late our first day.”

  Nicholas and Harry found themselves alone in the hallway and suddenly Harry said, “Where are the servants?”

  “We’re the servants, you dolt,” said Nicholas. “I think I know where the family quarters are.”

  By trial and error, the boys found their way through the castle to the family’s wing. Modest quarters compared to what the Prince was used to at home, they were nevertheless considerably more comfortable than the cells the boys had inhabited the night before. A pair of servants were leaving two of the rooms, and Nicholas asked and was told that they were indeed Lord Martin and Lady Briana’s quarters and young Master Marcus’s.

  Taking up their stations by the respective doors, the boys waited. After a few moments, Nicholas ventured a quiet knock. The door opened and Martin looked out and said, “I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Squire.”

  Before Nicholas could answer, “Yes, Your Grace,” the door was closed in his face.

  Harry grinned and raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could strike wood, the door opened and Marcus stepped through. “You’re late,” he snapped. “Come along.” He hurried down the hallway, and Harry almost had to leap to catch up with him.

  A few minutes later, Martin emerged from his bedchamber and moved down the hall without comment. Nicholas f
ell in behind him and followed along. Instead of heading for the main hall, as the boy expected, the Duke moved through the quiet keep to the main entrance, where stable hands were bringing out horses. Marcus and Harry could be seen riding out the gate as a servant thrust reins in Nicholas’s direction.

  Martin said, “You can ride?”

  Nicholas said, “Of course…Your Grace,” he added quickly.

  “Good. We’ve no shortage of green horses that need a firm hand out.”

  As he climbed aboard, Nicholas instantly found himself in a contest with the horse. A quick half-halt jerk to the mouth and a hard seat brought the fractious animal under control. The gelding was young and probably had been cut late, given the stallion-like crest of his neck and his aggressive behavior. Nicholas also didn’t care for the heavy saddle, which made contact with the animal difficult.

  But Martin gave him no time for consideration of the finer points of horsemanship, having turned his animal and headed for the gate. Nicholas put heels to the sides of his mount and found he had to use a lot of leg to keep the horse moving forward. Then the explosion came: the animal bucked hard before trying to race through the courtyard. Nicholas automatically gripped with his legs, sinking down in the saddle and giving a quick and firm halt on the reins. He guided the horse into a circle, half-halting with the reins until the animal was calmed down to a nice posting trot. Then, when he was at the Duke’s side, Nicholas slowed the animal down to a walk to match the Duke’s mount.

  “Did you sleep well, Squire?”

  “Not really, Your Grace.”

  “Aren’t the quarters to your liking?” asked Martin.

  Nicholas looked to see if he was being mocked, and saw only an impassive face regarding him.

  “No, they’re adequate,” he said, refusing to be baited into complaining. “It’s the newness of all this, I guess.”

  “You’ll get used to Crydee,” Martin said.

  “Does Your Grace usually not eat in the morning?” asked Nicholas, his stomach already noticing the absence of breakfast.

  Martin smiled, a slight upturn of his mouth, much like Nicholas’s father’s half-smiles, and said, “Oh, we’ll break fast, but there’s always a couple of hours’ work to do before we dine, Squire.”