Czytaj książkę: «Rage of a Demon King»

• Chapter Two • Warning

Erik fumed.

He had spent the day working on a plan to employ the Hadati hillmen he had taken from the Baron of Tyr-Sog, only to be told they had left the Prince’s castle, and no one seemed sure where they had gone or at whose orders. He had finally ended up outside the office of the Knight-Marshal of Krondor, who was ensconced within his private chamber in a meeting with Captain Calis.

Finally a clerk indicated Erik could enter, and both William and Calis greeted him. ‘Sergeant Major,’ said William, indicating an empty chair. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘It’s about the Hadati, m’lord,’ said Erik, not taking the seat.

‘What about them?’ asked Calis.

‘They’re gone.’

‘I know,’ said Calis with a faint smile.

Erik said, ‘What I mean is, I had plans –’

Knight-Marshal William held up his hand. ‘Sergeant Major, whatever plans you had are certainly similar to our own. However, your particular talents aren’t needed in that area.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘In what area?’

‘Teaching hillmen how to fight in the hills,’ said Calis.

He motioned for Erik to sit, and Erik did as he was instructed.

William pointed to a map on the wall across the room. ‘We’ve got a thousand miles of hills and mountains running from just north of the Great Star Lake up to Yabon, Sergeant. We’re going to need men who can live up there without supplies from Krondor.’

Erik said, ‘I know, m’lord –’

William interrupted him again. ‘Those men already meet our needs.’

Erik was silent a moment, then said, ‘Very well, m’lord. But, for my curiosity’s sake, where are they?’

‘On their way to a camp north of Tannerus. To meet with Captain Subai.’

‘Captain Subai?’ asked Erik. The man named was head of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders, an elite scouting unit that traced its lineage back to the Kingdom’s first foray into the West. They had long since changed their mission of being trailbreakers and explorers; they now served as long-range military scouts and intelligence officers. ‘You’re turning them over to the Pathfinders?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Calis. He sounded tired, and Erik studied his leader’s features. There were dark smudges under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept much in recent days, and his face was a bit more pinched than usual. Those signs might go unnoticed, by someone who hadn’t spent every waking moment for months in Calis’s company, but to Erik they communicated much: Calis was worried and was working late into the night. Erik suppressed a rueful smile. He had started to think like the very nursemaid Calis had warned him not to become, and besides, he was just as guilty of overwork as his leader.

Calis spoke: ‘We need couriers and exploring officers.’

This was a term new to Erik. ‘Exploring officers?’ he asked.

‘It’s a madman’s job,’ offered Calis. ‘You pack your horse with a few rations and a canteen of water, then you ride like hell through the enemy’s pickets, move behind their lines, stay alive, meet with agents and spies, occasionally assassinate someone or burn down a stronghold, and otherwise wreak havoc wherever you can.’

‘You forgot the important part,’ offered William. ‘Staying alive. Getting back with what you know is more important than all the rest.’

‘Information,’ said Calis. ‘Without it, we’re blind.’

Erik realized with a sudden clarity that what he had lived through on two journeys to Novindus – the hardships, the loss of good men – was all to return with vital information. As with many things that Erik had learned in the military, he thought he understood something only to discover later he possessed merely a surface apprehension of the way things were, as a deeper appreciation of the topic seemed to unfold in his mind. Tactics and strategy were like that. William kept telling him he had a knack, yet often Erik felt stupid, as if he were missing the obvious.

Almost blushing, Erik said, ‘I understand.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Calis in a friendly tone.

William said, ‘We’re delighted to put the Hadati to such use, though they will likely be used as scouts and couriers; few of them are competent enough horsemen to serve as explorers.’

‘I can train them,’ said Erik, suddenly interested.

‘Perhaps. But we’ve got some Inonian mountain rangers coming in from the East. They are experienced riders.’

Erik had seen the occasional Inonian in Darkmoor. Swarthy, tough little men from the Inonia region along the coast of the Kingdom Sea nearest the southeastern borders with Kesh, they were reputed to be as fierce in their ability to defend their mountain highlands as the Hadati or dwarves. Erik knew them firsthand only for the excellent wines they traded in exchange for Darkmoor’s best; their wines were distinctive, using different varieties of grapes from those found in Darkmoor, often spiced or treated with resins or honey, but treasured for that very difference. The Inonians also produced the finest olive oil known, and that was the primary source of their prosperity.

‘From what I understand,’ offered Erik, ‘Inonian horsemen are able enough.’

‘In the mountains,’ said William, standing up as if to throw off the weight of fatigue. ‘Hit and run tactics are the rule. They also don’t marshal many men at a time, doing most of their damage with a dozen or fewer raiders.’ He waved to a bookshelf on the opposite side of his office. ‘We have at least one account of the Kingdom’s conquest of their region in there. They have some nasty tricks that may help us when the invaders get here.’ He stretched. ‘They ride small, tough ponies, and getting them to accept our faster horses may take some doing; you may have to give them some instruction, too.’

Calis grinned, and Erik knew without being asked that the eastern hill fighters were unlikely to take being trained gracefully. ‘But for the moment,’ the Captain said, ‘you’re to head back into the hills with another batch of soldiers.’

‘Again?’ Erik barely suppressed a groan.

‘Again,’ said Calis. ‘Greylock and Jadow have got sixty survivors of their boot camp they swear will take to your training like a baby to the teat. You and Alfred and another six of your men will take them out tomorrow morning.’

William said, ‘Teach them everything you can, Sergeant Major.’

‘And keep your eye out for potential corporals,’ Calis added. ‘We need more sergeants, too.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Erik rose, saluted, and turned to leave.

Calis said, ‘Erik?’

‘Yes?’ asked Erik as he paused at the door.

‘Why don’t you go out tonight and have some fun? You look like hell. Consider that an order.’

Erik shrugged, shook his head, and said, ‘You’re no daisy.’

Calis smiled. ‘I know. I’m taking a long hot bath; then I’m turning in early tonight.’

William said, ‘Go find a girl and a drink and relax.’

Erik left the Knight-Marshal’s office and moved to his own quarters. He had been working in the marshalling yard all day, and if he was going anywhere he wanted to bathe and change.

After his bath and in a fresh tunic, he felt hunger and considered heading to the mess. He weighed his choices and decided a meal in town might be just the thing.

Erik decided to walk to the Broken Shield, the inn operated by Lord James for the men, giving them a place to drink and meet the whores hand-selected by the Duke to ensure no one said anything to a potential agent of the enemy.

Evening was falling and the city was ablaze in torch and lantern light as Erik reached the inn. James had picked a location far enough from the palace to look a likely hangout for soldiers wishing to be away from the scrutiny of their officers, yet close enough that a message would reach anyone in minutes. Only Erik, the officers, and a few others realized that every person within the inn was an agent or employee of the Duke.

Kitty waved as Erik entered the room and he found himself smiling at her. He had been the one who had told the girl of Bobby de Loungville’s death and since then he had looked in on her from time to time. She had shown no reaction to the news, excusing herself for a few minutes, and when she had returned, only slightly red eyes had betrayed her feelings. Erik suspected the former thief had been in love with the man who had held the position of Sergeant Major before him. Bobby had been a difficult, even cruel, man at times, but he had treated the young girl with nothing but respect since she had come to the inn.

Erik had asked James if the girl did more than tend bar, but the Duke had simply replied he was pleased with the girl’s services since she had become one of his agents. Erik knew her primary job was to keep alert for any Mocker, a member of the Guild of Thieves of Krondor, attempting to enter the Broken Shield.

‘What’s new?’ asked Erik as he reached the bar.

‘Not much,’ said Kitty, retrieving a large jack from under the counter, then filling it at the ale tap. ‘Just those two in from somewhere.’ With a motion of her chin she indicated two men sitting at a corner table.

‘Who are they?’ asked Erik, then took a long pull on the ale. Say what you will, he thought, about being told to frequent only this one inn: at least the Duke kept it serving only the finest ale and food.

Kitty shrugged. ‘Didn’t say. They sound like Easterners to me. Certainly not from around here.’ She picked up a bar rag and began wiping imaginary spills. ‘One of them is quiet, the dark fellow in the corner, but the other talks enough for both of them.’

Erik shrugged. While the inn was known to locals as being the hangout of garrison soldiers off duty, a few strangers wandered in from time to time, and although the staff was always on the lookout for spies and informers, most of those strangers had legitimate business in the area. Those few who didn’t were either followed out by Duke James’s agents or conducted to a basement room for interrogation, depending on the Duke’s instructions.

Erik glanced around and noticed that none of the girls who serviced the soldiers was in view. He glanced at Kitty and found he preferred talking to her for the moment. ‘The girls keeping out of sight?’

‘Meggan and Heather are working tonight,’ said Kitty. ‘They ducked out when the strangers arrived.’

Erik nodded. ‘The special girls?’

‘One’s on the way,’ said Kitty. The special girls were agents of the Duke, and when a stranger stayed too long at the inn, one quickly appeared, ready to accompany the stranger and ferret out whatever information might prove useful.

Erik found himself wondering who had taken up the role of ‘Spymaster,’ as Erik was certain that had been one of Bobby de Loungville’s many masks. Certainly it wasn’t Captain Calis, and Erik knew it wasn’t himself.

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Kitty.

‘Just wondering about our’ – glancing at the two strangers, he changed what he was about to say – ‘landlord’s employees.’

Kitty raised her eyebrows in question. ‘What do you mean?’

Erik shrugged. ‘It’s probably none of my business, anyway. A man can get too curious.’

Kitty leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and said, ‘Curiosity is what got me the death mark.’

Erik raised his eyebrow. ‘The Mockers?’

‘Rumor reached me a few weeks ago. An old friend thought to warn me. The Upright Man has returned, or at least someone claiming to be the Upright Man, and I’m being blamed for some troubles beyond the death of Sam Tannerson.’

Tannerson had been a bully and thief who had killed Kitty’s sister as a warning to Roo not to do business in the Poor Quarter without paying bribes. It had been a bloody business and had resulted in both Roo and Kitty finding themselves in need of the Duke’s protection.

‘What sort of troubles?’

‘Something to do with the previous leader of the Mockers, the Sagacious Man, having to flee Krondor.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, if I venture out of this inn after dark, or into the Poor Quarter at any time, I’m dead.’

Erik said, ‘That’s a heavy burden.’

Kitty shrugged as if it weren’t important. ‘Life is like that.’

Erik sipped his ale. He studied the girl. When she had first been captured, she had stripped before Bobby and the men who had captured her, partly in defiance, partly in resignation. She was pretty – a lithe body, long neck, and big blue eyes that any man would notice – but hard. There was an element of toughness in her which took nothing away from her features but which underlined them, as if life had forged her in a hotter fire than most. Erik found it attractive in a way he couldn’t articulate. She wasn’t remotely provocative, like the girls he slept with at the Sign of the White Wing, or playful and mildly taunting, like the whores who worked this inn. She was guarded, thoughtful, and, Erik had decided, very smart.

‘What are you staring at?’ she asked.

Erik lowered his eyes. He hadn’t realized he had been staring at her. ‘You, I guess.’

‘There are plenty of girls around here to scratch your itch, Erik. Or there’s the White Wing if you want something special.’

Erik blushed. Suddenly Kitty laughed. ‘You’re a child, I swear.’

Erik said, ‘I’m not in the mood … for that. Just thought I’d have a drink or two and … talk.’

Kitty raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing for a moment. Finally she said, ‘Talk?’

Erik sighed. ‘I’m spending so much time shouting at men, watching them fall all over themselves trying to anticipate my next order, or in meetings with the Captain and the other court officers, I just wanted to talk about anything that doesn’t have something to do with’ – he almost found himself saying ‘the invasion’ but caught himself – ‘being a soldier.’

If Kitty noticed his slight hesitation, she said nothing. ‘So, what do you want to talk about?’ she asked, putting away her bar rag.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Me?’ she asked. ‘Well, I’m eating better than I ever have. I’ve gotten used to not having to hold a dagger in my hand when I sleep – I just keep it under my pillow. That’s another thing I’m getting used to: sleeping in a real bed.

‘And not having lice and fleas is good.’

Suddenly Erik laughed. Kitty joined in. Erik said, ‘I know what you mean. The pests on the march can be as maddening as anything.’

One of the two strangers approached. ‘From your garb I take you for a soldier,’ he said.

Erik nodded. ‘I am.’

With a friendly manner the fellow spoke. ‘It’s kind of quiet here tonight. I’ve been in a lot of inns, and this isn’t exactly what I’d call lively.’

Erik shrugged. ‘Sometimes it is. Depends on what’s going on at the palace.’

The man said, ‘Really?’

Erik glanced at Kitty, who nodded slightly, said, ‘Got to check some inventory,’ and left through the rear door.

‘We’ve got a big parade coming up soon,’ said Erik. ‘Some embassy or another from Kesh is coming for one of those state visits. The Master of Ceremonies has the Captain of the Prince’s Household Guards half-crazy with all the nonsense the garrison’s going to go through to get ready for this. I’m in for a quick ale and a chat with my friend, then I’ve got to head back.’

The man glanced at his empty ale mug. ‘I need another.’ He turned and shouted, ‘Girl!’

When Kitty didn’t answer, he turned back to Erik. ‘Think she’d mind if I fill my own?’

Erik shook his head. ‘If you leave your coins on the bar, she won’t.’

‘Buy you one?’ asked the man as he moved behind the bar.

‘What about your friend?’ asked Erik, indicating the other man at the table, the darker stranger Kitty had referred to as the quieter of the pair.

‘He’ll keep. He’s a business associate of mine.’ The man lowered his voice and in a conspiratorial tone said, ‘Truth to tell, he’s a terrible bore. All he talks about is trade and his children.’

Erik nodded, as if agreeing with the man.

‘I’m unmarried myself,’ said the stranger, coming around the bar, handing a foaming mug to Erik. ‘Name’s Pierre Rubideaux. From Bas-Tyra.’

‘Erik.’ He took the mug.

‘Your health,’ said Pierre, hoisting his own mug.

Erik took a drink. ‘What brings you to Krondor?’

‘Business. In particular, we’re looking to set up some trading with the Far Coast through the port.’

Erik smiled. ‘You’ll be wanting to talk to a friend of mine, I think.’

‘Who’s that?’ asked Rubideaux.

‘Rupert Avery. Owns the Bitter Sea Company. You trade in Krondor, you do business with either Roo or Jacob Esterbrook. If you’re talking about Kesh, that’s Esterbrook. If you’re talking the Far Coast, that’s Roo.’ Erik took another long drink from his mug. Something slightly bitter lingered after the ale, and he frowned. He didn’t remember his first mug being off.

‘As a matter of fact, I am looking for Rupert Avery,’ said the man.

The other man stood, nodding to Pierre. ‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘We must leave.’

‘Well, Erik von Darkmoor, it’s been more of a pleasure than you know.’

Erik started to say good-bye, then frowned. ‘I never told you my full name –’ he began. Suddenly a pain ripped through his stomach, as if someone had plunged a fiery knife in his gut. He reached out and grabbed the stranger by his tunic front.

As if removing the grip of a baby, the man pulled Erik’s hands away. ‘You’ve got only a few more minutes, Erik, but they’ll be long ones; trust me.’

Erik felt the strength drain from his legs as he attempted to step forward. The blood pounded in his temples and darkness began to close around his field of vision. He was dully aware of Kitty reentering the inn. Her voice sounded distant and he couldn’t understand most of what she was saying, but he heard a man shout, ‘Take them!’

Then he was looking upward through a tunnel of light as darkness moved in from all sides. His body was afire with pain as if each joint were swelling inside him. Hot spikes of agony traveled up and down his arms and legs, and his heart pounded faster and faster as if trying to erupt from his chest. Perspiration ran from his face and drenched his body as Erik felt his muscles tighten, disobeying his command to let him stand. As Kitty’s face appeared at the end of the tunnel of his vision, he attempted to speak her name, but his tongue wouldn’t work and the pain made it almost impossible to breathe.

The last thing he heard as darkness overtook him was a single word: ‘Poison.’

‘He’ll live,’ said the voice, as Erik found himself regaining consciousness.

Pain exploded behind his eyes as he opened them, causing him to groan. The sound of his own voice caused the pain to redouble, and he bit back a second groan. His body ached and his joints were burning.

‘Erik?’ came a woman’s voice, and Erik attempted to find the source. Strange blurry shapes hovered at the edge of his vision, and he couldn’t make his eyes obey his will, so he shut them.

Another voice, Roo’s, said, ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ Erik managed to croak.

Someone put a damp cloth on his lips and Erik licked them. The moisture seemed to help, so he sucked on the cloth. Then someone held a cup of water to his lips, while someone else held his head so he could drink.

‘Just a sip,’ said the woman’s voice.

Erik sipped, and while his throat hurt worse than he ever remembered, he forced himself to swallow. In a few seconds the returning moisture to his mouth and throat eased the discomfort.

Erik blinked, as he realized he was in a bed. Hovering over him were Kitty, Duke James, Roo, and Calis. Another figure was barely visible at the periphery of his vision.

‘What happened?’ asked Erik, his voice still hoarse.

‘You were poisoned,’ said Roo.

‘Poisoned?’ he asked.

Nodding, Duke James said, ‘Henri Dubois. He’s a poisoner from Bas-Tyra. I’ve run afoul of his handiwork before in Rillanon. I didn’t expect to see him this far west.’

Glancing around, Erik assumed he was in a back room at the inn, a priest of an order he didn’t recognize standing behind the others.

‘Why?’ asked Erik. Assuming no one in the room was ignorant of the coming invasion, he still didn’t want to betray anything Lord James wanted kept secret.

‘Nothing to do with the coming troubles,’ said Calis. He glanced pointedly at the priest, which Erik took to mean the man was not fully trusted.

‘A personal matter,’ suggested Lord James.

Erik wasn’t sure what he meant, for a moment, then realization struck. ‘Mathilda,’ he whispered. He sank back into the bed. His father’s widow, mother to his murdered half-brother, who had vowed revenge on Erik and Roo, had sent someone to see the matter disposed of.

‘They were coming after Roo next,’ said Erik.

‘That’s logical,’ said James.

‘Who was the other man, the quiet one?’ asked Erik as James helped him to sit upright. Nausea struck him, his head rang, and his eyes watered, but he stayed conscious.

‘We don’t know,’ answered Calis. ‘He got out of the inn while we were subduing Dubois.’

‘You captured him?’ asked Erik.

‘Yes,’ answered James. ‘Last night.’ He indicated Kitty. ‘When she left the inn to fetch some of my agents, then returned to find you on the floor, she surmised at once what was going on. She hurried down to the nearest temple and brought a priest to heal you.’

‘Half dragged, you mean,’ said the nameless priest.

James smiled. ‘My men took Dubois to the palace and we questioned him all night. We’re certain the late Baron of Darkmoor’s widow sent him after you.’ James raised one eyebrow and motioned with his head toward the cleric.

Erik said nothing. He knew the Lady Gamina, James’s wife, could read minds, which was why they were certain who had sent the assassin. No confession was needed.

The priest said, ‘I think you should rest. The magic that cleansed your body of the poison didn’t reverse the damage already done you. You will need at least a week of bed rest and a bland diet.’

‘Thank you, Father … ?’ began Erik.

‘Father Andrew,’ answered the priest. He nodded once to the Duke and left without further comment.

Erik said, ‘That’s an odd priest. I don’t recognize his regalia.’

‘I would find it strange if you did, Erik,’ answered the Duke as he moved toward the door. ‘Andrew is a priest of the order of Ban-ath. Their shrine is the closest to this inn.’

The god of thieves was not one commonly worshiped by most citizens. There were two holidays where small votive offerings were made to protect the home, as an appeasement, but mostly those who frequented the temple were on the dodgy path, as it was called. It was rumored the Mockers’ Guild sent a tithe to the temple each year.

James said, ‘I’m going to leave you now. You stay here a couple of days, then you’ve got to get that happy little band of cutthroats we’ve recruited for you up into the mountains and teach them what they need to know.’

Erik glanced around. ‘Where is here?’

‘My room,’ said Kitty.

‘No,’ said Erik trying to rise. He almost fainted from the effort. ‘Give me a little while to catch my breath and I’ll get back to the palace.’

Calis turned to leave. ‘Stay here.’

‘I’ve slept with worse company,’ said Kitty. ‘I won’t mind a pallet on the floor.’

Erik tried to protest but fatigue was making it hard to keep his eyes open.

He heard Calis say something to Kitty, but couldn’t remember what it was. During the night, chills racked his body for a few minutes, until a warm body slipped into bed with him and he felt reassuring arms encircle his waist. But when he awoke in the morning he was alone.

Erik rode in silence. His strength was slowly returning after a few days in bed, and a week in the saddle. Since leaving Krondor he had left it to Alfred to bully the men, doing little more than give instructions to Alfred and another corporal named Nolan. He had inspected fortifications only once or twice. Jadow and the other sergeants had done their work in Krondor. The men were adept at using the ancient Keshian Legion techniques for making camp each night. Within a hour of the order being given, a tiny fortress was in place with breastworks, defensive stakes, and removable planks used to get in and out.

Erik was getting to know these men, though he still couldn’t remember every name. He knew many of them would die in the coming war. But Calis and William were doing a nearly perfect job of picking the right men for these special companies. The men before him were tough and self-reliant and, Erik suspected, would be able to live by their own wits for months up in these mountains if the situation required once they had learned the particulars of mountain living.

Erik considered all the things he knew from living in Ravensburg: the tricks the wind played with sound, the threat of a sudden storm being felt before it was seen, and the dangers of being exposed to such a storm. He had seen more than one traveler dead from spending the night in the cold, only miles from the inn where Erik had grown up.

The wind from the north was cold, for winter was coming quickly. Erik realized that was why he was thinking of the trader they had found when he was ten; the man had tried to shelter under a tree, with his cloak wrapped around him, but in the night the wind had sucked the warmth from his body and killed him as if he had been encased in ice.

They were making their way along a small mountain trail, used for the most part by hunters and a few shepherds, one which ran roughly the same course as the King’s Highway from Krondor to Ylith, but which veered to the northeast about fifty miles from the Prince’s city. Several little hamlets dotted the way up to another fork, where the road turned west again, eventually leading to Hawk’s Hollow and Questor’s View, while a smaller trail led to the northeast, toward the Teeth of the World and the Dimwood. In the foothills of those great mountains and in the various meadows, valleys, and stretches of the forests existed some of the most dangerous and unknown territory within the boundaries of the Kingdom.

Fate had conspired to keep Kingdom citizens out of those areas, for there were no natural trade routes, little desirable farmland, and few mineral riches to lure men to these areas. Erik had decided, without asking anyone, to take his trainees farther on this march than ever before. He had an instinct that the more the Kingdom knew of the north, the less likely they would be to have unwelcome surprises when the Emerald Queen’s army came.

As if reading his mind, Alfred rode up next to him and said, ‘Bit far to go for drilling, isn’t it, Erik?’

Erik nodded. He pointed to a pass off in the distance. ‘Send a squad to scout out that rise, so we don’t find a band of Dark Brothers marching over it unexpectedly, and look for tonight’s camp.’ He glanced around, then said softly, ‘Hunting parties tomorrow. Let’s see who knows how to find his own dinner.’

Alfred shivered. ‘This is a cold place to camp.’

‘The farther north we go, the colder it gets.’

Alfred sighed. ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’

‘Besides,’ said Erik, ‘we’re almost where I want to be.’

‘And would you be in the mood to share that tidbit, Sergeant Major?’ asked Alfred.

‘No,’ said Erik.

Corporal Alfred rode off, and Erik suppressed a smile. The old corporal had served in the garrison at Darkmoor, for Erik’s father, for fifteen years before they met. He was a full twenty years older than Erik’s twenty-two. He had also been an early convert of Erik’s, having been one of the first picked to accompany the levy of men Erik’s half-brother sent to the Prince, and he was one of the few survivors of that journey. Erik had been forced by circumstance to physically beat Alfred three times, the first when Alfred had sighted Erik in an inn in the town of Wilhelmsburgh and Alfred had attempted to arrest Erik. The second time had been during his first week of training under Erik and Jadow Shati, and the third, when he had gotten too sure of himself and thought he could finally best the young sergeant. Then they had voyaged to the far continent, Novindus, and from there they had returned, two of the five men who survived that expedition. Now Erik trusted the man with his life and knew Alfred felt the same way about him.

Erik considered that odd forged bond of soldiers, men who otherwise might have no use for one another but who after serving together, facing death together, felt like brothers. Then, thinking of brothers, he wondered if James would be able to convince Erik’s half-brother’s mother to cease her attempts to kill him. Erik considered that if anyone could do so, it would be Lord James.

The men marched and Erik considered the coming war. He was not privy to all the plans of Lord James, Knight-Marshal William, and Prince Patrick, but he was beginning to suspect what they would be. And he didn’t like what he was beginning to suspect.

He knew more than most men what was coming, but he had reservations about what would be the price of victory, and as he rode down the small path, he heard one of the men pass the word, ‘Scouts coming!’

A man sent ahead with three others jogged at a good pace past the column of men marching ahead of Erik and stopped before the Sergeant Major. His name was Matthew, and he struggled for breath as he said, ‘Smoke, Sergeant!’ He turned and pointed. ‘Far ridge. About a dozen fires, I think.’

As Erik searched the distant ridge, he started to notice the low hanging smoke, easily mistaken for ground fog at this distance. ‘Where are the other scouts?’

The soldier, catching his breath, said, ‘Mark has moved out, while Wil and Jenks are staying where we first saw the smoke.’ He blew out his cheeks a moment, then said, ‘And Jenks will follow about now, I guess.’

Erik nodded. It was the standard procedure for any encounter with potentially hostile soldiers. The scouts always left camp an hour before the main column, moving along the road in pairs, two on each side, scouting for potential ambush. If any potential enemy was spied, orders were for one man to return, the other to scout ahead. If the advance scout didn’t quickly return, a second would follow, to determine if the first was dead, captured, or observing the enemy. If the latter, the advance scout would return as soon as he was relieved, carrying the most up-to-the-moment intelligence while leaving another pair of eyes to watch.

Erik nodded and wished they were training these men as mounted cavalry. That would start next month, but right now he wished for the speed.

Erik signaled and said, ‘Hand signals only!’

The men at the rear turned to look, then started tapping the men in front on their shoulders, relaying the silent order. Alfred motioned and Erik nodded. He signed that he would ride with the advance scout to the van, while Alfred was to bring up the column. He indicated he wanted two squads on the wings, one to the right and one to the left, and ready for anything.

Erik motioned for the scout to take the lead and he rode after. The man jogged at a good pace, and Erik trotted along after him.

After moving up the road for nearly a half-hour, they found the first of Erik’s scouts, watching ahead. He held up his hand and Erik dismounted. Keeping his voice low, he said, ‘No sign of Jenks or Mark, Sergeant.’

Erik nodded, handing his reins to Matthew. He motioned for Wil to come with him and moved along the trail. Glancing across a small valley, he could clearly see smoke from fires along a distant ridge.

He moved another quarter-mile along the trail, then paused. Something ahead wasn’t right. He listened, then realized that while sound was echoing from all around this narrow pass, it was silent ahead. He motioned for Wil to move to the other side of the trail, then he continued down into the thick brush on his side.

The going was slow as Erik carefully picked his way through the dense undergrowth. The trees in this rocky hillside stood in clumps, with relatively bare spots between. At the edge of one such clearing, Erik saw Wil on the other side of the road. With hand gestures, he indicated Wil should loop around and approach the next group of trees from a position farther off the trail.

Erik watched and waited. When Wil didn’t appear again, Erik was certain he knew where whoever was taking his scouts was secreted. Erik surveyed his own surroundings and decided to move farther down slope.

He backed away from the edge of the trees he had hid within, and after a few scrambling half-slides, he was down at the base of a dry creek. During the next rain this defile would be flooded, he knew, but at present there was only a bit of damp soil underfoot to remind him of the last rain in these mountains.

The scent of smoke was now evident, and Erik knew there had been other campfires closer than the ones that now burned, and he suspected that another company of men had broken camp here the night before. A familiar odor greeted Erik and he glanced up the slope. A good job of hiding horse dung had been accomplished, but to someone who had grown up with the animals the scent was unmistakable. The animals had been staked out a short distance from the clearing where his scouts had vanished. The lingering pungency of horse urine would be gone in another day.

Erik moved to the point on the opposite side of the road where his scout had disappeared, and paused, listening. Again there was a dead spot of sound nearby, as if the animals had left and would not return until the present occupants departed.

Erik skirted the edge of the brush, reached the next grove of trees down the downslope side, and started working his way back to the trail. Suddenly he knew; someone was watching him.

While short on years, he was long on experience in warfare, and he knew that he was about to be attacked. He rolled over as a body landed upon the spot he had just vacated.

The man landed lightly on his feet, despite his intended victim’s not being where he had expected, and as he turned, Erik did the unexpected. He rolled back into the man, yanking him down on top of him.

Few men Erik had met were as strong as he, so he felt more confident with both of them in close than having his opponent upright while he tried to rise. Erik rolled the man over and got on top of him.

His opponent was strong, and quick, but Erik soon had his wrists confined. Seeing no weapon in the man’s hand, Erik released his wrist, drawing back his own fist to strike, but hesitated, as he recognized the man.

‘Jackson?’

The soldier said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’

Erik pushed himself off the man and rose to his feet. The soldier was one of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. But rather than the ceremonial uniforms of the palace, or even the daily drilling regalia, he was dressed in a dark green tunic and trousers, with a leather breastplate, short dagger, and metal bowl helm.

Erik extended his hand and helped the guardsman to his feet. ‘Want to tell me what this is all about?’

Another voice said, ‘No, he doesn’t.’

Erik looked to the source of that voice and saw a face familiar to him: Captain Subai of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders.

‘Captain?’

‘Sergeant Major,’ said the officer. ‘You’re a bit off your course, aren’t you?’

Erik studied the man. He was tall, but rangy, close to gaunt, in appearance. His face was sunburned and looked like dark leather. His eyebrows and hair were grey, though Erik suspected he was not that old a man. He was rumored to be originally from Kesh, and was counted a fierce swordsman and an exceptional bowman. But like most of the Pathfinders he tended to stay among his own, not mixing with the garrison or Calis’s Eagles.

‘I was told by Prince Patrick to drill my new company and thought I’d wander them a bit through some rougher terrain than just outside Krondor.’ With his chin he indicated the distant smoke. ‘Your fires, Captain?’

The man nodded, then said, ‘Well, take your men north if you want, but don’t come this way, Sergeant Major.’

‘Why not, Captain?’

The man paused and said, ‘That wasn’t a request, Sergeant Major. That was an order.’

Erik wasn’t inclined to argue the chain of command. This wasn’t some noble’s hired mercenary but a Knight-Captain of the Prince’s army, a man with rank equal to Calis’s. Erik thought Bobby de Loungville might have a clever rejoinder in this situation, but all Erik could think to say was ‘Yes, sir.’

Subai said, ‘Your scouts are over there. They need some work.’

Erik crossed the road and found another pair of soldiers standing guard over Wil, Mark, and Jenks. His men were tied up, but not uncomfortable. Erik glanced at the two guards, and saw that one was a Pathfinder and the second another of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards.

‘Cut them loose,’ said Erik and the two guards complied. The three rose slowly, obviously stiff from their confinement, and flexed a bit as the two guards handed them back their weapons.

Wil began to speak, and Erik held up his hand. A faint noise came to him and he recognized it, then another, and a third. ‘Come along,’ he ordered his men.

After they were well away from the Pathfinders, Erik asked, ‘They jumped you from the trees?’

Mark said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’

Erik sighed. He had almost been taken that way as well. ‘Well, look up more often.’

The men waited for an outburst, or some other form of recrimination for allowing themselves to be captured, but Erik’s mind was elsewhere.

He mused on the presence of Prince Patrick’s select guard along that distant ridge, working hand in glove with the Pathfinders and their odd Captain. More odd yet was the presence of many soldiers on a distant ridge where every map said there were no trails, and oddest of all were the faint sounds that had carried to Erik. The second had taken him longer to recognize, but he knew it had been the sound of axes felling trees. That and the sound of picks on rock had not come to him as quickly as the first sound, one he knew well from his childhood: the sound of hammers striking iron on an anvil.

As they cleared the ridge to where the remaining scout waited, Jenks made bold to ask, ‘What are those blokes doing over there, Sergeant Major?’

Without thought, Erik said, ‘They’re building a road.’

‘Over there?’ asked Wil. ‘Why?’

Erik said, ‘I don’t know, but I intend to find out.’

The problem was, Erik had a good idea why they were building a road along that distant ridge, and he didn’t like the answer.