THE MEN WALKED softly.
Dash led his detachment through the cellar, each man carrying a large billy club and a dagger. The order was simple. If they resist, subdue them; if they draw weapons, kill them.
All over the city, raids were being conducted, by constables and members of Patrick’s Royal Household Guard. Patrick would not permit the sounding of the city’s alarm, and the only concession Dash could wring from the Prince was the use of two hundred of his guards for a coordinated raid.
Seven different hideouts had been discovered, as well as three ships in the harbor. The ships were being left to the Royal Navy, which had enough presence in the area that the sudden boarding of the target ships should be unexpected.
But Dash was unhappy. He knew there were other agents in the city, and that a significant portion of the caravan guards at the caravansary were probably Keshian soldiers. The only comfort he drew from their going uncaught was that they were outside the wall and would remain so. He had established checkpoints at the gate, on the pretext of needing a better census with the rebuilding of the city.
They had reached a cellar in the northeastern portion of the city; the building was still burned-out, but Dash knew the door to the cellar had been restored. It had been scorched to look burned.
He had debated the best way to approach this task with himself all day, and had finally elected to take the shock approach.
The upper cellar was deserted, but he knew the rear door led to a ramp down to the lower cellar, the one which opened onto the sewers. He tested the door handle and found it unlatched. Gently he lifted it and moved the door open. He whispered to the men behind him, “All right, silently until I say different.”
He crept down the ramp to a landing opening up on a large cellar, once previously used to house large casks of ale and wine. The building above had been an inn. On the far side of the room a score of men were lying around on bedding on the floor, or sitting on barrels. Dash said to his own men, “Spread out and don’t stop.”
He walked purposefully toward the nearest man who looked in surprise at the men approaching. Then he saw the red armband and started to stand up. Dash shouted, “In the name of the Prince, surrender!”
The man lying on the nearest pallet started to rise, but Dash lashed out with his billy club and knocked the man senseless. The other constables hurried forward, and one man who started to pull his sword was struck unconscious by three constables. Others raised hands in surrender, though one tried to run down a passage. One of the constables flung his billy along the floor, sending it skipping over the stones to strike the man in the back of the legs. He fell hard and before he could rise two other constables were on him.
Dash had the prisoners roped together with their hands tied behind them before they could organize a resistance. One of the newly deputized constables said, “That went easily enough, Sheriff.”
Dash said, “Don’t get too comfortable. The rest of the night won’t be this easy.”
At dawn Jimmy rose to find a worried-looking Marcel Duval standing over his sleeping roll. “Earl James,” said the Squire from Bas-Tyra.
“What is it?” asked Jimmy, getting up and trying to stretch at the same time.
“Some of the horses are footsore, sir, and I was wondering if we might take a day to rest them.”
Jimmy blinked, not sure he was entirely awake. “Rest them?”
“The pace has been punishing, sir, and some of these animals are going to be lame by the time we reach Krondor.”
Jimmy came wide awake. “Squire,” said Jimmy in as calm a voice as he could muster. “You may play at being a soldier all you wish back at the court in Bas-Tyra. Here you are a soldier. Now, by the time I get my horse saddled, you and your men had better be ready to ride. Today, your gallant troop rides in the van.”
“Sir?”
“That is all!” said Jimmy far too sharply. He closed his eyes a moment, then counted slowly to ten. He took a deep breath, then shouted, “Mount up!”
Everywhere men scrambled to get their horses saddled. Part of what made Jimmy irritable was that he knew the horses were being punished. Duval’s pretty bunch wouldn’t be the only ones limping into Krondor, but he knew that by pushing this company, he’d reach the city in three more days. He just hoped that would be soon enough.
When the column was ready, Jimmy looked back and did a mental calculation. Five hundred cavalry and mounted infantry. The men were eating dried rations in the saddle, and already a few could be seen showing signs of illness. But sick or well, tired or rested, he was going to get them all to Krondor. They could tip the balance if the city was still intact when they got there. Fighting back hunger and fatigue, he shouted, “Get something in your bellies while you can. In ten minutes we pick up the pace.” Turning to the head of the line, he shouted, “Squire Duval, lead the column at the walk!”
“Sir!” came the reply, and Duval led his fifty lancers out in the van.
As the sun crept above the horizon in the east and rose and yellow hues bathed the landscape, Jimmy was forced to admit Duval’s company did cut a dashing appearance.
The attack came at dawn, before the sun had risen over the mountains, at the time when men were the least ready to fight and the most likely to react slowly. Erik was already awake and had eaten, seen to the fortifications he had ordered constructed, and had called for the camp to be made ready.
Richard stood at the command tent, watching the advance in the grey of the morning, and said, “They seek to roll over us.”
“As I would in their place,” said Erik. He held his helmet under his arm and pointed with his right hand. “If we hold the center, we can win the day. If either flank falls, I can plug the flow, but if the center falls, we must retreat.”
Leland stood beside his father and said, “Then we will make certain the center doesn’t fall.” He donned his own helmet and said, “Father, may I join our men?”
His father said, “Yes, my boy.” The lad ran off to where a groom held his mount. Leland leaped into the saddle as his father said, “Tith-Onanka guide your blade, and Ruthia smile on you.” The invocation of the War God and Goddess of Luck was appropriate, thought Erik.
The invaders marched in irregular rhythm, without drummers or the other time-keepers Erik would have expected from Keshian or other Kingdom units. He had fought alongside most of the men he now faced, and while he had been a spy in their midst, he felt little kinship for them. Still, he respected their individual bravery, and it was clear that Fadawah had forged them into an army instead of the disorganized bands of mounted infantry and foot soldiers they had been in Novindus. Now he saw heavy infantry, companies of men with pikes advancing, supported by men with shields and swords, bucklers and axes. Behind sat men on horseback, cavalry units from the look of them, half with spears, the others armed with sword and buckler. Erik gave a silent prayer of thanks that horse archers had never been common in Novindus.
A thought occurred to Erik and he turned to a message runner. “Send word to Akee and the Hadati. I want them moving into those trees to the right of our position. Look for flanking bowmen trying to infiltrate the woods.”
The messenger ran off, and Erik turned to Richard. “Nothing to do now but fight.” He put on his helm and walked to where a groom held his horse. He mounted and rode quickly forward, inspecting the position of the three diamonds. As he had known would be the case, Jadow had the men positioned as well as could be, and they were his hardest troops, with the Crimson Eagles holding the center diamond. Jadow waved from the center of the middle diamond and Erik saluted him. As an officer he could have delegated command to a sergeant and remained with the horse units, but Erik knew that, at heart, Lieutenant Jadow Shati from the Vale of Dreams would always be a sergeant.
“Tith-Onanka strengthen your arm!” Erik shouted.
The men in the diamond cheered their commander.
Then the invaders broke formation and charged, and the battle was on.
Tomas watched as Acaila meditated. Tathar and another elf sat with him at three points of a triangle. Tomas had asked for their wisdom and Acaila had agreed to use his mystic powers to provide guidance.
At the end of the Riftwar Tomas had vowed to never leave Elvandar unprotected. Now Tomas wondered if that oath would ultimately lead to the destruction of the thing he had sworn to protect.
Tomas knew ancient lore, lived through the memories of the being whose powers he had inherited. Ashen-Shugar, last of the Valheru, had become for a time one with Tomas, and much of his power resided still in the former kitchen boy from Crydee. With but a few others, Tomas understood the powers behind much of what had shaped his life.
In days past, beyond numbering, Ashen-Shugar and his brethren had flown the skies on the backs of dragons. They had hunted like the predators they were, both creatures without intelligence, and creatures with. In their arrogance they counted themselves among the mightiest beings in creation and had no concept of their own delusions.
Tomas had over the years come to understand that what he knew from Ashen-Shugar was truth as Ashen-Shugar knew it. He knew how the ancient Valheru felt, thought, and remembered, but because the Valheru believed it true didn’t make it so.
Alone of his kind, Ashen-Shugar avoided the influence of Drakin-Korin, who Tomas now knew was a pawn of the Nameless One, the god whose name alone invites destruction. The human in Tomas considered it ironic that the Nameless One used Valheru vanity and their own certainty of their omnipotence to destroy them eventually. The Valheru portion of Tomas’s nature felt rage at the thought his race had been nothing more than a tool, and one used and discarded when it was no longer effective.
Tomas looked at the three elves and knew it would be a while before Acaila had wisdom to share. He left the contemplation glade and walked through Elvandar. Across the way he noticed Subai and Pahaman of Natal talking. Rangers rarely talked to anyone besides other Rangers and occasionally the elves, so Tomas knew that in Subai, Pahaman had found one he considered kin.
The laughter of children pulled Tomas like a lodestone. He found a dozen little ones playing a game of tag. Tomas saw his son, Calis, sitting next to the woman from across the sea, Ellia. They sat close, her hand in his, and Tomas felt a warmth toward his son. He knew that he would never father another child, for it was a special magic that gave life to his son. He had played his part in destroying the great threat to all life on Midkemia, the Lifestone, and now his fate was his own. But Calis would never father children, so Tomas’s line ended with his son. Yet at play were two elven children, Tilac and Chapac, who seemed family. Yet even the names of the boys, alien on the ears of those born in Elvandar, reminded Tomas that there would never be a place in the world where he entirely belonged. He smiled at Calis. Like his son, he had forged a place for himself, and was content with it.
Calis waved at his father and said, “Join us.”
Ellia smiled at Tomas, but it was a smile tempered with uncertainty. Rid of Ashen-Shugar’s Valheru mind during the Riftwar and cleansed of many of the lingering effects of that meld of human and Valheru by the Lifestone, Tomas nevertheless bore the Valheru stamp upon him. To any of the edhel – the elven races – there would almost be an instinctive response, a subservience that bordered on fear. Tomas knelt next to his son. “There is much to be thankful for.”
Calis said, “Yes.” He glanced at the woman at his side and she smiled. Tomas was almost certain eventually they would wed. The boys’ father had died during the war in Novindus that had led to the invasion of the Kingdom. With a very low birthrate and a high percentage of marriage by those who underwent the “recognition,” the instinctive knowledge of who their mates were, there was little hope for a widow to find a second husband. As Calis had lived most of his life among humans and was half-human himself, there was no mate for him among his mother’s people. Tomas felt that fate had chosen to deal kindly with his son by bringing this woman and her sons to Elvandar.
Tomas said, “There is much to concern us with the news Subai brings.”
Calis looked down. “I know. I feel as if it might be wise for me to return to the Kingdom and to again serve.”
Tomas put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’ve done your share. I think it’s time for me to return to the Kingdom.”
Calis looked at his father. “But you said—”
“I know, but if this threat is what you and I both know it could be, then if we do not deal with it now, down near Ylith, we will deal with it someday, only we will be fighting here.”
Ellia said, “This is the same madness that destroyed my village across the sea.” Her accent was odd by elven standards, but she was mastering the tongue of her ancestors. “They are evil beyond measure. They are black of soul and have no hearts.” She glanced at her sons playing. “Only a miracle sent Miranda to save us. They had killed all the other children in the village.”
Tomas said, “I’m waiting for Acaila’s wisdom on this, but I think I must fly to Sorcerer’s Island and take council with Pug, as well.”
Calis said, “With the demon destroyed, I thought it but an issue between men.”
Tomas shook his head. “If I understand a tenth of what I have been told, it will never be merely an issue between men. There will always be far greater powers behind those men, and at each turn those powers must be balanced.”
Tomas stood up. “I will see you at supper?”
Calis said, “I dine with Ellia and the boys.”
Tomas smiled. “I will tell your mother.”
He wandered through Elvandar, home for most of his life, and as he did every day, he marveled that he was allowed to live here. If there was a more beautiful place in creation to live, he couldn’t imagine it. This was part of his reason for vowing to never leave, to always be here to protect it, for he couldn’t imagine the world without Elvandar.
He continued and found himself returning eventually to the contemplation glade. Acaila had roused himself from his meditation and was walking toward Tomas. His expression was clouded with worry. Tomas was surprised, as the ancient leader of the Eldar rarely revealed his thoughts this casually.
Tomas asked, “You’ve seen something?”
To Tathar and the other elf, Acaila said, “Thank you for your guidance.” He took Tomas by the elbow and said, “Walk with me, my friend.”
He led Tomas through a quiet part of the woods, away from the kitchens and shops, near the edge of the inner circle of Elvandar. When he was certain they were alone, Acaila said, “Something dark still lingers in Krondor.” He looked at Tomas. “Something wonderful, too. I cannot explain it, but an old power for good verges upon returning. Perhaps the universe is trying to put itself right.”
Acaila led the Eldar, the ancient line of elves who had been closest to the Valheru. Tomas had come to value his counsel. He had a perspective unique and vast.
“But whatever force for good there is, the evil unleashed by the demon before it was destroyed is still stronger,” Acaila continued. “That dark agency has servants, and they are building power in Ylith and Zūn and now in LaMut.”
“What Subai said about human sacrifice?”
Acaila said, “It is a thing of great evil and great power, and it grows by the day. The servants of such evil often are dupes and have no idea of what they bring upon themselves as well as others. They do not know they destroy their own souls first. As soulless men they feel no remorse, no shame, no regret. They merely act on impulse, seeking what they think they want, glory, power, wealth, the trappings of might. They do not realize they have already lost and anything they do serves only waste and destruction.”
Tomas was silent for a while, then said, “I have Valheru memory, so those impulses are well known to me.”
“Your Valheru forebears lived in different times, my friend. The universe was ordered differently. The Valheru were natural forces, serving neither good nor evil.
“But this thing is a thing of evil, apart from any other consideration, and it must be rooted out and destroyed. And to do so, the forces which strive to endure and survive the onslaught will need help.”
Tomas said, “So I leave to lend my strength.”
Acaila said, ‘ Of all of us here, you alone have the means to tip the balance to good.”
“I will leave and find Pug,” said Tomas. “Together we will do what we must to save the Kingdom and prevent the rise of this evil in Krondor.”
“Go to the Queen,” said Acaila, “and know whatever you do, you do for her and your son.”
Tomas gripped Acaila’s hand and left.
Later that night, after dining with his wife and a lingering good-bye, Tomas returned to the clearing north of the center of the forest. He was now dressed in his white-and-gold armor. A legacy of an ancient past, the armor was without blemish or scratch. He had reclaimed his golden sword with the white hilt when his son had unraveled the mystery of the Lifestone. His hand rested on its hilt, and he wore his white shield with the golden dragon emblazoned on it over his shoulder. He looked to the sky and sent forth a call. He waited.
Men lay dead and dying on all sides. Erik stood exhausted, a mound of dead enemies before him. Sometime during the afternoon his horse had gone out from under him courtesy of a stray arrow.
Twice he had been tempted to order retreat, but on both occasions his men had rallied and the enemy had been thrown back. He vaguely recalled a lull during the afternoon in which he had greedily drunk from a waterskin and eaten something; he couldn’t remember what.
Horns had sounded from the other side a few minutes before, and the enemy withdrew. The diamonds had held, and a thousand or more men had died trying to take them. Erik couldn’t begin to guess how many defenders had died as well. He knew he’d get a body count in the morning.
Leland rode up and said, “My father’s compliments, Captain.”
Erik nodded, trying to get his thoughts organized. “I’ll be along presently, Lieutenant.”
Erik bent and cleaned his sword on the tunic of a dead man before him, then put it in his scabbard and looked over the field. He had ended up in the gap between the center diamond and the one on the right. The bodies before him were waist-high. He turned toward Jadow Shati, who yelled, “I hope we don’t have to do that again anytime soon, man!”
Erik waved. “Not until tomorrow.” He headed toward Earl Richard’s tent. When he got there he found two bodies being dragged out of the tent by guards, and the old Earl sitting at his table, an orderly bandaging his arm.
“What happened?” asked Erik.
“Some of the enemy got loose on your left flank, Captain, and actually got here. I finally got to use this sword.”
“How do you feel?” asked Erik.
“Like hell, Captain.” He looked at the orderly, who finished tying off the bandage, and waved him away. “Still, I can at last feel like a soldier.
“You know,” he said, leaning back, “I once rode a patrol, and we saw some Keshians who ran across the border when they saw us, and until today that was as close as I had come to being in an actual battle.” He got a distant look. “That was forty years ago, Erik.”
Erik sat. “I envy you.”
“I don’t doubt that,” said Richard. “What next?”
“We wait until they withdraw a bit more, then I’d like to put some scouts up in the hills to get a sense of how they’re deploying. Our men did well this day.”
“But we didn’t break them,” said Richard.
“No,” said Erik. “And each day we fight out here in the middle of the road, our chances of reaching Ylith diminish, and our hope of freeing Yabon becomes faint.”
“We need some sort of magic,” said Richard.
“I’m short of magic right now,” said Erik, standing up. “I had better see how the men are.” He saluted and left the tent.
He encountered Leland outside and said, “Your father’s fine; his wound is slight.”
Leland’s face reflected his relief. Erik’s estimation of the boy rose; he had gone about his business not knowing how his father fared.
Erik asked, “How are the reserves?”
“They stand ready,” said Leland.
Erik was relieved. “I lost track in the afternoon and didn’t remember if they had been called up.”
“They were not, Captain.”
“Good, order the men inside the diamonds relieved and tell the cavalry to stand down. Get the men fed. Then come back. I have a job for you.”
Leland saluted and hurried off. Erik made his way to his own modest tent among the Crimson Eagles and sat down. Commissary soldiers hurried with water and food and one approached Erik with a wooden bowl of hot stew and a water skin. He took the bowl and a spoon and dug in, ignoring the heat.
Jadow Shati and the men from the center diamond came walking slowly back and Jadow half-sat, half-collapsed next to Erik. “Man, I don’t want to do that again.”
“How did we do?”
“We lost a few,” said Jadow, fatigue making his speech slow and his tone somber. “It could have been worse.”
“I know,” said Erik. “We’ve got to come up with something brilliant and unexpected, or we’re going to lose this war.”
“I thought it was something like that,” said Jadow. “Maybe if we could bleed them enough tomorrow we could launch a counteroffensive and punch through their center, leaving their forces divided.”
Erik was almost finished eating when a messenger found him. “Earl Richard’s compliments, sir. Would you attend him at once?”
Erik rose and followed the youngster and returned to the command tent. There he found a terrified-looking scribe standing next to Earl Richard. “This just came in a few minutes ago,” Richard said to Erik.
Erik read Jimmy’s message and said, “Gods!”
Richard said, “What do you think we should do?”
“If we take any of our forces south, we lose Yabon. If we keep them here, we lose Krondor.”
Richard said, “We must preserve Krondor. We can hold here and, if we must, postpone the campaign to retake Yabon until next year.”
Erik said, “This is impossible.” He was silent for a minute, then said, “My lord, if you’ll allow me?”
The Earl said, “I always do, Erik. You haven’t made a mistake so far.” The old Earl had come to recognize Erik’s talents and his utter lack of personal ambition and would ratify any decision Erik made.
Erik said, “Send for Jadow Shati.”
While the messenger was gone, Erik questioned the scribe and found the man completely ignorant of most of the things Erik wanted to know. He did, however, impress upon Erik the level of concern and agitation in Earl James, enough that Erik felt he must heed Jimmy’s warning.
When Jadow showed up, Erik said, “We have a change in plans.”
“Don’t we always?”
“I want you to start now on building a barricade. I want a fort by the end of this week.”
“Where?”
“Here,” said Erik. “Across this road. Put a squad up in the hills to the east with Akee’s Hadati and kill anything that comes south. This is our new northern border until I tell you otherwise.”
“What sort of fortifications?”
“I want a six-foot-high earthen breastwork a hundred yards north of the three diamonds. When that’s done, start building a wall. Fell trees to the south and get on it. I want it twelve feet high, reinforced, with an archery platform every twenty yards. I want two ballista ports every hundred feet, and a clear line of fire to the rear for catapults, so they can launch stones without knocking our own men off the walls.”
“Man, how long is this thing to be?”
“From the cliffs overlooking the sea to the steepest hill you can find.”
“Erik, that’s more than two miles!”
“Then you’d better start now.”
Leland of Malkuric appeared. “The cavalry is standing down, sir.”
“Good,” said Erik. “At first light I want you leading them down the coast, back to Krondor.”
“Krondor?” said the youth, looking at his father.
The old Earl nodded. “It appears our old friends the Keshians are about to launch an assault on the city. Earl James of Vencar requests reinforcements.”
“But what about the fight here?” asked the youth.
“You just get south and save Krondor, lad,” said Erik. “Leave this area to me.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lad. “Which units, sir?”
“Every horseman we have. We can dig in and hold here for the rest of the summer with the footmen, but they can’t reach Krondor in anything under three weeks.
“Now, listen carefully. Don’t start off galloping down the coast. You’ll kill half your mounts in the first three days. Start off forty minutes at a trot, then get off the horses and lead them for twenty. At noon, switch to a half hour trotting and a half hour leading the horses. And give them plenty of grain and water each evening. If you do that, you’ll save most of them and get thirty miles a day out of the troops. That should put you in Krondor in a week.”
“Yes, sir!” said Leland. He turned and left to carry out his orders.
Erik balled his fist and looked skyward. “Damn!” he said. “I just thought up a way to dig those bastards out from behind that fortress to the north, and this has to happen.”
Jadow, who had been about to leave when Leland appeared, said, “You know they say Tith-Onanka runs a soldier’s life, but I got to tell you, man, Banath seems to run my little corner of the world.” He left.
Erik nodded. “Banath runs mine too, it seems.” The God of Thieves was also known as “The Prankster,” and was commonly given credit for everything that went wrong.
Erik looked at the old Earl, who said, “We do what we can.”
Erik nodded, and silently left the tent, feeling as defeated as he had ever felt in his life.
Dash roused himself and rubbed his eyes. He had given up on staying awake during the afternoon unless an emergency occurred. There was too much to do after darkness fell.
He began his day at sundown and worked throughout the night, with his mornings spent at the palace or sorting out problems around the city. About noon, if the gods were kind, he would collapse into his bed at the rear of the New Market Jail and fall into an exhausted sleep. Six or seven hours later, he would be roused.
He had received unexpected help from the Mockers in locating the infiltrators. He had put at least two hundred of them behind bars, and had forced Patrick to build a temporary stockade to the north of the city over the Prince’s objections. Should Kesh attack – when Kesh attacked, in Dash’s mind – they would be freed by the Keshians. At least, thought Dash, they would be unarmed and outside the city.
It was the ones still armed and inside the city that he worried about.
As Dash entered the former inn’s common room, used as a squad room by the constabulary, he realized he had overslept, and it was at least an hour after he had planned to be up. He asked one of the constables, “What time is it?”
“Eight of the clock about fifteen minutes ago. He’s been waiting here an hour. We wouldn’t let him wake you.”
The constable was pointing at a court page. “What is it?” he asked.
The lad handed him a note. “The Prince wishes you at the palace at once, sir,” said the boy.
Dash read it and winced. He had completely forgotten he had been invited to dinner this evening at the palace and had agreed to go. “I’ll be along shortly,” said Dash.
Lately he was unhappy with Patrick even more than usual and probably that was the reason he had forgotten the invitation. Dash realized that the Prince could certainly operate in any fashion he wished, with or without Dash’s approval, but given that the city’s security was Dash’s responsibility, he resented those decisions of Patrick’s which made security that much more difficult to insure.
Dash wanted things from Patrick, and making the Prince angry wasn’t a good way to do that. He had to make Patrick understand how dangerous things were right now.
Dash couldn’t seem to impress upon Patrick the mere fact that having had two Keshian agents inside the palace walls was a major source of concern. Dash knew his grandfather would have had both men singing out the names of every contact they had from Krondor to the Overn Deep. Patrick, on the other hand, seemed oblivious, and Duke Rufio felt that as both men were absent from the palace – one gone and the other in custody – things were in hand. Dash wondered if Talwin had put in an appearance as yet and what his view on the matter was. Dash was certain his late father’s spy wouldn’t share Rufio’s equanimity on the matter.
Dash gave instructions on the night’s raids and put Gustaf in charge of the most delicate one; he had come to trust the former mercenary as a steady influence on the other men. Dash got his horse and rode to the palace.
As he rode through the city, Dash registered the rhythm of the place, becoming more familiar by the day. Krondor was reviving and it angered him to the point of irrationality that anyone, Keshian or Fadawah, might return to undo the work he had done. Rillanon had been his home until three years before, when his grandfather had brought Dash and his brother to Krondor. Since then he had worked for a while for Roo Avery, though he was always in his grandfather’s employ. And against any reasonable expectation he had made the city his own.
As he neared the palace, Dash conceded there was more of his grandfather in him than he might have once been willing to admit. Dash rode in past a pair of guards at the main gate who saluted the Sheriff. A groom hurried for ward to take his horse. Dash moved quickly up the palace steps and past guards standing in the entrance hall.
He was hurrying to the point of almost running as he rounded the corner that would take him directly to the great hall. Instantly he knew something was wrong.
The great doors were open and a pair of guards stood just inside, as if inquiring over something. A servant was running from the hall, toward the rear of the palace, shouting something.
Dash ran. He pushed past the two guards at the door and saw people in agony or unconscious. The hall had been set up with a giant U-shaped table, allowing jugglers and entertainers to perform before the entire court. The Prince, Francie, Dukes Brian and Rufio were at the head table. Dash noted an empty chair at the far end on the Prince’s left.
The other two tables were occupied by the remaining nobles of the area and most of the important citizens of Krondor. Half of them appeared unconscious, slumped down in their chairs or on the floor, while a few others were attempting to stand, and one or two were sitting, a vacant disoriented expression on their faces.
Dash ran across the room to the head table and vaulted over it, swinging his legs over the prone form of Duke Brian. Francie was slumped over the table between her father and Patrick, and Duke Rufio had fallen to the floor and was lying on his back, eyes open and vacant. The Prince sat back in his chair gasping for air, his eyes wide and unfocused.
Dash stuck his finger into the Prince’s mouth, and Patrick vomited the contents of his stomach. He repeated the action with Francie, who also threw up what she had eaten. He turned to see startled-looking servants and guards standing around, unsure of what to do. “Make them vomit!” shouted Dash. “They’ve been poisoned!”
He reached Duke Silden and got him to gag up food, but far less than Dash would have liked. He reached Duke Rufio and could not force a response. The Duke’s breathing was shallow and his face was clammy to the touch.
Dash jumped up and saw that three of the servants were attempting to get those still conscious to throw up. He shouted to a guard, “Get a horse! Ride to Temple Square! Bring back any clerics you can find. We need healers!”
Dash organized the servants and had more come bringing fresh water. He had no idea what poison had been used, but he knew that some of them could be diluted. “Make those who can drink swallow as much as they can!” he shouted. “Don’t force those who can’t; you’ll drown them.”
Dash grabbed a sergeant of the guard and said, “Arrest everyone in the kitchen.”
Dash realized that whoever had poisoned the entire royal court was probably gone by now, but perhaps he had not had time to flee. He certainly hadn’t expected the Sheriff to be late and avoid being among those afflicted.
The room stank and Dash set some of the staff to cleaning up as others attended those ill. It took nearly a half hour for the first cleric to arrive, a priest of Astalon. He set about doing what he could do for the stricken, starting with the Prince.
Dash did a mental inventory of those in attendance: of the nobles in Krondor, only he had been absent from this meal. Every other titled lord from Duke to Squire in the area was at that table. Of the town’s wealthy and powerful merchants, only Roo Avery was absent, being out at his estate with his family.
Soon other priests of the various orders appeared, including Brother Dominic, the Ishapian who now served at Nakor’s temple. They tended those in the room throughout the night, and Dash interrogated the kitchen staff. Near sunrise he returned to the great hall, which now resembled an infirmary. Dominic was near the door and Dash called him over. “How do we stand?” he asked.
“It was a close thing,” said the monk. “Had you not acted as you had, you would be the only noble in the city still breathing.
“The Prince will live, though he will be sick for a long time, as will the Lady Francine.” He shook his head. “Her father is touch and go. I don’t know if he’ll pull through.”
Dash said, “Duke Rufio?”
Dominic shook his head in the negative. “It was the wine that was poisoned. He drank a great deal of it.”
Dash closed his eyes. “I tried to tell Patrick that if we had one spy in the palace …”
“Well,” said Dominic, “while the loss is terrible, at least the Prince will survive.”
“There is that.” Dash looked at those dead who were being carried away. “But we’ve lost too many already to have to endure this insult. It could have been worse, but not by much,” said the exhausted young Sheriff.
Then the alarm bell began to ring and Dash realized the city was under attack.