OWEN SQUIRMED.
He didn’t seem able to find a comfortable position in his camp chair, and yet the situation demanded he sit for hours reviewing reports and communiqués.
Erik approached, looming up out of the evening darkness against the campfires burning in every direction. He saluted. “We’ve interrogated the captains, and they’re as ignorant as the swordsmen they’ve hired.”
“There’s a pattern here, somewhere,” said Owen. “I’m just too stupid to see it.” He indicated that Erik should sit.
“Not stupid,” said Erik, sitting next to his commander. “Just tired.”
“Not that tired,” said Owen. His old leathery face wrinkled in a smile. “I’ve gotten three good nights’ sleep, truth to tell, since you opened the gates. In fact, it’s been too good.” He leaned forward, looking at the map as if there was something in there to see, if he just stared at it long enough.
Companies of regular soldiers were arriving from the south. The prisoners were being kept in a makeshift compound, fashioned of freshly felled trees. Erik said, “The best I can come up with is Fadawah has some men he wasn’t really happy with, so he thought he’d turn them over to us to feed.”
“Well, if you hadn’t opened that gate, we would have bled a bit getting over that wall,” said Owen, hiking his thumb over his shoulder at the large earthen breastwork behind his command pavilion.
“True, but we would have taken it in a day or two.”
“I’m wondering why Fadawah is going to all the trouble of making us think he’s down here and then letting us discover he isn’t.”
“I’m guessing,” said Erik, “but if he’s taken LaMut, he might be moving south of Ylith now, getting ready for a counterattack.”
“He can’t ignore Yabon,” said Owen. “As long as Duke Carl is up there with his army, Fadawah has to keep a strong face northward. Carl can get men in and out of there if Fadawah doesn’t keep the pressure on. Even so, there are Hadati hillmen still up there who can probably sneak through his lines at will. And I’m sure the dwarves and elves aren’t proving hospitable neighbors if his patrols wander too far from their current position. No, he must take all of Yabon before he turns south.”
“Well, he can’t hope to slow us down with these little sham positions.”
Owen’s face showed concern. “I don’t know if these are shams as much as they’re just … irritations, to make us proceed slowly.”
Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Or maybe they’re designed to make us go fast.”
“What do you mean?”
“Say we find one or two more of these lightly defended positions?”
“Okay, so we do.”
Erik pointed to the map. “Let’s say we hit Quester’s View and find another fortification like this. We get all excited and strike out toward Ylith.”
“And run into a meat grinder?”
Erik nodded. He pointed to details on the map. “There’s this line of unforgiving ridges north of the road from Quester’s View to Hawk’s Hollow. He holds both ends of the road, and if he keeps us off the ridge, he can dig in here.” Erik’s finger showed a particularly narrow point in the road about twenty miles south of Ylith. “Let say he sets up a series of fortifications, tunnels, catapults, arrow towers, the entire bag of tricks. We stick a boot into that mess too fast and we may draw back a bloody stump.” His finger traced a line from that point up to the dot on the map representing Ylith. “He’s got thirty-foot-high walls, and a single weak point, an eastern gate by the docks. That he can fortify, and if he sinks ships in the harbor mouth, he can sit inside the city like a turtle in its shell.” The more he spoke, the more Erik was certain of his analysis. “We can’t land on the western shore; that’s Free Cities land, and if we try it, Patrick risks alienating the only neutral party left on the Bitter Sea. Besides, to get there we’d probably run up against whatever warships Queg has in the area.”
Owen sighed. “More to the point, our fleet needs to support the army on its western flank to make sure we’re supplied and to carry the wounded south to Sarth and Krondor.”
Erik scratched at his chin. “I’m willing to bet if we had the eyes of a bird we’d see a very heavy set of fortifications being built along that stretch right now.”
“It all makes sense,” said Owen. “But then I’ve seen too many things in war that make no sense to count too heavily on theory. We’ll have to wait to see what Subai says when he gets word back to us.”
“If he gets word back,” said Erik.
“Let’s cover our bet,” said Owen.
“What?” asked Erik.
“I’m going to send an order to Admiral Reeves to send a fast cutter up the coast from Sarth. I want to see how far north he can get before someone tries to discourage him.”
Erik sat forward. “Care to bet it’s about there?” he said, his finger stabbing at a point on the coast due west of Quester’s View.
“No bet,” said Owen. “I’ve come to appreciate your instincts.”
Erik sat back in the chair. “I actually hope I’m wrong and Fadawah’s all tied up outside of Yabon. I can imagine what I would do if I was building defensive fortifications along that route.”
Owen said, “You have too much imagination. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
Erik looked at his old friend and said, “Not often enough.” He stood and said, “I have things to see to. I’ll report in when I’ve done talking to the rest of the prisoners.”
“Supper is ready. Get back here before it’s all gone.” Owen added, “I’ll be here,” and went back to his reports as Erik walked off.
As soon as he slipped through the door, he stepped sideways, reaching toward an exposed roof beam with both hands, pulling himself up with a single fluid motion. Out came the dagger and he waited.
A moment later a figure emerged from the door and glanced around. Dash waited. The cloaked figure below him took a step forward and Dash dropped to the ground, his dagger going to the lurker’s throat.
From beneath the hood, a voice said, “Going to bite me, Puppy?”
Dash spun the figure around. “Trina!”
The young woman smiled. “It’s nice to be remembered.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Put down that toothpick and I’ll tell you.”
Dash grinned. “Sorry, but I’ll bet you’re as dangerous as you are beautiful.”
The woman pouted theatrically. “You flatterer.”
Dash lost his smile. “I’ve got dead men and I want some answers. Where’s Kirby Dokins?”
“Dead,” said the women.
Dash put away his dagger.
“Am I suddenly less dangerous?”
“No,” said Dash, pulling the woman back inside the building. “But you wouldn’t have been sent to tell me the Mockers killed my snitch.”
“And?”
“That means you didn’t kill my men.”
“Very good, Puppy.”
“Who did?”
“An old acquaintance of yours thinks there’s a new gang moving into the city. Smugglers, maybe, though there doesn’t seem to be a lot of new goods in the market, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” said Dash. The woman meant there wasn’t a noticeable increase in drugs, stolen goods, or other contraband.
“Another Crawler?”
“You know your history, Puppy.”
“That’s Sheriff Puppy, to you,” said Dash.
She laughed. It was the first time he had heard her laugh without mockery. It was a sweet sound. She said, “We’re left alone, so if someone is planning on moving into our territory, they’re not ready to try yet.
“Our old friend said to tell you we don’t know who killed your two lads, but you should know they weren’t altar boys from the Temple of Sung. Find out who Nolan and Riggs were working for before they joined your gang and you might have a clue.”
Dash was silent, then said, “So the Upright Man thinks these two knew their killers.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but either way, once the deed was done, someone wanted you to think was done it to defy your authority. That’s why they were dumped on your doorstep. Had the Mockers killed those men, they would have been dumped in the harbor.”
“Who killed Kirby?”
“We don’t know,” said Trina. “He was snooping around, being his usually pesky self, then suddenly about two hours ago, he turns up floating in the sewer.”
“Where?”
“Five Points, near the big outfall below Stinky Street.” Stinky Street was Poor Quarter’s slang for Tanners Road, where many odorous businesses had resided before the war. Five Points was the name of a large confluence of sewers, three big ones, two small ones. Dash had never been there, but he knew where it was.
“You working Five Points?”
“We’re not up there, but don’t ask me where we’re working.”
Dash grinned in the darkness. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Not ever, Sheriff Puppy, not ever.”
Dash said, “Anything else?”
“No,” said Trina.
“Tell the old man thanks.”
Trina said, “He didn’t do it from love, Sheriff Puppy. We’re just not ready to take on the crown. But he did tell me one other thing to tell you.”
“What?”
“Don’t make threats. The day you declare war on the Mockers, take your sword to bed with you.”
Dash said, “Then tell my uncle that advice works both ways.”
“Then good night.”
“Lovely to see you again, Trina.”
“Always a pleasure, Sheriff Puppy,” said the woman thief. Then she ducked through the door and was gone.
Dash allowed her the courtesy of not leaving for five minutes, so she could be sure she wasn’t being followed. Besides, he could find her any time he wanted. And more to the point, his mind was wrestling with the question: Who killed his men?
He slipped into the darkness, heading back to his headquarters.
Roo chuckled at the sight before him. Nakor was jumping around like a grasshopper, shouting orders at the workers as they tried to wrestle the statue upright. Roo moved his own wagon over to the side of the road and let those carts and wagons behind him pass. He jumped down and crossed the road to where Nakor’s wagon was parked.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a laugh.
Nakor said, “These fools are determined to destroy this work of art!”
Roo said, “I think they’ll get it where you want it, but why do you want it out here?” He made a sweeping motion with his hand, indicating a vacant field outside the gates of Krondor. A small farm had occupied this plot of land, but the house had been destroyed and now only a charred square of foundation stones marked its passing.
“I want everyone entering the city to see this,” said Nakor as the workers got the statue upright.
Roo paused. There was something about the woman’s expression that captivated the eye. He studied it for a long moment, then said, “It’s really very lovely, Nakor. Is that your goddess?”
“That’s the Lady,” said Nakor with a nod.
“But why not put her in the center of your temple?”
“Because I don’t yet have a temple,” said Nakor as he motioned for the workers to return to the wagon. “I have to find a place to build one.”
Roo laughed. “Don’t look at me. I already sprang for one warehouse in Darkmoor. Besides, I don’t own any buildings near Temple Square.”
A gleam entered Nakor’s eyes. “Yes! Temple Square. That’s where we need to build!”
“Builders I have,” said Roo. Then he fixed Nakor with a narrow gaze. “But I’m a little short on charity these days.”
“Ah,” said Nakor with a laugh. “Then you must have money. You’re only penurious when you have gold. When you’re broke, you’re very generous.”
Roo laughed. “You are the most amazing man, Nakor.”
“Yes, I am,” he agreed. “Now, I have some gold, so you won’t have to build me a temple, but I would like some, shall we call it discounts?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He looked around so as not to be overheard. “There is a lot of confusion in the city still. Many landowners are dead and the crown hasn’t established a policy yet on who owns what.”
“You mean Patrick hasn’t seized unclaimed land yet.”
“You catch on,” said Roo. “Squatters seem to have a certain advantage if the real owner doesn’t press a claim. I happen to know that the empty lot on the northwest corner of Temple Square, over by the Temple of Lims-Kragma, was owned by a former associate of mine. It was always a difficult piece of land to dispose of, being located between the Death Goddess’s temple and the Temple of Guis-wa. Old Crowley tried to sell it to me once, and I declined. As Crowley is now among those who didn’t survive the war, that land is unclaimed.” Roo whispered, “He left no survivors. So it’s you, some other squatter, or the crown who’s going to get it.”
Nakor grinned. “Being between the Death Goddess and the Red-Jawed Hunter doesn’t bother me, so I’m certain it won’t bother the Lady. I’ll go check it out.”
Roo glanced back at the statue. “That’s really quite good.”
Nakor laughed. “The sculptor was inspired.”
“I can believe it. Who modeled for it?”
“One of my students. She’s special.”
“I can see that,” said Roo.
As Nakor climbed back on his wagon, motioning for the workers to climb into the back, he said, “Where are you bound?”
“Back to Ravensburg. I’m rebuilding the Inn of the Pintail for Milo. With his daughter living in Darkmoor now, he’s going to sell me half interest.”
“You, an innkeeper?” asked Nakor with a disbelieving laugh.
“Any business that can make a profit, Nakor.”
Nakor laughed, waved, and urged his wagon on into the press of traffic heading into the city.
Roo climbed aboard his own wagon and looked again at the statue. He saw there were people who were stopping to look at it or glancing at it as they drove past. One woman reached out and touched it reverently, and Roo admitted to himself that the sculptor must have, indeed, been inspired.
He flicked the reins and urged his horses into the traffic on the road, heading east. Things were still difficult, but since capturing Vasarius, life had taken a turn for the better.
He had discovered he really enjoyed his children, and Karli was quite a bit better company than he imagined when he married her. While no gold had been forthcoming from the crown since the winter, he knew that eventually he could use that debt to his own advantage. He needed a good base of liquid wealth, then he could turn the debt into licenses and concessions from the crown. Eventually peace between the Kingdom and Kesh would be achieved, and when that happened the profitable luxury trade would again be open, and now with Jacob Esterbrook dead, there would be no stranglehold on trade with the South.
“Yes,” Roo said softly to himself as he drove his wagon back to his boyhood home. Things were certainly taking a turn for the better.
Jimmy said, “If it gets much worse, we’re going to lose everything.”
Duke Duko nodded. “Here we’re locked up at Land’s End.” He pointed to the map. “It’s as if they don’t want to take the place, but they’re reluctant to leave.”
They occupied the largest room of the biggest inn in Port Vykor, a town that didn’t exist five years before. Upon seeing the settlement, Jimmy was of the opinion that had the first Prince of Krondor wandered a little farther south those many years ago, this would be the site for the capital of the Western Realm, not Krondor.
The harbor was commodious, opening into a calm bay that was relatively safe for shipping during the worst weather in the Bitter Sea. The docks could be extended as needed, for miles if necessary, and a broad highway to the northeast provided easy access from land. Already traders were making their way to the military encampment and businesses were springing up around the wooden stockade erected around the port. In a dozen years, there would be a city here, thought Jimmy.
He had ridden to the town as fast as he could drive his horse, and had gotten to Duko with his dispatches two days prior. He had rested for an entire day, sleeping most of the time.
Duko had dispatched more patrols and now messengers were returning with the latest intelligence.
Jimmy had a very sore left shoulder, with a huge purple and blue bruise that was now turning green and yellow as it started to fade. Several small cuts had been dressed, and while feeling worse for the wear, he was on the mend and knew that in a few days he’d be fit once more.
He had come to appreciate the former enemy General. Lord Duko was a thoughtful man who, had he been born in the Kingdom to a noble family, would have risen high, perhaps as high as to the very office in which a capricious fate had placed him. Somehow that reassured Jimmy, knowing that a very important position in the Kingdom was being occupied by a man of talent and intelligence.
Jimmy had not asked Duko what had been contained in the orders sent by Prince Patrick. He knew the Duke would inform him of what Jimmy needed to know, and nothing more.
Duko motioned Jimmy to another table, one which had been set with food and wine. “Hungry?”
Jimmy smiled. “Yes,” he said, rising from his seat at the campaign table and moving to where the food was.
“I have no servants,” said Duko. “The ease with which your Keshian insinuated himself into the palace at Krondor makes me dubious of anyone here I do not know. I’m afraid that has not endeared me to those officers who previously held posts here. Those that weren’t called north, I’ve moved to posts at the harbor or down in Land’s End.”
Jimmy nodded. “Not very politic, but very smart.”
The old General smiled. “Thank you.”
“M’lord,” said Jimmy, “I am at your disposal. Prince Patrick wishes me to serve you here in any capacity you see fit as well as serve as a liaison between Your Grace and the crown.”
“So you’re to be Patrick’s spy in my court?”
Jimmy laughed. “Well, you can appreciate his being somewhat dubious and a little cautious in dealing with as prodigious a former enemy as yourself, my lord.”
“I understand, even if I’m not terribly happy.”
“I think you’ll find me useful, sir. You are going to discover yourself subject to some scrutiny for the foreseeable future, and not all of it from the crown; many eastern nobles have sons and brothers whom they will wish to insert into vacant offices here in the West. Several will no doubt show up here unannounced. Some will be honest volunteers, younger brothers or sons looking to gain glory fighting Kesh, as did their ancestors. Others, however, will be seeking anything that can be used to discredit you, or another lord who is a rival to their lord, or simply to find such information to sell to interested parties. The politics of the eastern court is inherently lethal and complex. I can be of service in deflecting a great deal of such nonsense.”
“I believe you,” said Duko. “I am first a soldier, but you don’t become one of the top generals in my homeland without some facility at dealing with princes and rulers. They are in the main more concerned with their own vanity than in truly finding solutions to problems, and as often as not I had to guard against those who would work against my own interests within the court of my employer. We may not be all that unlike, after all.”
“Well, anyone who looks at the history of the Kingdom, Your Grace, and thinks that for every victor there wasn’t a vanquished, or that all the lands of the West embraced the Kingdom with open arms, is a fool. It was the King’s scribes who wrote history, and should you wish a slightly different perspective of our annexation of the West, I could recommend one or two histories published in the Free Cities that don’t cast too kind a light on our rulers.”
“History is written by victors,” said Duko. “But I have little use for history. It is the future with which I am concerned.”
“Probably a wise attitude given the present circumstances.”
“Right now I am very concerned about that Keshian officer and what his escape may portend.”
Jimmy nodded. “Malar was showing him the documents when we found them. He may have just been beginning to explain the significance of your orders. If it’s nothing more than ‘Krondor is vulnerable,’ and the Keshians think we’ll reinforce due to the discovery of the spy, we may avoid any problems up there. If he has any of the details of those messages memorized, he’ll be able to tell his masters we can’t reinforce Krondor.”
Duko said, “If I could chase the Keshians out of Land’s End, that would help.”
Jimmy said, “Yes, it would, but without additional soldiers I can’t see how you can accomplish that. Enduring a siege is one thing, but mounting an effective counteroffensive …?” He shrugged.
“With all that desert at their rear, I’m impressed how well the Keshians are resupplying the army facing Land’s End,” admitted Duko. “If we could get part of the fleet down to intercept their shipping out of Durbin, we might shake them loose, but short of that I have no idea how we’re going to dig them out. I’ve asked the Prince for permission to dispatch Reeves and a squadron to raid off of Durban …” He shrugged. “The Prince seems reluctant.”
“Compared to previous wars with Kesh, this is still a ‘misunderstanding.’ Patrick is understandably reluctant to expand it,” Jimmy said. “I’m fresh out of ideas, my lord.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to take a walk and clear my head a bit. Otherwise, I might find myself asleep at your table.”
“Sleep heals,” said Duko. “If you feel the need of a nap, you’ll not hear me say no. I’ve seen those marks the Keshian left on you.”
“If I still feel the need after my walk, my lord, I’ll sleep a bit before supper.”
Duko waved his permission to withdraw, and Jimmy left. The inn converted to headquarters was busy, with many clerks supporting the demands of a headquarters command. Jimmy was amused at how the clerks and functionaries were rapidly overwhelming the far more casual approach traditional to the mercenaries from across the sea. At most a Captain from Novindus had to worry about organization and logistics on the same level as a baron, a few hundred men at most. A general such as Duko rarely had more than a few thousand men under his command. Now, suddenly, these disorganized swords-for-hire were being forced into acting like a tradition-bound, massively organized army. Jimmy suspected more than one clerk would earn a black eye or broken head from a frustrated soldier from Novindus before this campaign was through.
If this campaign was ever through, thought Jimmy as he left the building to get a good look at Port Vykor.
The crack of whips echoed through the evening air. Subai recognized the sound, even at a distance. He had heard it often enough as a child, living in the hills outside of Durbin.
His grandfather had been a member of the nearly legendary Imperial Keshian Guides, the finest scouts and trackers in the Empire. He had taught his grandson every trick and skill he could, and when the slavers raided the villages for boys and girls to take to the slave blocks, Subai had used those skills to hide.
Then one time, after a raid, he had returned to find his entire family dead, his father and grandfather’s bodies hacked to pieces, his mother and sister missing. Only eleven years of age, he had taken his few possessions and set out after the men who had done this.
By the time he had reached the Durbin docks, Subai had killed three men. He had never found those who had taken his mother and sister, and Durbin was, if anything, more lethal an environment than the hills nearby. He stowed away on a ship bound for Krondor, and had stayed hidden for the entire voyage.
Knowing nothing else, he had found his way to a village outside the city, where he worked as a servant for a family who fed him and clothed him in exchange for work. At sixteen, he returned to Krondor and enlisted in the Prince’s army.
By the time he was twenty-five, Subai was the leader of the Pathfinders. But now, ten years later, he still remembered the sound of the slaver’s whip as it cracked through the air.
There were still five Pathfinders with him as they reached the area east of Quester’s View. Two had been dispatched south already, carrying back intelligence to Marshal Greylock. There had been no fortifications like the one halfway between Sarth and Quester’s View. There had been two observation towers, with relay riders ready to carry word when the Kingdom forces reached a certain point in their journey north. Subai had drawn detailed maps showing them, and Erik’s best avenue of approach was to take them out before they could send warning north. Subai had faith in von Darkmoor, and knew his Crimson Eagles would take those positions quickly.
Subai had left four of his Pathfinders high in the hills above where he and his companion worked their way down steep hillsides to oversee the sounds coming from the highway. Their horses were far enough above them now that they didn’t worry about being discovered unless the two men blundered into a sentry.
Given the treacherous footing on the hills as they made their way down toward the coast, Subai doubted there even was a guard up here. Each step was made slowly, so as not to dislodge stones and send a man rolling down the mountain to his death.
The trees were thick enough there were ample handholds, but the going was difficult.
When they reached the edge of a high ridge, with a veritable cliff below them to another steep slope fifty feet below, Subai knew the effort had been worth it. Without speaking he withdrew a roll of fine parchment from within his tunic and removed a tiny box, along with some writing sticks. With economy, he sketched what he saw before him and added a few notes. At the bottom he wrote a short commentary, then he put away his writing implements. To his companion he said, “Study what you see below.”
They remained for a full hour, watching as slave gangs of Kingdom citizens dug deep trenches along the route Greylock’s army would have to take. Walls were being built, but unlike the earthen barricade down south, these were huge constructions of stone and iron. A forge had been constructed near the front, and its hellish glow cast a reddish light over hundreds of poor wretches laboring for the invaders. Guards walked along, many carrying whips which they used to keep the miserable workers hard at their labor.
The sound of sawing also reached them, and they saw a lumber mill had also been constructed near the coast. Riders came down the road and wagons pulled by oxen slowly made their way toward the construction.
As night fell, Subai said, “We must be back up the hill, else we’re stuck here through the night.”
He stood and, as he took a step, heard his companion say, “Captain, look!”
Subai looked where the man pointed and swore. Along the road, as far as the eye could trace, in the evening gloom, other lights burned brightly; more forges and torches and tantalizing hints that told Subai one cold fact. The Kingdom could not win this war fighting the way it was. He started up the hill, knowing that he would have to wait until first light, then begin a long report to Greylock. Then he would have to race north and reach Yabon before it fell. With LaMut, Zūn, and Ylith in enemy hands, Subai realized the King and Prince of Krondor did not realize how close they were to losing Yabon Province forever.
And should Yabon be lost, it would only be a matter of time before the invaders turned south again and attempted to retake Krondor and the West.