Chapter One

Homecoming

The inn was quiet.

Walls darkened with years of fireplace soot drank in
the lantern light, reflecting dim illumination. The dying
fire in the hearth offered scant warmth and, from the
demeanor of those who chose to sit before it, less cheer.
In contrast to the mood of most establishments of its ilk,
this inn was nearly somber. In murky corners, men
spoke in hushed tones, discussing things best not over-
heard by the uninvolved. A grunt of agreement to a
whispered proposal or a bitter laugh from a woman of
negotiable virtue were the only sounds to intrude upon
the silence. The majority of the denizens of the inn
called the Sleeping Dockman were closely watching
the game.

The game was pokiir, common to the Empire of
Great Kesh to the south and now replacing lin-lan and
pashawa as the gambler's choice in the inns and taverns
of the Western Realm of the Kingdom. One player held
his five cards before him, his eyes narrowed in concen-
tration. An off-duty soldier, he kept alert for any sign of
trouble in the room, and trouble was rapidly approach-
ing. He made a display of studying his cards, while dis-
creetly inspecting the five men who played at the table
with him.

The first two on his left were rough men. Both were
sunburned and the hands holding their cards were
heavily callused; faded linen shirts and cotton trousers
hung loosely on lank but muscular frames. Neither wore
boots or even sandals, barefoot despite the cool night
air, a certain sign they were sailors waiting for a new
berth. Usually such men quickly lost their pay and were
bound again for sea, but from the way they had bet all

Prince of the Blood

night, the soldier was certain they were working for the
man who sat to the soldier's right.

That man sat patiently, waiting to see if the soldier
would match his bet or fold his cards, forfeiting his
chance to buy up to three new cards. The soldier had
seen his sort many times before; a rich merchant's son,
or a younger son of a minor noble, with too much time
on his hands and too little sense. He was fashionably
attired in the latest rage among the young men of
Krondor, a short pair of breeches tucked into hose, al-
lowing the pants legs above the calf to balloon out. A
simple white shirt was embroidered with pearls and
semiprecious stones, and the jacket was the new cut-
away design, a rather garish yellow, with white and
silver brocade at the wrists and collar. He was a typical
dandy. And from the look of the Rodezian slamanca
hanging from the loose baldric across his shoulder, a
dangerous man. It was a sword only used by a master or
someone seeking a quick death—in the hands of an
expert it was a fearsome weapon; in the hands of the
inexperienced it was suicide.

The man had probably lost large sums of money be-
fore and now sought to recoup his previous losses by
cheating at cards. One or the other of the sailors would
win an occasional hand, but the soldier was certain this
was planned to keep suspicion from falling upon the
young dandy. The soldier sighed, as if troubled by what
choice to make. The other two players waited patiently
for him to make his play.

They were twin brothers, tall—two inches over six
feet he judged—and fit in appearance. Both came to the
table armed with rapiers, again the choice of experts or
fools. Since Prince Arutha had come to the throne of
Krondor twenty years before, rapiers had become the
choice of men who wore weapons as a consideration of
fashion rather than survival. But these two didn't look
the type to sport weapons as decorative baubles. They
were dressed as common mercenaries, just in from car-
avan duty from the look of them. Dust still clung to
their tunic and leather vest, while their red-brown hair
was lightly matted. Both needed a shave. Yet while their

Homecoming

clothing was common and dirty, there was nothing that
looked neglected about their armor or arms; they might
not pause to bathe after weeks on a caravan, but they
would take an hour to oil their leather and polish their
steel. They looked genuine in their part, save for a feel-
ing of vague familiarity which caused the soldier slight
discomfort: both spoke with none of the rough speech
common to mercenaries, but rather with the educated
crispness of those used to spending their days in court,
not fighting bandits. And they were young, little more
than boys.

The brothers had commenced the game with glee,
ordering tankard after tankard of ale, letting losses de-
light them as much as wins, but now that the stakes of
the game were rising, they had become somber. They
glanced at each other from time to time, and the soldier
was certain they shared silent communication the way
twins often did.

The soldier shook his head. "Not me." He threw
down his cards, one of them flipping completely over
for an instant before it came to rest upon the table. "I've
got duty in an hour; I'd best be back to the barracks."

What he really knew was that trouble was imminent
and if he were still around when it arrived, he'd never
make muster. And the duty sergeant was a man not
given to receiving excuses kindly.

Now the dandy's eyes turned to the first of the two
brothers. "Play?"

As the soldier reached the door of the inn, he took
note of two men standing quietly in the corner. They
stood in great cloaks, faces obscured slightly by the
shadows of their hoods, despite the night being warm.
Both made a show of quietly watching the game, but
they were taking in every detail of the inn. They also
looked familiar to the soldier, but he couldn't place
them. And there was something about the way they
stood, as if ready to leap to action, that reaffirmed the
soldier's determination to reach the city barracks early.
He opened the door to the inn and stepped through,
closing it behind.

The man closest to the door turned to his companion,

Prince of the Blood

his face only partially illuminated by the light from the
lantern above. "You'd better get outside. It's about to
break loose."

His companion nodded. In the twenty years they'd
been friends, he had learned never to second guess his
companion's ability to sense trouble in the city. He
quickly stepped through the door after the soldier.

At the table, the betting reached the first of the two
brothers. He made a face, as if perplexed by the play of
the cards. The dandy said, "Are you staying or folding?"

"Well," answered the young man, "this is something
of a poser." He looked at his brother. "Eriand, I would
have sworn an oath to Astalon the Judge that I saw a
Blue Lady flip when that soldier tossed in his hand."

"Why," answered his twin with a twisted smile, "does
that pose a problem, Borric?"

"Because I also have a Blue Lady in my hand."

Men began to back away from the table as the tone of
conversation shifted. Discussion of what cards one held
was not the norm. "I still see no problem," observed
Eriand, "as there are two Blue Ladies in the deck."

With a malicious grin, Borric said, "But you see, our
friend over here," he indicated the dandy, "also has a
Blue Lady tucked just not quite far enough back in his
sleeve."

Instantly the room erupted into motion as men put as
much distance as possible between the combatants and
themselves. Borric leaped from his seat, gripping the
edge of the table and overturning it, forcing the dandy
and his two henchmen back. Eriand had his rapier and a
long dirk out as the dandy drew his slamanca. .

One of the two sailors lost his footing and fell forward.
As he tried to rise, he found his chin met by the toe of
Borric's boot. He collapsed into a heap at the young
mercenary's feet. The dandy leaped forward, executing
a vicious cut at Eriand's head. Eriand deftly parried
with his dirk and returned a vicious thrust his opponent
barely dodged.

Both men knew they faced an opponent worthy of
wariness. The innkeeper was circling the room, armed
with a large cudgel, threatening anyone who sought to

Homecoming

enlarge the fray. As he neared the door, the man in the
hood stepped out with startling speed and gripped his
wrist. He spoke briefly, and the innkeeper's face
drained of color. The proprietor briskly nodded once
and quickly slipped out the door.

Borric disposed of the second sailor with little trouble
and turned to discover Eriand in a close struggle with
the dandy. "Eriand! Could you use a hand?"

Eriand shouted, "I think not. Besides, you always say I
need the practice."

"True," answered his brother with a grin. "But don't
let him kill you. I'd have to avenge you."

The dandy tried a combination attack, a high, low,
then high series of chops, and Eriand was forced to back
away. In the night the sound of whistles could be heard.

"Eriand," said Borric.

The hard-pressed younger twin said, "What?" as he
dodged another masterfully executed combination at-
tack.

"The watch is coming. You'd better kill him quickly."

"I'm trying," said Eriand, "but this fellow isn't being
very cooperative." As he spoke, his boot heel struck a
pool of spilled ale and he lost his footing. Suddenly he
was falling backward, his defense gone.

Borric was moving as the dandy lunged at his brother.
Eriand twisted upon the floor, but the dandy's sword
struck his side. Hot pain erupted along his ribs. And at
the same instant the man had opened his left side to a
counter thrust. Sitting upon the floor, Eriand thrust up-
ward with his rapier, catching the man in the stomach.
The dandy stiffened and gasped as a red stain began to
spread upon his yellow tunic. Then Borric struck him
from behind, using the hilt of his sword to render the
man unconscious.

From outside the sound of rushing men could be
heard, and Borric said, "We'd best get clear of this
mess," as he gave his brother a hand up. "Father's going
to be upset enough with us as it is without brawling—"

Wincing from his injury, Eriand interrupted, "You
didn't have to hit him. I think I would have killed him in
another moment."

6             Prince of the Blood

"Or he you. And I'd not want to face Father had I let
that happen. Besides, you really wouldn't have killed
him; you just don't have the instinct. You'd have tried to
disarm him or something equally noble," Borric ob-
served, catching his breath in a gasp, ". . . and stupid.
Now, let's see about getting out of here."

Eriand gripped his wounded side as they headed to-
ward the door. Several town toughs, seeing blood upon
Eriand's side, moved to block the twin's exit. Borric and
Eriand both leveled their sword points at the band of
men. Borric said, "Keep your guard up a moment,"
picked up a chair, and threw it through the large bay
window facing the boulevard. Glass and leading show-
ered the street, and before the tinkle of shards upon
stone had stopped, both brothers were leaping through
what remained of the window. Eriand stumbled and
Borric had to grip his arm to keep him from falling.

As they straightened, they took in the fact that they
were looking at horses. Two of the more bold thugs
jumped through the window after the twins, and Borric
smashed one in the side of the head with his sword hilt,
while the other man pulled up short as three crossbows
were leveled at him. Arrayed before the door was the
small company of ten burly and heavily armed town
watchmen commonly known as the Riot Squad. But
what had the half-dozen denizens of the Sleeping
Dockman standing in open-mouth amazement, was the
sight of the thirty horsemen behind the Riot Squad.
They wore the tabards of Krondor and the badge of the
Prince of Krondor's own Royal Household Guards.
From within the inn someone overcame his stupefica-
tion and shouted, "Royal Guardsmen!" and a general
evacuation through the rear door of the tavern began,
while the gaping faces at the window vanished.

The two brothers regarded the mounted men, all
armed and ready in case trouble came. At their head
rode a man well known to the two young mercenaries.

"Ah . . . good evening, my lord," said Borric, a smile
slowly spreading across his face. The leader of the Riot
Squad, seeing no one else in sight, moved to take cus-
tody of the two young men.

Homecoming              7

The leader of the Royal Guard waved him off. "This
doesn't concern you, Watchman. You and your men may
go." The watch commander bowed slightly and led his
men back to their barracks in the heart of the Poor
Quarter.

Eriand winced a bit as he said, "Baron Locklear, what
a pleasure."

Baron Locklear, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, smiled
an unamused smile. "I'm certain." Despite his rank, he
looked barely a year or two older than the boys, though
he was nearly sixteen years their senior. He had curly
blond hair and large blue eyes, which were presently
narrowed as he watched the twins in obvious disap-
proval.

Borric said, "And I expect that means that Baron
James—"

Locklear pointed. "Is standing behind you."

Both brothers turned to see the man in the great
cloak framed in the doorway. He threw back his hood to
reveal a face still somewhat youthful despite his thirty-
seven years of age, his curly brown hair slightly dusted
with grey. It was a face the brothers knew as well as any,
for he had been one of their teachers since boyhood,
and more, one of their closest friends. He regarded the
two brothers with ill-disguised disapproval and said,
"Your father ordered you directly home. I had reports
of your whereabouts from the time you left Highcastle
until you passed through the city gates . . . two days
ago!"

The twins tried to hide their pleasure at being able to
lose their royal escorts, but they failed. "Ignore for a
moment the fact your father and mother had a formal
court convened to welcome you home. Forget they
stood waiting for three hours! Never mind your father's
insisting that Baron Locklear and I comb the entire city
for two days seeking you out." He studied the two
young men, "But I trust you'll remember all those little
details when your father has words with you after court
tomorrow."

Two horses were brought forward and a soldier defer-
entially held out the reins to each brother. Seeing the

Prince of the Blood

blood along Eriand's side, a Lieutenant of the Guard
moved his horse nearby and said in mock sympathy,
"Does His Highness require help?"

Eriand negotiated the stirrup and heaved himself
into the saddle without aid. In irritated tones, he an-
swered, "Only when I see Father, Cousin Willy, and I
don't think you can do much for me then."

Lieutenant William nodded and in unsympathetic
tones, he whispered, "He did say come home at once,
Eriand."

Eriand nodded in resignation. "We just wanted to
relax for a day or two before—"

William couldn't resist laughing at his cousins' predic-
ament. He had often seen them bring disaster down
upon themselves and he never could understand their
appetite for such punishment. He said, "Maybe you
could run for the border. I could get very stupid follow-
ing you."

Eriand shook his head. "I think I'll wish I had taken
your offer, after tomorrow morning's court."

William laughed again. "Come along, this dressing
down won't be much worse than a dozen you've al-
ready had."

Baron James, Chancellor of Krondor and first assis-
tant to the Duke of Krondor, quickly mounted his own
horse. "To the palace," he ordered, and the company
turned to escort the twin princes, Borric and Eriand, to
the palace.

Arutha, Prince of Krondor, Knight-Marshal of the
Western Realm, and Royal Heir to the throne of the
Kingdom of the Isles, sat quietly attentive to the busi-
ness of the court being conducted before him. A slender
man in his youth, he had not gained the bulk commonly
associated with middle age, but rather had become
harder, more angular in features, losing what little soft-
ening effects youth had given his lanky appearance. His
hair was still dark, though enough grey had come with
the twenty years of ruling Krondor and the West to
speckle it. His reflexes had slowed only slightly over the
years, and he was still counted one of the finest swords-


Homecoming

men in the Kingdom, though he rarely had reason to
exercise his skill with the rapier. His dark brown eyes
were narrowed in concentration, a gaze that seemed to
miss nothing, in the opinion of many who served the
Prince. Thoughtful, even brooding at times, Arutha was
a brilliant military leader. He had rightfully won his
reputation during the nine years of the Riftwar—which
had ended the year before the twins' birth—after tak-
ing command of the garrison at Crydee, his family's
castle, when only a few months older than his sons were
now.

He was counted a hard but fair ruler, quick to dis-
pense justice when the crime warranted, though often
given to acts of leniency at the request of his wife, the
Princess Anita. And that relationship more than any-
thing typified the administration of the Western Realm:

hard, logical, evenhanded justice, tempered with
mercy. While few openly sang Arutha's praises, he was
well respected and honored, and his wife was beloved
by her subjects.

Anita sat quietly upon her throne, her green eyes
looking off into space. Her royal manner masked her
concern for her sons from all but those who knew her
most intimately. That her husband had ordered the
boys brought to the great hall for morning court, rather
than to their parents' private quarters last night,
showed more than anything else his displeasure. Anita
forced herself to be attentive to the speech being given
by a member of the Guild of Weavers; it was her duty
also to show those coming before her husband's court
the consideration of listening to every petition or re-
quest. The other members of the royal family were not
normally required at morning court, but since the twins
had returned from their service upon the border at
Highcastle, it had become a family gathering.

Princess Elena stood at her mother's side. She looked
a fair compromise between her parents, having red-
brown hair and fair skin from her mother but her fa-
ther's dark and intelligent eyes. Those who knew the
royal family well often observed that if Borric and Er-
iand resembled their uncle, the King, then Elena re-

Prince of the Blood

sembled her aunt, the Baroness Carline of Salador. And
Arutha had observed on more than one occasion she
had Carline's renowned temper.

Prince Nicholas, Arutha and Anita's youngest child,
had avoided the need to stand next to his sister, by
hiding from his father's sight. He stood behind his moth-
er's throne, beyond his father's gaze", on the first step off
the dais. The door to the royal apartments was hidden
from the eyes of those in the hall, down three steps,
where, in years past, all four children had played the
game of huddling on the first step, listening to their
father conduct court, enjoying the delicious feeling of
eavesdropping. Nicky waited for the arrival of his two
brothers.

Anita glanced about with that sudden sense mothers
have that one of their children is somewhere he
shouldn't be. She spied Nicholas waiting down by the
door, and motioned him to stand close. Nicky had idol-
ized Borric and Eriand, despite them having little time
for the boy and constantly teasing him. They just
couldn't find much in common with their youngest sib-
ling, since he was twelve years younger.

Prince Nicholas hobbled up the three broad steps and
moved to his mother's side and, as it had every day since
his birth, Anita's heart broke. The boy had a deformed
foot, and neither surgeon's ministrations nor priest's
spell had any effect, save to enable him to walk. Unwill-
ing to hold up the deformed baby to public scrutiny,
Arutha had ignored custom and refused to show the boy
at the Presentation, the holiday in honor of a royal
child's first public appearance, a tradition that may
have died with Nicholas's birth.

Nicky turned when he heard the door open, and Er-
land peered through. The youngest Prince grinned at
his brothers as they gingerly slipped through the door.
Nicky scrambled down the three steps with his canted
gate to intercept them, and gave each a hug. Eriand
visibly winced and Borric bestowed an absent pat on
the shoulder.

Nicky followed the twins as they slowly mounted the
stairs behind the thrones, coming to stand behind their

Homecoming              11

sister. She glanced over her shoulder long enough to
stick out her tongue and cross her eyes, causing all three
brothers to force themselves not to laugh. They knew
no one else in court could see her fleeting pantomime.
The twins had a long history of tormenting their little
sister, who gave back as good as she got. She would
think nothing of embarrassing them in the King's own
court.

Arutha, sensing some exchange between his children,
glanced over and gifted his four offspring with a quick
frown, enough to silence any potential mirth. His gaze
lingered on his elder sons and showed his anger in full
measure, though only those close to him would recog-
nize it as such. Then his attention was back upon the
matter before the court. A minor noble was being ad-
vanced into a new office, and while the four royal chil-
dren might not find it worthy of much dignity, the man
would count this among one of the high points of his
life. Arutha had tried to impress such awareness upon
them over the years but continuously failed.

Overseeing the Prince's court was Lord Gardan,
Duke of Krondor. The old soldier had served with
Arutha, and his father before him, thirty years and
more. His dark skin stood in stark contrast to his beard,
almost white in color, but he still had the alert eyes of
one whose mind had lost none of its edge and a ready
smile for the royal children. A commoner by birth,
Gardan had risen on his ability, and despite an often
expressed desire to retire and return to his home in Far
Crydee, he had remained in Arutha's service, first as
Sergeant in the garrison at Crydee, then Captain of the
Prince's Royal Household, then Knight-Marshal of
Krondor. When the previous Duke of Krondor, Lord
Volney, had died unexpectedly after seven years' loyal
service in his office, Arutha had awarded the office to
Cardan. Despite the old soldier's protestations of not
being suited to the nobility, he had proven an able
administrator as well as a gifted soldier.

Cardan finished intoning the man's new rank and
privileges and Arutha preferred a terribly oversized
parchment with ribbons and seals embossed upon it.

12 Prince of the Blood

The man took his award of office and retired to the
crowd, to the hushed congratulations of others in court.

Gardan nodded to the Master of Ceremonies, Jerome
by name, and the thin man brought himself to his full
height. Once a boyhood rival of Baron James, the office
suited Jerome's self-important nature. He was, by all
accounts, a thorough bore and his preoccupation with
trivia made him a natural for the post. His love of detail
manifested itself in the exquisite stitching of his cloak of
office and the pointed chin beard he spent hours in
trimming. In pompous tones, he spoke: "If it pleases
Your Highness, His Excellency, Lord Torum Sie, Am-
bassador from the Royal court of Great Kesh."

The Ambassador, who had been standing off to one
side, conferring with his advisors, approached the dais
and bowed. By his attire, it was clear he was of the true
Keshian people, for his head was shaved. His scarlet
coat was cut away, revealing a pair of yellow pantaloons
and white slippers. His chest was bare in the Keshian
fashion, a large golden torque of office decorating his
neck. Each item of clothing was delicately finished in
almost imperceptible needlework, with tiny jewels and
pearls decorating each seam. The effect was as if he was
bathed in shimmering sparkles as he moved. He was
easily the most splendid figure in court.

"Highness," he said, his speech tinged by a slight
singsong accent. "Our Mistress, Lakeisha, She Who Is
Kesh, inquires as to the health of Their Highnesses."

"Convey our warmest regards to the Empress," re-
sponded Arutha, "and tell her we are well."

"With pleasure," the Ambassador answered. "Now, I
must beg of His Highness an answer to the invitation
sent by my mistress. The seventy-fifth anniversary of
Her Magnificent's birth is an event of unsurpassed joy to
the Empire. We will host a Jubilee that will be cele-
brated for two months. Will Your Highnesses be joining
us?"

Already the King had sent his apologies, as had the
ruler of every neighboring sovereignty from Queg to
the Eastern Kingdoms. While there had been peace
between the Empire and her neighbors for an unusu-


Homecoming              13

ally long time—eleven years since the last major border
clash—no ruler was foolish enough to come within the
borders of the most feared nation upon Midkemia.
Those rejections were considered proper. The invita-
tion to the Prince and Princess of Krondor was another
matter.

The Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was
almost a nation unto itself, with the responsibility for
rulership given to the Prince of Krondor. Only the
broadest policy came from the King's court in Rillanon.
And it was Arutha, as often as not, who had been the
one to deal with Kesh's Ambassadors, for the majority of
potential conflict between Kesh and the Kingdom were
along the Western Realm's southern border.

Arutha looked at his wife, and then the Ambassador.
"We regret that the press of official duty prevents us
from undertaking so long a journey. Your Excellency."

The Ambassador's expression didn't change, but a
slight hardening around the eyes indicated the Keshian
considered the rejection close to an insult. "That is re-
grettable, Highness. My mistress did so consider your
presence vital—should I say a gesture of friendship and
goodwill."

The odd comment was not lost upon Arutha. He nod-
ded. "Still, we would consider ourselves remiss in our
friendship and goodwill to our neighbors in the south if
we did not send one who could represent the Royal
House of Isles." The Ambassador's eyes at once fixed
upon the twins. "Prince Borric, Heir Presumptive to
the Throne of Isles, shall be our representative at the
Empress's Jubilee, my lord." Borric, suddenly the focus
of scrutiny, found himself standing more erect, and felt
an unexpected need to tug at his tunic. "And his
brother, Prince Eriand, will accompany him."

Borric and Eriand exchanged startled glances.
"Kesh!" Eriand whispered, astonishment barely con-
tained.

The Keshian Ambassador inclined his head toward
the Princes a moment in appreciation. "A fitting ges-
ture of respect and friendship, Highness. My mistress
will be pleased."

Prince of the Blood

Arutha's gaze swept the room, and for an instant fixed
upon a man at the rear of the room, then continued on.
As the Keshian Ambassador withdrew, Arutha rose
from his throne and said, "We have much business be-
fore us this day; court will resume tommorow at the
tenth hour of the watch." He offered his hand to his
wife, who took it as she stood. Escorting the Princess
from the dais, he whispered to Borric, "You and your
brother: in my chambers in five minutes." All four royal
children bowed formally as their father and mother
passed, then fell into procession behind them.

Borric glanced at Eriand and found his own curiosity
mirrored in the face of his twin. The twins waited until
they -were out of the hall and Eriand turned and
grabbed Elena, spinning her roughly around in a bear
hug. Borric gave her a solid whack on the backside,
despite the softening effect of the folds of fabric of her
gown. "Beasts!" she exclaimed. Then she hugged each
in turn. "I hate to say this, but I am glad to see you back.
Things have been dreadfully dull since you left."

Borric grinned. "Not as I hear it, little sister."

Eriand put his arm around his brother's neck and
whispered in mock conspiracy, "It has come to my at-
tention that two of the Prince's squires were caught
brawling a month ago, and the reason seems to be
which would escort our sister to the Festival of
Banapis."

Elena fixed both brothers with a narrow gaze. "I had
nothing to do with those idiots brawling." Then she
brightened. "Besides, I spent the day with Baron
Lowery's son, Thorn."

Both brothers laughed. "Which is also what we
heard," said Borric. "Your reputation is reaching even
to the Border Barons, little sister! And you not yet six-
teen!"

Elena hiked up her skirts and swept past her broth-
ers. "Well, I'm almost the age Mother was when she first
met Father, and speaking of Father, if you don't get to
his study, he'll roast your livers for breakfast." She
reached a point a dozen paces away, swirled in a flurry
of silks, and again stuck her tongue out at her brothers.

Homecoming              15

Both laughed, then Eriand noticed Nicky standing
close by. "Well, then, what have we here?"

Borric made a show of glancing around, above
Nicky's head. "What do you mean? I see nothing."

Nicky's expression turned to one of distress. "Borric!"
he said, almost whining.

Borric glanced down. "Why, it's . . ." He turned to
his brother. "What is it?"

Eriand slowly walked around Nicky. "I'm not sure.
It's too small to be a goblin, yet too big to be a monkey—
save perhaps a very tall monkey."

"Not broad enough in the shoulders to be a dwarf,
and too finely tailored to be a beggar boy—"

Nicky's face clouded over. Tears began to form in his
eyes. "You promised!" he said, his voice catching in his
throat. He looked up at his brothers as they stood grin-
ning down at him, then with tears upon his cheeks he
kicked Borric in the shins, turned, and fled, his half-
limping, rolling gate not slowing him as he scampered
down the hall, the sound of his sobs following after.

Borric rubbed at the barked shin. "Ow. The boy can
kick." He looked at Eriand. "Promised?"

Eriand rolled his eyes heavenward. "Not to tease him
anymore." He heaved a sigh. "Another round of lec-
tures. He's sure to run to Mother and she'll speak to
Father and ..."

Borric winced. "And we'll get another round of lec-
tures."

Then as one they said, "Father!" and hurried toward
Arutha's private quarters. The guard stationed at the
door, seeing the approaching brothers, opened the
doors for them.

Once inside, the twins found their father seated in his
favorite chair, an old thing of wood and leather, but
which he preferred to any of the dozen others in the
large conference hall. Standing slightly to his left were
Barons James and Locklear. Arutha said, "Come in, you
two."

The twins came to stand before their father, Eriand
moving with a slight awkwardness, as his injured side

16 Prince of the Blood

had stiffened overnight. "Something wrong?" asked
Arutha.

Both sons smiled weakly. Their father missed little
Borric said, "He tried a beat and counterlunge when he
should have parried in six. The fellow got inside his
guard."

Arutha's voice was cold. "Brawling again.-1 should
have expected it, as Baron James obviously did." To
James he said, "Anyone killed?"

James said, "No, but it was a bit close with the son of
one of the city's more influential shippers."

Arutha's anger surfaced as he slowly rose from his
chair. A man able to hold emotions in check, the sight of
such a display was rare, and for those who knew him
well, unwelcome. He came to stand before the twins
and for a moment appeared on the verge of striking
them. He stared into the eyes of each. He bit off each
word as he sought to regain control. "What can you two
possibly have been thinking of?"

Eriand said, "It was self-defense, Father. The man
was trying to skewer me."

Borric chimed in, "The man was cheating. He had an
extra Blue Lady up his sleeve."

Arutha almost spit as he said, "I don't care if he had an
extra deck up his sleeve. You aren't common soldiers,
damn it! You are my sons!"

Arutha walked around them, as if inspecting horses or
reviewing his guard. Both boys endured the close pe-
rusal, knowing their father's mood brooked no inso-
lence.

At last he threw up his hands in a gesture of resigna-
tion and said, "These aren't my sons." He walked past
the twins to stand next to the two Barons. "They've got
to be^Lyam's," he said, invoking the King's name.
Arutha's brother had been known for his temper and
brawling as a youth. "Somehow Anita married me, but
bore the King's ruffian brats." James could only nod in
agreement. "It must be some divine plan I don't under-
stand."

Returning his attention to his boys, he said, "If your
grandfather still lived, he'd have you over a barrel, a

Homecoming              17

leather strap in his hand, no matter your size or age.
You've acted like children, once again, and should be
treated like children."

His voice rose as he walked back before them, "I sent
orders for you two to come home at once! But do you
obey? No! Instead of coming straight away to the palace,
you vanish into the Poor Quarter. Two days later, Baron
James finds you brawling in a tavern." He paused, then
in a near shout, he exclaimed, "You could have been
killed!"

Borric began to quip, "Only if that parry—"

"Enough!" cried Arutha, his temper frayed beyond
his ability to control it. He gripped Borric's tunic and
pulled his son forward, off-balance. "You will not end
this with a joke and smile! You have defied me for the
last time." He punctuated this with a shove that sent
Borric half-stumbling into his brother. Arutha's manner
showed he had no patience for the flippancies from his
son he usually ignored. "I didn't call you back because
the court missed your peculiar sort of chaos. I think that
another year or two on the border might have settled
you down a bit, but I have no alternative. You have
princely duties and you are needed now!"

Borric and Eriand exchanged glances. Arutha's
moods were old business to them, and they had en-
dured his anger—which was usually justified—before,
but this time something serious was occurring. Borric
said, "We're sorry, Father. We didn't realize it was a
matter of duty that called us home."

"Because you are not expected to realize anything,
you are expected to obey!" shot back their father. Obvi-
ously out of patience with the entire exchange, he said,
"I am done with you for now. I must compose myself for
the business of dealing in private with the Keshian Am-
bassador this afternoon. Baron James will continue this
conversation on my behalf!" At the door, he paused,
and said to James, "Whatever you need do, do! But I
want these miscreants impressed with the gravity of
things when I speak to them this afternoon." He closed
the door without waiting for a response.

James and Locklear moved to either side of the young

18 Prince of the Blood

Princes, and James said, "If Your Highnesses would be
so kind as to follow us."

Borric and Eriand both glanced at their life-long
tutors and "uncles" and then at each other. Both had an
inkling of what was to come. Their father had never laid
strap nor hand upon any of his children, to the profound
relief of his wife, but that still didn't prevent regular
bouts of "fighting practice," when the boys were un-
ruly, which was most of the time.

Waiting outside, Lieutenant William quietly fell into
step with the twins and the Barons as they moved down
the hall. He hurried to open the door, which led to
Prince Arutha's gymnasium, a large room where the
royal family could practice their skills with sword, dag-
ger, or hand-to-hand combat.

Baron James led the procession down the hall. At the
door to the gymnasium, William again moved to open
the door, for while he was second cousin to the twins, he
was still merely a soldier in the company of nobles.
Borric entered the room first, followed by Eriand and
James, with Locklear and William behind.

Inside the room, Borric nimbly turned and walked
backwards, his hands raised in a boxers pose, as he said,
"We're a lot older and bigger, now, Uncle Jimmy. And
you're not going to sucker punch me behind the ear like
you did last time."

Eriand leaned to the left, clutching his side in exag-
geration and suddenly developed a limp. "And faster,
too. Uncle Locky." Without warning, he threw an el-
bow at Locklear's head. The Baron, a seasoned soldier
of almost twenty years, dodged aside, allowing Eriand
to overbalance. He then turned him in a circle by haul-
ing on one arm, and pushed him into the center of the
gymnasium.

The two Barons stood away as both brothers stood
poised for a fight, fists upraised. With a wry grin, James
raised his hands palms out and said, "Oh, you're too
young and fast for us, all right." The tone of sarcasm was
not lost on the boys. "But as we have to be clear headed
over the next few days, we thought we'd forego the
pleasure of seeing how far you've come in the last two

Homecoming              19

years." He hiked his thumb behind him, indicating a far
corner. "Personally, that is."

Two soldiers, stripped to breeches only, stood in the
corner. Each had massive arms crossed over impres-
sively muscled chests. Baron James waved for them to
approach. As they did, the boys glanced at one another.

The two men moved with the fluid motion of a thor-
oughbred war horse, supple, but with power waiting.
Each looked as if he was carved from stone, and Borric
whispered, "They're not human!" Eriand grinned, for
both men had large jaws, suggesting the protruding
mandible of mountain trolls.

"These gentlemen are from your Uncle Lyam's garri-
son," said Locklear. "We had a demonstration of the
Royal Fist-Boxing Champions last week and asked them
to stay with us a few extra days." The two men began to
move away from each other, circling the boys in oppo-
site direction.

Jimmy said, "The blond-haired fellow is Sergeant
Obregon, from the Rodez garrison—"

Locklear injected, "He's champion of all men under
two hundred pounds—ah, Eriand should be your stu-
dent, Obregon; his side is injured. Be gentle with him."

"—and the other," continued Jimmy, "is Sergeant
Palmer, from Bas-Tyra."

Borric's eyes narrowed as he studied the approaching
soldier. "Let me guess: he's the champion of all men
over two hundred pounds."

"Yes," said Baron James, with an evil smile.

Instantly, Borric's field of vision was filled by an on-
coming fist. He quickly tried to move away from it, but
abruptly discovered another had found the side of his
head. Then he was considering who painted the frescos
on the ceiling of the room his father had converted to a
gymnasium. He really should ask someone.

Shaking his head as he slowly sat up, he could hear
James saying, "Your Father wanted us to impress upon
you the importance of what you face tomorrow."

"And what might that be," said Borric, allowing Ser-
geant Palmer to help him to his feet. But the Sergeant
didn't release Borric's right hand, but rather held it

20 Prince of the Blood

tightly as he brought his own right hand hard up into
Borric's stomach. Lieutenant William visibly winced as
Borric's breath exploded from his lungs and his eyes
crossed as he sank to the floor once more. Eriand began
warily moving away from the other fist-boxer, who now
was stalking him across the floor.

"If it has escaped your notice, your uncle the King has
sired only daughters since young Prince Randolph
died."

Borne waved off the offered hand of Sergeant Palmer
and said, "Thanks. I'll get up by myself." As he came to
one knee, he said, "I hardly dwell on the fact of our
cousin's death, but I'm aware of it." Then as he started
to stand, he drove a vicious blow into Sergeant Palmer's
stomach.

The older, harder fighter stood rock steady, forced
himself to take a breath, then smiled in appreciation
and said, "That was a good one. Highness."

Borric's eyes rolled heavenward. "Thank you." Then
another fist filled his vision and once more he consid-
ered the wonderful craftsmanship displayed upon the
ceiling. Why hadn't he ever taken the opportunity to
notice it before? he mused to himself.

Eriand attempted to keep distance between himself
and the approaching Sergeant Obregon. Suddenly, the
young man was not backing up, but striking out with a
flurry of blows. The Sergeant, rather than back away,
raised his arms before his face and let the younger man
strike his arms and shoulders. "Our uncle's lack of an
heir is a fact not unknown to us, Uncle Jimmy," ob-
served Eriand as his own arms began to tire while he
futilely pounded upon the muscular sergeant. Abruptly,
the Sergeant stepped inside Eriand's reach, and drove
another blow into the youngster's side. Eriand's face
drained of color and his eyes crossed, then unfocused.

Seeing the reaction. Sergeant Obregon said, "Pardon,
Highness, I'd meant to strike the uninjured side.".

Eriand's voice was a bare whisper as he gasped, "How
very kind of you."

Borric shook his head to clear his thoughts, then
quickly rolled backwards and came to his feet, ready to

Homecoming             21

fight. "So then, there's a point to this iteration on our
family's lack of a Royal Prince?"

"Actually, so," agreed James. "With no male issue, the
Prince of Krondor still is Heir."

Eriand's voice returned in a strangled gasp. "The
Prince of Krondor is always Royal Heir."

"And your father is Prince of Krondor," interjected
Locklear.

With a clever feint with his left, Borric drove his right
into the jaw of Sergeant Palmer and momentarily stag-
gered the older man. Another blow to the body and the
boxer was retreating. Borric grew confident and
stepped in to deliver a finishing blow, and abruptly the
world turned upside down.

Borric's vision turned yellow then red for a long
while, and while he hung in space, the floor came up to
strike him in the back of the head. Then blackness
crowded in at the edge of his vision and he saw a ring of
faces looking down a deep well at him. They seemed
friendly faces, and he thought he might know who they
were, but he didn't feel any need to worry on it, as he
was so very comfortable sinking into the cool, dark of
the well. Staring past the faces, he absently wondered if
any of them might know who the artists of the frescos
above might be.

As his eyes rolled up into his head, William poured a
small bucket of water on Borric's face. The elder twin
came back to consciousness sputtering and spitting wa-
ter.

Baron James was upon one knee and helped the
Prince sit upright. "Are you still with me?"

Borric shook his head and his eyes focused. "I think
so," he managed to gasp.

"Good. For if your father is still Heir to the throne,
you royal infant," he slapped Borric on the back of the
head to emphasize what came next, "then you are still
Heir Presumptive."

Borric turned to study James's face. The point of
James's message was still lost on the young Prince.
"So?"

"So, ninny, as it is unlikely that our good King, your

22 Prince of the Blood

uncle, will father any sons at this stage in his life—given
the Queen's age—should Arutha survive him, he will
then be King." Reaching out to aid Borric to his feet, he
added, "And as the Goddess of Luck would have it"—he
slapped Borric playfully on the side of the face—"you
almost certainly will outlive your father, which means
that someday after, you shall be King."

"May heaven forfend," interjected Locklear.

Borric looked around the room. The two Sergeants
had stepped back, as the pretense of a boxing lesson was
forgotten. "King?"

"Yes, you stone-crowned dolt," said Locklear. "If
we're still alive, we'll have to kneel before you and
pretend you know what you're doing."

"So," continued James, "your father has decided that
it's time for you to stop behaving like the spoiled child
of a rich cattle merchant and start acting like a future
King of Isles."

Eriand came to stand beside his brother, leaning
upon him slightly. "So why not just simply"—he winced
as he moved the wrong way, straining his reinjured side
—"tell us what's going on?"

James said, "I convinced your father the lesson
needed to be ... emphasized." He studied the two
Princes. "You've been educated, taught by the best in-
structors your father could employ. You speak . . .
what . . . six, seven languages? You can do sums and
calculate, like engineers at a siege. You can discourse on
the teachings of the ancients. You have music and paint-
ing skills, and you know the etiquette of the court. You
are skilled swordsmen and"—he glanced at the two
boxers—"somewhat gifted students of fisticuffs." He
stepped away. "But in nineteen years since your birth
you've never given a single sign that you're anything
other than spoiled, self-indulgent children. Not Princes
of the realm!" His voice rose and his tone turned angry.
"And when we're done with you, you'll be acting the
role of a Crown Prince instead of a spoiled child."

Borric stood crestfallen. "Spoiled child?"

Eriand grinned at his brother's discomfort. "Well,

23

that's it, then, isn't it? Borric shall have to mend his
ways, and you and Father will be happy—"

James's wicked grin turned on Eriand. "As will you,
my lovely! For if this child of foolish nature should go
and get his throat cut by the angry husband ofaKeshian
court lady, it's you who'll wear the conDoin crown in
Rillanon someday. And should he not, you'll still be Heir
until the unlikely event of your brother becoming a
father. Even then, you'll most likely end up a duke
somewhere." Letting his voice drop a bit, he said, "So
both of you begin to learn your office."

Borric said, "Yes, I know. First thing tomorrow.
Come, let's get some rest—" Borric looked down and
discovered a restraining hand upon his chest.

"Not so fast," said James. "You haven't finished your
lesson."

"Ah, Uncle Jimmy—" began Eriand.

"You've made your point—" said Borric, anger in his
voice.

"I think not," answered the Baron. "You're still a pair
of rude sods." Turning to the two Sergeants, he said, "If
you please, continue."

Baron James signaled for Locklear to accompany him
as he quickly left the two young Princes readying them-
selves for a professionally administered beating. As the
two nobles left the court, James motioned to Lieutenant
William. "When they've had enough, get them to their
quarters. Let them rest and see they eat, then insure
that they are up and ready to see His Highness by
midafternoon."

William saluted and turned to watch as both Princes
tumbled to the canvas mat again. He shook his head.
This wasn't going to be a pretty sight.

Chapter Two

Accusation

The boy cried out.

Borric and Eriand watched from the window of their
parents' private chamber as Swordmaster Sheldon
pressed his attack on young Prince Nicholas. The boy
shouted again in eager excitement as he executed a
clever parry and counterthrust. The Swordmaster re-
treated.

Borric scratched at his cheek as he observed, "The
boy can scamper about, for certain." The angry bruise
from the morning's boxing practice was darkening.

Eriand agreed. "He's inherited Father's skills with a
blade. And he manages to do right well despite his bad
leg."

Borric and Eriand both turned as the door opened
and their mother entered. Anita waved her ladies in
waiting to the far corner of the room, where they com-
menced to discuss quietly whichever current piece of
gossip was judged most interesting. The Princess of
Krondor came to stand between her sons and peered
through the window as a joyous Nicholas was lured into
an overbalanced extension and found himself suddenly
disarmed.

"No, Nicky! You should have seen it coming," shouted
Eriand, though the glass window prevented his words
from reaching his younger brother.

Anita laughed. "He tries so hard."

Borric shrugged as they turned away. "Still, he does
well enough for a boy. Not much worse than when we
were his age."

Eriand agreed. "The monkey—"

Suddenly his mother turned on him and slapped him
hard across the face. Instantly, the women in the other
corner of the room ceased their whispers and stared in

Accusation                  25

wide-eyed amazement at their Princess. Borric looked
at his brother whose astonishment matched his own.
Not once in the nineteen years of their lives had their
mother raised a hand to either boy. Eriand was more
stunned by the act than any pain from the slap. Anita's
green eyes revealed a mixture of anger and regret.
"Never talk that way about your brother again." Her
tone left no room for argument. "You have mocked him
and caused him more pain than all the unkind whispers
among the nobles together. He is a good boy and he
loves you, and all you have for him is ridicule and tor-
ment. Your first day back in the palace and within five
minutes of speaking with you he was in tears again.

"Arutha was right. I've let you go unpunished for
your trespasses too long." She turned as if to leave.

Borric, seeking to rescue his brother and himself from
the embarrassment of the moment said, "Ah, Mother.
You did send for us? Was there something else you
wanted to discuss?"

Anita said, "I didn't send for you."

"I did."

The boys turned to see their father standing quietly
at the small door that opened between his study and the
family room, as Anita called his part of the royal apart-
ment. The brothers glanced at one another and knew
their father had been observing long enough to have
witnessed the exchange between mother and sons.

After a long silence, Arutha said, "If you'll excuse us, I
would have a private word with my sons."

Anita nodded and indicated to her ladies they should
come with her. Quickly the room emptied, leaving
Arutha with his sons. When the door was closed, Arutha
said, "Are you all right?"

Eriand made a display of stiff muscles and said, "Well,
enough, Father, given the 'instructions' we received
this morning." He indicated his tender side was not
further injured.

Arutha frowned and shook his head slightly. "I asked
Jimmy not to tell me what he had in mind." He smiled a
crooked smile. "I just requested he somehow impress

26 Prince of the Blood

upon you that there are serious consequences to not
doing what is required of you."

Eriand nodded. Borric said, "Well, it is not entirely
unexpected. You did order us directly home and we did
stop to play a bit before coming to the palace."

"Play . . ." Arutha said, his eyes searching his eldest
son's face. ". . . I'm afraid there will be little' time for
play in the future."

He motioned for the boys to approach and they came
to him. He turned back into his study and they followed
as he moved past his large writing table. Behind it was a
special alcove, hidden by a clever locked stone, which
he opened. He withdrew a parchment bearing the royal
family crest and handed it to Borric. "Read the third
paragraph."

Borric read and his eyes widened. "This is sad news,
indeed."

Eriand said, "What is it?"

"A message from Lyam," Arutha said.

Borric handed it to his brother. "The royal chirur-
geons and priests are certain the Queen will have no
more children. There will not be a Royal Heir in Rilla-
non."

Arutha moved to a door at the back of the royal cham-
bers and said, "Come with me."

He opened the door and moved up a flight of stairs.
His sons followed quickly after, and soon all three stood
on the top of an old tower, near the center of the royal
palace, overlooking the city of Krondor. Arutha spoke
without looking to see if his sons had followed.

"When I was about your age, I used to stand upon the
parapets of the barbican of my father's castle. I would
look down over the town of Crydee and the harbor
beyond. Such a small place, but so large in my mem-
ory."

He glanced at Borric and Eriand. "Your grandfather
did much the same when he was a boy, or so our old
Swordmaster, Fannon, once told me." Arutha spent a
moment lost in memory. "I was about your age when
command of the garrison fell to me, boys." Both sons
had heard tales of the Riftwar and their father's part in

Accusation                  27

it, but this wasn't the same sort of old stories they had
heard swapped by their father and their uncle, Laurie,
or Admiral Trask over dinner.

Arutha turned and sat in one of the merlons and said,
"I never wanted to be Prince of Krondor, Borric." Er-
iand moved to sit in the merlon next to his father, as he
sensed that Arutha's words were more for his older
brother than himself. They had both heard often
enough that their father had no wish to rule. "When I
was a boy," Arutha continued, "I had no larger desire
than to serve as a soldier, perhaps with the border
lords."

"It wasn't until I met the old Baron Highcastle that I
realized that boyhood dreams are often with us as
adults. They are difficult to be shed of, and yet, to see
things as they really are, we must lose that child's eye
view of things."

He scanned the horizon. Their father had always
been a direct man, given to direct speech and never at a
loss for words to express himself. But he was obviously
having difficulty saying what was on his mind. "Borric,
when you were much younger, what did you think your
life would be like now?"

Borric glanced over at Eriand, then back at his father.
A light breeze sprang up and his thick, ill-cut mane of
reddish brown hair blew about his face. "I never gave it
much thought. Father."

Arutha sighed. "I think I have made a terrible mis-
take in the manner in which you were raised. When you
were both very tiny you were very mischievous and
upon one occasion upset me—it was a little thing, a
spilled inkwell, but a long parchment was ruined and a
scribe's work for a day was lost. I swatted you upon the
bottom, Borric." The elder brother grinned at the im-
age. Arutha did not return the grin. "Anita made me
promise that day that never again would I touch either
one of you in anger. By doing so, I think I have coddled
you and ill-prepared you for the lives you will lead."

Eriand couldn't help feeling embarrassed. They'd
been scolded often enough over the years, but rarely
punished and, before this morning, never physically.

28 Prince of the Blood

Arutha nodded. "You and I have little in common in
the manner in which we were raised. Your uncle the
King felt our father's leather belt on more than one
occasion when he was caught. I only took one beating as
a boy. I quickly learned that when Father gave an or-
der, he expected it to be obeyed without question."
Arutha sighed, and in that sound both boys heard un-
certainty from their father for the first time in their
lives. "We all assumed Prince Randolph would be King
someday. When he drowned, we assumed Lyam would
have another son. Even as daughters came and the
prospects for a Royal Heir in Rillanon lessened with the
years, we just never considered that someday you"—he
put his finger on Borric's chest—"would be ruler of the
nation."

He looked over at his other son and in an un-
characteristic gesture, reached out and placed his hand
over Eriand's. "I am not given to speaking of strong
feelings, but you are my sons and I love you both,
though you try my patience to distraction."

Both sons were suddenly uncomfortable with this
atypical revelation. They loved their father but, like
him, were discomforted by any attempt to express such
feelings openly. "We understand," was all Borric could
manage.

Looking Borric directly in the eyes, he said, "Do you?
Do you really? Then understand that from this day
forth you are no longer my sons alone, Borric. You are
both now sons to the Kingdom. Each of you is a Prince
of the Blood Royal. You are to be King someday, Borric.
Wrap your mind around that fact, for it is so, and noth-
ing this side of death will change that. And from this day
on a father's love of his son will no longer shield you
from life's harshness. To be a king is to hold men's lives
by a thread. A thoughtless gesture will end those lives as
certainly as if you had chosen to tear the threads."

To Eriand, he said, "Twins pose a serious threat to
peace in our Kingdom, for should old rivalries surface,
you'll find some claiming the birth order was reversed,
some who will raise your cause without your consent, as
an excuse to make war upon old foes.

Accusation                  29

"You both have heard the story, of the First King
Borric and how he was forced to slay his own brother,
Jon the Pretender. And you have also heard, often
enough, of how I stood with the King and our brother
Martin in the hall of our ancestors, before the Congress
of Lords, each of them with a just claim to the crown. By
Martin's signal act of nobility, Lyam wears his crown
and no blood was shed." He held his thumb and forefin-
ger a scant fraction of an inch apart. "Yet we were but
this far from civil war that day."

Borric said, "Father, why are you telling us this?"

Arutha stood, sighed, and put his hand upon his eldest
son's shoulder. "Because your boyhood is at an end,
Borric. You are no longer the son of the Prince of
Krondor. For I have decided that should I survive my
brother, I will renounce my own claim upon the crown
in favor of yours." Borric began to protest, but Arutha
cut him off. "Lyam is a vigorous man. I may be an old
one when he dies, if I don't precede him. It is best if
there is not a short rule between Lyam's and your own.
You will be the next King of Isles."

Glancing at Eriand, he said, "And you will always
stand in your brother's shadow. You will forever be one
step from the throne, yet never permitted to sit upon it.
You will always be sought out for favor and position, but
never your own; you will be seen as a stepping-stone to
your brother. Can you accept such a fate?"

Eriand shrugged. "It doesn't seem too grave a fate,
Father. I shall have estates and title, and responsibilities
enough, I am certain."

"More, for you need stand with Borric in all things,
even when you disagree with him in private. You will
never have a public mind that you may call your own. It
must be so. I cannot stress this enough. Never once in
the future can you publicly oppose the King's will."
Moving a short way off, he turned and regarded them
both. "You have never known anything but peace in our
Kingdom. The raids along the border are trivial things."

Eriand said, "Not to those of us who fought those
raiders! Men died, Father."

Arutha said, "I speak of nations now, and dynasties,

Prince of the Blood

and the fate of generations. Yes, men died, so that this
nation and its people may live in peace.

"But there was a time when war was always with us,
when border skirmishes with Great Kesh were a
monthly occurrence and when Quegan galleys took our
ships at their leisure, and when invaders from the
Tsurani world held part of your grandfather's lands—
for nine years!

"You will be asked to give up many things, my sons.
You will be asked to marry women who will most likely
be strangers to you. You will be asked to relinquish
many of the privileges lesser men know: the ability to
enter a tavern and drink with strangers, to pick up and
travel to another city, to marry for love and watch your
children grow without fear of their being used for oth-
ers' designs." Gazing out over the city, he added, "To sit
at day's end with your wife and discuss the small mat-
ters of your life, to be at ease."

Borric said, "I think I understand." His voice was
subdued.

Eriand only nodded.

Arutha said, "Good, for in a week you leave for Great
Kesh, and from this moment forward you are the King-
dom's future." He moved toward the stairs that led
down into the palace and halted at them. "I wish I could
spare you this, but I can't." Then he was gone.

Both boys sat quietly for a time, then as one turned to
look out over the harbor. The afternoon sun beat down,
yet the breeze from the Bitter Sea was cooling. In the
harbor below, boats moved as punts and barges carried
cargo and passengers back and forth between the docks
and great sailing ships anchored in the bay. In the dis-
tance white dots signaled approaching ships, traders
from the Far Coast, the Kingdom of Queg, the Free
Cities of Yabon, or the Empire of Great Kesh.

Then Borric's face relaxed as a smile spread. "Kesh!"

Eriand laughed. "Yes, to the heart of Great Kesh!"

Both shared the laughter at the prospect of new cities
and people, and travel to a land considered exotic and
mysterious. And their father's words vanished upon the
wind to the east.

Accusation                  31

*   *

Some institutions linger for centuries, while others
pass quickly. Some arrive quietly, others with fanfare.
In years past it was considered a general practice to give
apprentices and other servants the latter half of the
sixth day of the week for themselves. Now the practice
had come to include a general closing of businesses on
sixthday at noon, with seventhday generally held to be a
day of devotions and meditations.

But within the last twenty years another "tradition"
had arisen. From the first sixthday following the winter
equinox, boys and young men, apprentices and ser-
vants, commoner and noble, began preparing. For upon
the holiday of First Thaw, held six optimistic weeks
after the equinox, often despite inclement weather,

football season commenced.

Once called barrel ball, the game had been played for
as long as boys had kicked balls of rags into barrels.
Twenty years before, the young Prince Arutha had in-
structed his Master of Ceremonies to draw up a stan-
dard set of rules for the game, more for the protection
of his young squires and apprentices, for then the game
was rough in the extreme. Now the game had been
institutionalized in the minds of the populace; come
spring, football returned.

On all levels, from boys playing in open fields up to a
City League, with teams fielded by guilds, trading as-
sociations, or rich nobles eager to be patrons, players
could be seen racing up and down attempting to kick a
ball into a net.

The crowd shouted its approval as the Blues' swiftest
forward broke away from the pack with the ball, speed-
ing toward the open goal net. The Reds' goalkeeper
hunkered down, ready to leap between ball and net.
With a clever feint, the Blues' player caused the Reds to
overbalance, then shot it past him on his off side. The
goalkeeper stood with hands on hips, evidencing dis-
gust at himself while the Blues' players mobbed the
scorer.

"Ah, he should have seen it coming," commented
Locklear. "It was so obvious. I could see it up here."

32 Prince of the Blood

James laughed. "Then why don't you go down and
play for him?"

Borric and Eriand shared in James's laughter. "Cer-
tainly, Uncle Locky. We've heard a hundred times how
you and Uncle Jimmy invented this game."

Locklear shook his head. "It was nothing like this."
He glanced about the field at the stands erected by an
enterprising merchant years before, stands that had
been expanded upon and enlarged until as many as four
thousand citizens could crowd together to watch a
match. "We used to have a barrel at each end and you
couldn't stand before the mouth. This net business and
goalkeepers and all the other rules your father de-
vised ..."

Borric and Eriand finished for him in unison, ". . .
It's not sport anymore."

Locklear said, "That's the truth—"

Eriand inserted, "Not enough bloodshed!"

"No broken arms! No gouged eyes!" laughed Borric.

James said, "Well, that's for the better. There was one
time—"

Both brothers grimaced as one, for they knew they
were about to hear the story of the time Locklear was
hit from behind by a piece of farrier's steel an appren-
tice boy had concealed in his shirt. This would lead,
then, to a debate between the two Barons on the gen-
eral value of rules and which rules enhanced the game
and which impeded.

But the lack of further comment from James caused
Borric to turn. James had his eyes focused not on the
game below which was drawing to a close, but upon a
man down near the end of the row upon which the
Baron sat, one row behind the Princes. Rank and a well-
placed bribe had given the sons of the Prince of
Krondor two of the best seats for the match, at the mid-
field line halfway up the stands.

James said, "Locky, is it cold?"

Wiping perspiration from his brow, Locklear said,
"You're joking, right? It's a month after midsummer
and I'm roasting."

Hiking his thumb toward the end of the row, James

Accusation                  33

said, "Then why does our friend over there feel the
need to wear such a heavy robe?"

Locklear glanced past his companion and noticed a
man sitting at the end of the bench, muffled in a large
robe. "A priest perhaps?"

"I know of no order that has members with an inter-
est in football." James glanced away as the man turned
toward him. "Watch him over my shoulder, but not as if
you're listening to everything I'm saying. What's he
doing?"

"Nothing presently." Then a horn was blown, signal-
ing the end of the match. The Blues, a team sponsored
by the Millers Guild and the Worshipful Association of
Iron Mongers, had defeated the Reds, a team sponsored
by a group of nobles. As such sponsorship was well-
known among those in attendance, the result of the
match met with general approval.

As the crowd began to depart, the man in the robe
stood. Locklear's eyes widened as he said, "He's taking
something out of his sleeve."

James whirled about in time to see the man raise a
tube to his lips and point it in the direction of the
Princes. Without hesitation, James pushed hard, knock-
ing the two young men into the row below. A strangled
gasp sounded from a man standing just beyond where
Eriand had been, and the man raised a hand to his neck.
It was a gesture never finished, for as his fingers neared
the dart protruding from his throat, he collapsed.

Locklear was only an instant behind James to react.
As James and the twins went sprawling below, accom-
panied by angry shouts as spectators were knocked
about, Locklear had his sword out and was leaping to-
ward the robed and cowled figure. "Guards!" he
shouted, as an honor guard was stationed just below the
viewing stands.

The sounds of boots pounding upon wooden stairs
answered his call almost instantly as soldiers of the
Prince raced to intercept the fleeing figure. With little
concern for bruises caused, the guardsmen roughly
shoved innocent onlookers out of their way. With the
silent understanding mobs possess, suddenly everyone

34 Prince of the Blood

knew that something was wrong in the viewing stands.
While those nearby scampered to get away, those in
other parts of the field turned to observe the cause of
such turmoil.

Seeing guardsmen mere yards away, with only a few
confused citizens blocking their approach, the robed
man put one hand upon the rail of the stairs and vaulted
over the side, falling a full dozen feet to the earth be-
low. A heavy thud and an exclamation of pain could be
heard by Locklear as he reached the railing.

Sprawled upon the ground, two stunned commoners
sat inspecting the unmoving form that lay next to them.
One man pushed himself back without standing while
the other crawled. Locklear vaulted over the rail and
landed upon his feet, sword point leveled at the robed
figure. The form upon the ground stirred, then leaped
at the young Baron.

Almost taken by surprise, Locklear let the man get
inside his guard. The robed man had his arms around
Locklear's waist as he drove him back into the supports
of the viewing stand.

Locklear's breath burst from his lungs as he struck the
heavy wooden beams, but he managed to strike the
man behind the ear with his sword hilt. The man stag-
gered away, obviously intent upon escape rather than
combat,*but the shouting voices heralded the approach
of more guardsmen. Turning, the man struck out at
Locklear, who was struggling to regain his breath, and
his fist found Locklear's ear.

Pain and confusion overwhelmed Locklear as the as-
sailant rushed into the darkness under the viewing
stands. The Baron shook his head to clear it, then turned
and hurried after.

In the sudden darkness under the stands, the man
could be hiding anywhere. "In here!" Locklear yelled,
in reply to an inquiring shout, and within seconds a half-
dozen guardsmen were standing behind him. "Spread
out and be alert."

The men did as they were bidden and slowly ad-
vanced beneath the viewing stands. The men closest to
the front were forced to stoop, as the lowest risers of the

Accusation                  35

stands were but four feet off the ground. One soldier
walked along, poking his sword into the gloom, against
the fugitive having crawled under the frontmost stands
to hide. Above them the sounds of citizens leaving the
stands filled the gloom with a thunderous clatter of san-
dals and boots upon wood, but after a few minutes, the
noise diminished.

Then the sounds of struggle came from before them.
Locklear and his men hurried forward. In the dark, two
figures held a third. Without seeing who was whom,
Locklear drove his shoulder into the nearest body,
knocking everyone to the ground. More guards piled on
top of the fray, until at last the struggle at the bottom of
the mass was ended by sheer weight. Then the guards
were quickly unpiling and the combatants were pulled
up. Locklear grinned as he saw that one of them was
James and the other Borric. Looking down, he could see
the still form of the man in robes. "Drag him out into
the light," he ordered the guards. To James he said, "Is
he dead?"

"Not unless you broke his neck jumping on him that
way. You damn near broke mine."

"Where's Eriand?" asked Locklear.

"Here," came an answering voice in the gloom. "I
: was covering the other side of the fray in case he got
past these two," he indicated James and Borric.

"Nursing your precious side, you mean," shot back
Borne with a grin.

Eriand shrugged. "Maybe."

They all followed the guards, who were carrying the
still form of the assailant, and when they were in the
afternoon sunlight again, discovered a cordon had been
thrown up by other guards.

Locklear bent over. "Let's see what we have here."
He pulled back the hood and a face stared blankly up at
the sky. "He's dead."

James was instantly on his knees, forcing open the
man's mouth. He sniffed and said, "Poisoned himself."

"Who is he?" said Borric.

"And why was he trying to kill you, Uncle Jimmy?"
said Eriand.

Prince of the Blood

"Not me, you idiot," snapped James. He pointed at
Borric. "He was trying to kill your brother."

A guard approached. "My Lord, the man struck by
the dart is dead. He died within seconds of his wound-
ing."

Borric forced himself to a nervous grin. "Why would
anyone wish to kill me?"

Eriand joined in the strained humor. "An angry hus-
band?"

James said, "Not you, Borric conDoin." He glanced
around the crowd, as if seeking other assassins. "Some-
one tried to kill the future King of Isles."

Locklear opened the man's robe, revealing a black
tunic. "James, look here."

Baron James peered down at the dead man. His skin
was dark, even darker than Cardan's, marking him as
Keshian by ancestry, but those of Keshian ancestry
were common in this part of the Kingdom. There were
brown- and black-skinned people in every strata of
Krondorian society. But this man wore odd clothing, a
tunic of expensive black silk and soft slippers unlike
anything the young Princes had seen before.

James inspected the dead man's hands, and noticed a
ring set with a dark gem, then looked for a necklace and
found none. "What are you doing?"

"Old habits," was all Jimmy would answer. "He's no
Nighthawk," he observed, mentioning the legendary
Guild of Assassins. "But this may be worse."

"How?" asked Locklear, remembering all too well
when the Nighthawks had sought to kill Arutha twenty
years before.

"He's Keshian."

Locklear leaned down and inspected the ring. Ashen-
faced, he stood. "Worse. He's a member of the Royal
House of Kesh."

The room was silent. Those who sat in the circle of
chairs moved slightly, as discomfort over the attempt
upon Borric manifested itself in the creaks of leather
and wood, the rustle of cloth, and the clink of jewelry.

Duke Gardan rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "It's

Accusation                  37

preposterous. What would Kesh gain in killing a mem-
ber of your family? Does the Empress wish war?"

Eriand chimed in. "She's worked as hard as anyone to
preserve the peace, or at least all the reports say that.
Why would she want Borric dead? Who—"

Borric interrupted his brother. "Whoever wants war
between the Kingdom and the Empire."

Locklear nodded. "It's such a shallow lie; so transpar-
ent an attempt that it is not believable."

"Yet . . ."Arutha mused aloud, "what if that assassin
was chosen to fail? A dupe. What if I am supposed to
withhold my envoy, keep my sons at home with me."

Gardan nodded. "Thereby insulting the Royal House
of Kesh."

James, who leaned against the wall behind Arutha
said, "We've managed a fair job already by dispatching a
member of the Empress's house. He was a very distant
cousin, true, but a cousin, nevertheless."

Gardan returned to rubbing the bridge of his nose, a
gesture of frustration more than fatigue. "And what was
I supposed to say to the Keshian Ambassador? 'Oh,
we've found this young fellow, who seems to be a mem-
ber of your Royal House. We had no idea he was in
Krondor. And we're sorry to tell you he's dead. Oh, by
the way, he tried to murder Prince Borric.' "

Arutha leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a
tent before his face, absently flexing in a gesture that all
in the room had come to recognize over the years. He
glanced at last at James.

"We could dump the body," offered the young Baron.

Gardan said, "I beg your pardon?"

James stretched. "Take the body down to the bay and
toss it in."

Eriand grinned. "Rough treatment for a member of
the Royal House of Kesh, wouldn't you say?"

Arutha said, "Why?"

James moved to sit on the edge of Arutha's desk, as
the Prince over the years had come to conduct very
informal sessions with close advisors and family. "He's
not officially a guest in the city. We aren't supposed to
know he's here. No one is supposed to know. The only

38 Prince of the Blood

Keshians who will know he's here are those who know
why he's here. And I doubt any of them will inquire as
to his well-being. He's now the forgotten man, unless
we call attention to his whereabouts."

Dryly, Borric added, "And his condition."

"We can claim he tried to kill Borric," James acknowl-
edged, "but all we have is a Keshian corpse, a blowgun,
and some poisoned darts."

"And a dead merchant," added Gardan.

"Dead merchants are a frequent enough commodity
on any given day in the Western Realm, my Lord
Duke," observed James. "I say we strip him of his ring
and toss him into the bay. Let the Keshians who sent
him wonder for a while."

Arutha said nothing for a while, then gave one affir-
mative nod. James indicated with a jerk of his head that
Locklear should use Royal Guardsmen for the job, and
the other young Baron slipped through the door. After
a short conference with Lieutenant William outside,
Locklear returned to his seat.

Arutha sighed. Looking at James, he said, "Kesh.
What else?"

James shrugged. "Hints, rumors. Their new Ambassa-
dor is ... an odd choice. He's what they call a
'trueblood,' but not of the Royal House—the assassin
would have been a more logical choice. The Ambassa-
dor is a purely political appointment. It's rumored that
he may actually have stronger influence in Kesh's court
than many with royal blood. I can't find any obvious
reason why he should be given such an honor—save as a
compromise, to appease some faction in court."

Arutha nodded. "While none of this makes apparent
sense, still, we must play according to the rules of such
games." He was silent for a while, and no one spoke as
the Prince gathered his thoughts. "Send word to our
people in Kesh. I want our agents hard at work before
my sons arrive. If someone seeks to suck us into war
with Kesh, striking at the King's nephews would be a
logical choice. You will accompany the Princes to Kesh.
There is no one I trust more to swim through these
murky waters."

Accusation                  39

Baron Locklear said, "Highness?"

Looking at the other young Baron, Arutha said, "You
will accompany Baron James, as Master of Ceremonies,
Chief of Protocol, and the rest of that idiocy. The Impe-
rial Court is dominated by women. We will at last find a
use for that infamous Locklear charm. Instruct Captain
Valdis he will act in your place as Knight-Marshal. And
have Cousin William take over the Household Guard as
acting Captain." Arutha drummed his fingers on the
table. "I want you," he said to James, "shed of any office
and protocol on this journey. Your only title will be
'tutor.' You must be free to come and go as you need."

James had come to understand Arutha's moods as
well as any outside his family. A mind as complex and
deep as the Prince's was like a chess master's; Arutha
was planning every conceivable outcome as many
moves in advance as possible.

James motioned the boys and Locklear to come out-
side with him, and once all four were in the hall, he said,
"We leave early in the morning."

Borric said, "We're not due to leave for another three
days."

James said, "Officially. If your Keshian friend has
compatriots about, I would prefer they not know our
plans." He glanced at Locklear. "A small mounted
troop, twenty guards, dressed as mercenaries. Fast
horses, and send word to Shamata we're going to need
fresh mounts and stores enough for two hundred es-
corts."

Locklear said, "We'll be arriving in Shamata at the
same time as any message and two hundred—"

James cut him off. "We're not going to Shamata. We
want them to think we'll travel in state to Shamata.
We're going to Stardock."




Chapter Three

Stardock

Dust swirled.

Twenty-four riders moved at a steady pace along the
edge of the Great Star Lake. A week and a half of hard
riding had taken them southward from Krondor, to
Landreth on the north coast of the Sea of Dreams.
Then, from where it entered the sea, the Star River led
them further southward, the rugged mountains of the
Grey Range always in sight as they entered the lush
Vale of Dreams. Years of border wars between the King-
dom and the Empire had seen this rich farming land
changing hands many times. Those who lived in this
part of the world spoke the languages of the Southern
Kingdom and the Northern Empire with equal fluency.
And the sight of fourteen armed mercenaries evoked
no notice. Many armed bands of men rode the vale.

At the midpoint of the river, near a small waterfall,
they forded the currents, making for the south shore.
Upon reaching the headwaters of the Star River, the
Great Star Lake, they turned to track the shoreline
southward, seeking that point closest to the island domi-
nating the center of the lake, Stardock. There they
would find the ferry that provided passage from the
shore to the island.

Along the banks of the shore they passed tiny fishing
and farming villages, often no more than an extended
family, little groups of huts and cottages, but all looking
prosperous and well tended. The community of magi-
cians upon Stardock had grown over the years, and now
other communities had developed to meet the de-
mands for food of those upon the island.

Borric urged his horse forward, as they rounded a
small promontory of land, bringing them their first
clear view of the large building upon the island. It

Stardock                  41

nearly shone in the orange light of the sunset, while the
advancing night behind turned the distant sky violet
and grey. "Gods and demons, Uncle Jimmy, look at the
size of that place!"

James nodded. "I had heard they were building a
massive center for learning, but the tales never did it
justice."

Locklear said, "Duke Gardan visited here many years
ago. He told me they had laid a huge foundation for the
building . . . but this is larger than anything I've
seen."

Glancing at the falling light, James said, "If we hurry,
we'll make the island within the next two hours. I'd
rather a warm meal and clean bed than another night
on the trail." Setting heels to his horse's sides, he moved
on.

Under a canopy of brilliant stars on one of the rare
nights when all three moons had yet to rise, they passed
through a small gap between hillocks and entered a
prosperous-looking town. Torches and lanterns blazed
at every storefront—an extravagance in all but the
wealthiest of towns and cities—and children ran after
them, shouting and laughing in the general confusion.
Beggars and prostitutes asked favors or offered them
respectively, and ramshackle taverns stood open to pro-
vide the weary traveler with a cool drink, hot meal, and
warm company.

Locklear shouted over the noise, "Quite a prosperous
little metropolis growing here."

James glanced about at the dirt and squalor. "Quite.
The blessings of civilization," he observed.

Borric said, "Perhaps we should investigate one of
these small pubs—"

"No," answered James. "They're certain to offer you
refreshments at the Academy."

Eriand smiled ruefully. "A sweet and slightly feeble
wine, no doubt. What else would one expect from an
assemblage of old scholars, poking around in musty
piles of manuscripts."

James shook his head. They came to what was obvi-
ously the crossroads of the two main streets in the town

42 Prince of the Blood

and turned toward the lake. As James expected, down
near the waterfront a large pier had been constructed
and several ferries of differing sizes waited to haul
goods and people to the island. Despite the late hour,
workers still stacked sacks of grain against the need of
hauling them the next morning.

Reining in, James called down to the neare&t ferry-
man, "Good evening. We seek passage to Stardock is-
land."

A face, dominated by a hawk-beaked nose, with ill-
cut bangs almost hiding the eyes, was revealed as the
man glanced over his shoulder and said, "I can make
one quick run across, sir. Five coppers a man, sir, but
you need stable your horses here."

Jimmy smiled. "How about ten gold pieces for the lot
of us, including the mounts?"

The man returned to his work. "No bargaining, sir."

Borric rattled his sword a bit as he said, half-jokingly,
"What, you turn your back upon us?"

The man turned again to face them. Touching his
forehead, in slightly sarcastic tones, he said, "Sorry,
young sir, but no disrespect was intended."

Borric was about to respond, when James tapped his
arm with a gloved hand and pointed. In the gloom, just
out of the light of a guttering torch, a young man in a
plain robe of homespun sat at the dockside watching
the interplay calmly.

Borric said, "What?"

"The local constable, I expect."

"Him?" said Borric. "He looks more a beggar or monk
than any sort of fighting man."

The ferryman nodded. "Right you are, sir. He's our
Peacekeeper." He grinned up at James. "You know
your way around, sir. Yes, you do. That's one of the
magicians from the island. The council that runs the
place keeps it peaceful-like over here in Stardock Town,
so they make sure that we have the means. He has no
sword, young sir," he said to Borric, "but with a wave of
his hand he can stun you worse than a poleax to the
noggin'. Believe me, sir, I found that out the hard way."
His voice falling to a near mutter, he added, "Or, it

Stardock                  43

could be the magic what sets you to itching so bad you
wish to die. . . ." Returning to the topic at hand, he
raised his voice, "And as far as hagglin', sir, as much as I
do enjoy a good round of lying about how much injury a
good profit does my children's diet, the fact is the Acad-
emy sets the rates." He scratched his chin. "Suppose
you could haggle with that young spellcaster over
there, but I expect he'll tell you the same. Given the
traffic back and forth, the prices are fair."

"Where is the stable?" James asked, but just then
several small boys pushed from the crowd and offered
to take their horses.

"The boy's will see your mounts to a clean stable."
James nodded and dismounted. The other riders fol-
lowed suit. Instantly, small hands removed reins from
James's grasp as other children did likewise throughout
the company. "Very well," said James, "but see they
have clean stalls and fresh hay and oats. And have a
farrier check shoes, will you?"

James ceased his commentary as something caught
his eye. He turned abruptly, reached out, and yanked a
small boy away from Borric's horse. James lifted the boy
off the ground and looked him hard in the eyes. "Give it
back," he said with a calm note of menace. The boy
began to protest, then when James shook him for em-
phasis, thought better of it and held out a small coin
purse to Borric. Borric's mouth opened as he patted
himself down and then accepted the purse.

James put the boy down but held onto his shirt front,
then leaned down so he was eye to eye with the would-
be cutpurse. "Boy, before I was half your size I knew
more than twice what you'll ever know about thieving.
Do you believe me?" The boy could only nod, so fright-
ened was he at discovery. "Then take my word on the
matter. You haven't the knack. You'll end up at the end
of a short rope waiting for a long drop before you're
twelve if you keep this up. Find an honest trade. Now, if
anything is missing when we leave, I'll know who to
look for, won't I?" The boy nodded again.

James sent him scurrying and turned to the ferryman.
"Then it'll be twenty-four of us on foot to the island."

44 Prince of the Blood

At this, the young magician rose to his feet and said,
"It's not often we have armed soldiers come to the
Academy. May I ask your business?"

"You may ask," said James. "But we'll save our an-
swers for another. If we need your permission, send
word to the magician Pug that old friends come to call."

The young magician raised an eyebrow. "Who should
I tell him comes to call?"

James smiled, "Tell him . . . Baron James of
Krondor and"—he glanced at the twins—"some of his
kinsmen."

A small group waited to welcome the company as the
ferry came to rest against the shore with a bump. A
loading dock was the only sign that this was the en-
trance to perhaps the strangest community upon
Midkemia, the Academy of Magicians. Workers aided
the soldiers as they negotiated the dock. Many were
unsteady after their first ride on a flat-bottomed ferry.
Lanterns hung from the dock posts, illuminating the
welcoming committee.

A short man of middle years, wearing only a black
robe and sandals, was at the center of the group. To his
right stood a striking, dark-skinned woman with iron-
grey hair. An old man in robes stood to his left, a large
huntsman in leather tunic and trousers at his shoulder.
Behind them two younger men, attired in robes, watted
patiently.

As James, Locklear, and the twins stepped off the
ferry, the short man stepped forward and bowed
slightly. "Your Highnesses honor us." Then he said,
"Welcome to Stardock."

Borric and Eriand stepped forward, and awkwardly
held out their hands to exchange a less formal hello with
i-he man. While they were Princes born, used to some
degree of deference and awe at their rank at times,
here before them stood a man legends and tales had
grown around. "Cousin Pug," Borric said, "thank you
for receiving us."

The magician smiled and everyone relaxed. Though
nearly forty-eight years old, he looked a man in his early

Stardock                  45

thirties. Brown eyes almost shone with warmth and,
despite his age, the dark beard couldn't hide an expres-
sion that was almost boyish. This youthful face could not
belong to the man reputed to be the single most power-
ful individual in the world.

Eriand and he quickly exchanged greetings, and
James stepped forward. "Lord Pug . . ."James began.

"Just Pug, James." He smiled. "Around here we have
little use for formal titles within our community. De-
spite King Lyam's generous intentions in creating a tiny
duchy out of Stardock and naming me its lord and mas-
ter, we rarely think of such things." He took James by
the arm. "Come; you remember my wife?"

James and his companions bowed slightly and took
the woman's slender hand. Upon close inspection,
James was surprised at how delicate the woman looked.
He hadn't seen her for over seven years, but she had
been a robust, healthy woman in her early forties, with
suntanned cheeks and raven dark hair. Now she looked
ten years her husband's senior. "My Lady," said James,
bowing over her hand.

The woman smiled and years vanished from her.
"Just Katala, James. How is our son?"

James grinned. "William is happy. He is Acting Cap-
tain of Arutha's Guard. He is well thought of, and I
expect will hold the office when Valdis steps down. And
he courts several lovely ladies of the Princess's retinue.
He's a fine officer and will rise high."

Pug said, "He should be here—" Seeing his wife's
features darken, he said, "I know, dearest, we have put
that argument to rest. Now," he said to the Princes,
"may I present the others?"

When Borric nodded, Pug said, "I think you boys will
remember Kulgan, my old teacher. And Meecham,
who oversees our community's food stores and a thou-
sand other tasks." The two men named both bowed,
and Borric and Eriand shook each hand in turn. The old
magician who had been Pug's teacher moved with diffi-
culty, aided by a cane and the hand of the other man.

Meecham, a powerful-looking man of advancing

Prince of the Blood

years, scolded the old magician like a nagging wife.
"You should have stayed in your room. ..."

Kulgan shook off the aiding hand as Eriand moved to
take Borric's place before Pug's old master. "I'm old,
Meecham, not dying." The man's hair was white as
winter's first snow, and the skin was lined and tanned
like old leather. But the blue eyes were still bright and
alert. "Your Highness," he said to Eriand.

The Prince smiled back. As boys they had delighted
in Kulgan's visits, for the old magician had entertained
them with stories punctuated by small feats of magic.
"Seems we're informal, here. Uncle Kulgan. It's good to
see you again. It's been too long."

The two younger men behind were unknown to
James. Pug said, "These are leaders in our community
and were among the first of those to come to Stardock to
learn the Greater Magic. They are teachers of others,
now. This is Korsh." The first man, tall and bald, bowed
slightly to the Princes. His eyes shone brightly in con-
trast to his very dark skin, and gold earrings hung to his
shoulders.

The second man looked nearly the twin of the first,
save for a full black beard, oiled to ringlets which hung
loosely from his cheeks. "And his brother, Watume."

Pug said, "You must all be tired from your journey."
He glanced around. "I was expecting our daughter,
Gamina, to join us, but she is helping to feed the chil-
dren and I suppose she was detained. You'll meet her
soon enough.

"Now, to your quarters. We have rooms for you in the
Academy. You've missed supper, but we'll have hot
food delivered to your room. In the morning, we can
visit."

The small company moved up the shoreline, to
where they could see past the monstrous building that
dominated the island. Fully forty stories tall at points, its
central focus was a lofty spire that reached another
hundred feet above the roof. It seemed little more than
an unrailed stairway around a column, topped by a tiny
platform. It was illuminated by an odd blue light which

Stardock                  47

shone from below, so that it seemed to almost float
upward, rather than be a thing of stone and mortar.

"Everyone is struck by the sight of our Tower of Test-
ing," Pug remarked. "That is where those of the
Greater Path learn their first mastery, and leave their
apprenticeship behind."

The two dark-skinned brothers cleared their throats
in a meaningful way and Pug smiled. "Some of us have
differing feelings as to how much 'outsiders' should be
allowed to know."

Rounding the shore, they saw a rather busy town at
the other end of the building. Cleaner than its twin
upon the shoreline, it was still its equal in activity. De-
spite the advancing hour, many people were in the
streets upon one errand or another. "Stardock Town,"
said Katala, pride evident in her voice.

Locklear said, "I thought the town upon the shore
was Stardock Town."

Pug said, "So those who live there call it. But this is
the true town upon the island of Stardock. This is where
many of our brothers and sisters in magic live. Here is
where their families abide. Here we have built a haven
for those who have been driven from their communi-
ties by fear and hatred." Pug motioned for his guests to
enter the main Academy building through a large
double door and escorted them inside. At an intersec-
tion of two halls, most of the welcoming committee bid
the guests good night, while Pug led the travelers down
to a series of doors upon each side of a long hall. "We're
lacking in regal accommodations, I'm afraid," he said,
"but these guest cells are warm, dry, and comfortable.
You'll find a basin for washing, and if you leave your
dirty travel clothing outside, someone will see it is
washed. The garderobe is at the far end of the hall.
Now, rest well and we'll have a long talk in the morn-
ing."

Pug bid them good night and the twins quickly found
the food waiting for them in their cells. Up and down
the hall the night was full of the noise of soldiers shed-
ding traveling armor and arms, splashing water, and the
clink of knives against serving plates. Soon all were







Prince of the Blood

gone from the hall, save a puzzled-looking Locklear
standing next to James. "What ails you?"

James shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. Tired, or . . ." he
let his voice trail off. He thought of Kulgan's age and
Katala's less than healthy appearance. "It's just that the
years have not been kind to some fine people." Then his
manner brightened, "Or it could be'my youthful crimes
coming back to haunt me. I'm just not comfortable with
the idea of spending the night in any room referred to
as a 'cell.'"

With a wry smile and a nod of agreement, Locklear
bid his companion good night. A moment later, James
stood alone in the long, empty hall. Something was not
right. But he left that feeling for the next day. Now he
needed food and a wash.

With the sound of a bird chirping outside his window,
James was awake. As was his habit, the young Baron of
the Prince's court rose before the sun. To his surprise,
he discovered his clothing had been washed and folded
and left just inside his door. A light sleeper by nature
and quick to full wakefulness by training, he was dis-
comforted that anyone could have opened his door and
not disturbed him. James pulled on the clean tunic and
trousers, foregoing the heavy traveling boots. Since
childhood he had preferred bare feet, and over the
years it had become something of a common joke
among the palace staff that should one enter Baron
James's office, one was likely to find his boots removed
and tucked away under his desk.

He made his way to the outer doorway, moving
soundlessly. He was certain that everyone else was still
asleep, but his stealth was not born of consideration, it
was habitual. As a boy in the Poor Quarter of the city,
James had earned his livelihood as a thief, and moving
without sound was second nature.

Opening the outside door, he slipped through and
closed it silently behind. The sky had already turned
slate grey and the eastern horizon was showing the
blush of the approaching sunrise. The only sounds were
the calling of birds and the thud of a single axe falling, as

Stardock                  49

someone cut wood for an early morning fire. James
moved away from the huge building of the Academy
and made his way along the path that led to the village.

The sound of wood being cut fell away as that un-
known farmer or fisherman's wife finished the task. Af-
ter a hundred yards, the path diverged, one part
heading toward the village while a smaller path led
toward the lakeshore. James decided he was in little
mood for idle morning chatter with townspeople, so he
moved toward the water.

In the gloom he almost didn't see the black-robed
figure until he was nearly upon him. Pug turned and
smiled. He pointed eastward. "This is my favorite part
of the day."

James nodded. "I thought I'd be the first up."

Pug kept his eyes fastened upon the horizon. "No, I
sleep very little."

"The wear doesn't show. I don't think you look a day
older than when I last saw you seven years ago."

Pug nodded. "There are things about myself I am just
discovering, James. When I took upon myself the man-
tel of sorcerer . . ." his voice trailed off. "We've never
really talked, have we?"

James shook his head. "Not about anything profound,
if that's what you mean. It's not exactly as if our paths
cross frequently. We first met at Arutha and Anita's
wedding," he ticked off on his fingers as he spoke, "and
again after the battle at Sethanon." Both men glanced
at each other and nothing needed to be said between
them about the cataclysmic battle that had taken place
there. "Then twice since in Krondor."

Pug returned his attention to the east, where the first
hot pink and orange of the sun's rays struck the clouds.
"When I was a boy I lived in Crydee. I was nothing
more than a Far Coast peasant lad. I worked in the
kitchen with my foster family and had ambitions to be a
soldier." He fell silent.

James waited. He had little desire to talk about his
past, though it was well enough known to anyone of
rank in the city of Krondor, and to everyone in the
palace. "I was a thief."

50 Prince of the Blood

"Jimmy the Hand," said Pug. "Yes, but what sort of
boy were you?"

James considered the question for a moment, then
answered. "Brash. That's the first word that comes to
mind." He watched as the dawn unfolded. Neither man
spoke for several minutes as each saw the fingers of light
striking the clouds hanging in the east. The fiery rim of
the disc of the sun began to appear. James said, "I ...
was also foolish at times. I had no idea of there being any
limit to what I could do. I have no doubt that had I
continued that existence, I'd have finally taken one big
chance too many. I'd most likely be dead by now."

"Brash," Pug repeated. "And foolish at times." He
indicated with his head the Academy. "Not unlike the
royal twins."

James smiled. "Not unlike the Princes."

"What else?"

James considered. Without false modesty, he said,
"Brilliant, I suppose you could say, or gifted at least.
Things often seemed obvious to me that confused many
of those around me. At least the world seemed a more
obvious place then. I'm not so sure I wasn't a great deal
smarter as a boy than I am now as a man."

Pug motioned that James should walk with him and
started slow progress toward the water's edge. "When I
was a boy, my modest ambitions seemed the most
splendid things. Now ..."

"You seem troubled," James ventured.

"Not as you would understand it," Pug answered.
James turned and in the grey light saw an unreadable
expression on Pug's face. "Tell me of the attempt upon
Borric. You were closest to him."

James said, "News travels fast."

"It always does. And any coming conflict between the
Kingdom and Kesh is of concern for us."

"Given your location, I can understand. You are a
window upon the Empire." He gestured south, toward
the not-distant border. James told Pug what he knew of
the attempt, and finished by saying, "That the assassin
was Keshian is hardly in doubt, but all those clues that
point to the Royal House of Kesh being at the root of the

Stardock                  51

attempt . . . it's too clear. I think someone seeks to
dupe us." He turned as they lost sight of the town,
regarding the upper stories of the Academy. "You have
many Keshians here?"

Pug nodded. "And from Roldem, Queg, the Peaks of
the Quor, and other places. Here we pay little attention
to matters of nation. We are concerned with other is-
sues."

James said, "Those two who met with us last
night ..."

"Watume and Kbrsh, yes. They are Keshian. From the
city of Kesh itself." Before James could speak, Pug said,
"They are not Imperial agents. I would know. Trust me.
They think nothing of politics. In fact, if anything, they
are too eager for us to be apart from the rest of the
world."

James turned for a moment, to regard the hulking
edifice of the Academy. "This is a Kingdom duchy, at
least in name. But many have wondered aloud what it is
you build here. There is something about this place that
strikes many in the court as odd."

"And dangerous," Pug added. James turned to study
the magician's face. "Which is why I work diligently to
see that the Academy never partakes in national con-
flicts. On any side."

James considered his words. "There are few among
the nobility who are as comfortable with the idea of
magic as our King and his brother. Growing up with
Kulgan in the household as they did, they think nothing
about it. But others ..."

"Still would see us driven from cities and towns, or
hung, or burned at stakes. I know." Pug said, "In the
twenty years we have worked here, much has changed
. . . yet so little has changed."

Finally James said, "Pug, I feel something odd in you.
I detected it last night. What is it?"

Pug's eyes narrowed as he studied James. "Strange
you should observe that, when those closest to me don't
see it." He reached the edge of the lake and halted.
With an outstretched hand, he pointed. A family of

52 Prince of the Blood

snowy egrets were preening themselves and squawking
in the shallow of the lake. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

James could only agree as he took in his surroundings.
"This is a beautiful place."

"It wasn't so when I first came here," answered Pug.
"The legend is that this lake was formed by a falling
star, hence its name. But this island was not the cooled
body of that star, which I calculate could have been no
larger than this." He held his hands apart about six
inches. "I think the star cracked the crust of the earth
and lava rose up to create this island. It was rocky and
barren when I first came here, with only a bit of tena-
cious grass at the water's edge, and a few hearty bushes
here and there. I brought what you see here, the grass,
the trees, the animals." He grinned, and years vanished
from his face. "The birds found their own way over."

James considered the groves of trees nearby and the
deep meadow grass he saw everywhere. "A not incon-
siderable feat."

Pug waved away the comment as if it was a common
enough conjurer's trick. "Will there be war?"

James let out an audible sigh. It held the sound of
resignation. "That's the question, isn't it?" he asked rhe-
torically. "No, that's not the question. There is always
war. The question is when and between which nations.
If I have any say in the matter, there'll be no war be-
tween the Kingdom and Kesh in my lifetime. But then,
I may not have much to say about the matter."

"You ride a dangerous course."

"It's not the first time. I wish circumstances could
have spared the Princes the need to go."

"They are their father's sons," observed Pug. "They
must go where duty requires. Even if it means risking
much to gain little."

Pug resumed his walk along the shore and James fell
into step at his side.

James could only nod at that. "Such is the burden of
their birthright."

"Well," said Pug, "there are short respites, such as this
one, along the way. Why don't you go over there?" He
pointed to a stand of willow trees masking the shore.

Stardock                  53

"On the other side is a small inlet fed by a hot springs. It
is a most invigorating experience. Soak in the hot water
a bit, then jump into the lake. It will set you right and
you can be back in time to join us for the morning
meal."

James smiled. "Thank you, it sounds just the thing.
I'm so used to having much work before breaking my
fast. A pleasant way to fill an hour or so will be wel-
comed."

Pug turned back toward the town and after a few
steps said, "Oh, be careful of swimming in the shore
grasses. It's easy to get turned about and lose your way.
The wind makes them bend toward the island, so
should you get lost, simply swim in that direction until
you feel land underfoot. Then walk out."

"Thank you. I'll be cautious. Good morning.

"Good morning, James. I'll see you at breakfast."

As Pug returned to the Academy, James headed to-
ward the stand of trees the magician had indicated.

Passing between large boles, pushing aside hanging
greenery like a curtain, he discovered a narrow barren
path that led down the side of a small dell, toward the
lakeshore. Near the water's edge, he could see steam
rising in the morning coolness. James inspected a small
pool that was obviously fed from underground, as the
steam all rose from that one location only. A small rivu-
let of water overspilled one side and ran to the shore,
joining the lake there. It was but no more than twenty
yards from pool to lake. He glanced about. The pool and
this small stretch of shoreline were screened on three
sides by trees affording him ample privacy. James re-
moved his tunic and trousers and stuck a foot in the
pool. It was almost hotter than he cared for in his own
bath! He sank in and let the warmth infuse him, re-
laxing tense muscles.

Tense muscles? He wondered. He had just awoke.
Why should he feel tension. His own voice answered,
because much risk is undertaken sending two boys to
play at a game ofKeshian court politics older than the
house of conDoin. He sighed. Pug was a strange man
but a wise and powerful one; he was an adopted kins-

54 Prince of the Blood

man to the King and a Duke. Perhaps James should ask
Pug's opinion. Then he thought against it. As much as
Pug was reputed to have been a savior to the Kingdom
in years past—there was something odd about Stardock
and the manner in which it was governed. James de-
cided he'd find out as much as possible about what went
on here before speaking in confidence to the magician.

Gods, how I hate waking up tired, he thought. Then
he lay back as comfortably as possible to meditate upon
his troubles. The soothing heat seemed to creep into his
bones, and minutes later his mind floated. He ran down
a street, and a hand grabbed him by the arm. He closed
his eyes in remembrance. His first memory. He could
have been no more than three. It was his mother, pull-
ing him inside her whore's crib, out of the sight of
slavers who were prowling the night. He remembered
being held tightly while she clamped her hand over his
mouth. Later she would be gone. When he was older,
he knew she was dead, but all he could remember of
that night was the man with the loud voice shouting at
her and hitting her and the red everywhere. Jimmy put
the ugly memory aside as he fell into the warmth of the
water. Soon he dozed.

He awoke without moving. From the angle of the sun,
he couldn't have dozed for more than minutes, perhaps
a half-hour at best. The morning was quiet, but some-
thing had disturbed him. He had somewhat outgrown
his childhood habit of coming to his feet with a dagger
in his hand—it had proved quite disturbing to the ser-
vants in the palace—but he still kept a dagger close by.
Opening his eyes he moved them first, and saw nothing
in his field of vision. He turned his head and again could
see nothing above the rim of the pond. He slowly el-
bowed himself up, feeling foolish as full wakefulness
returned—who would be a threat here upon the island
of Stardock?

James peeked up above the rim of the pool and found
nothing. There was a strange feeling about the place
and he couldn't find a name for it. It was as if he had
entered a room a moment after someone had left

Stardock                  55

through another door; without knowing why, he knew
someone had just past beyond his view.

Instincts born of city dangers set off a primitive alarm
in his head, an alarm that had saved him from danger
too many times before to be ignored. Yet this alarm
didn't have the echoing ring of danger to it, rather it
was excitement. Years before, James had learned the
discipline of the night, remaining motionless, keeping
one's mind distant from the concerns of the moment so
sudden movement wouldn't trigger a response. He re-
laxed his breathing and kept still. He glanced over the
rim again, and the echo of another's passing was gone.
The small inlet looked as it had before.

He lay back again and sought to recapture the warm
calm that had finally overtaken him, but he couldn't
relax his mind. An excitement began to build in James,
as if something glorious was approaching, and there was
a sadness, too, as if something miraculous had just
passed within touching distance and left him behind.
Odd feelings of giddy delight and childish tears clashed
inside him.

Lacking a satisfying answer, he heaved himself out of
the pool and raced headlong for the lake, yelling a boy's
shout of frustration released. He dove under and came
up spitting water. A sound of relief escaped him as the
cold lake seemed to shock him to full wakefulness.

He was an indifferent swimmer but enjoyed the occa-
sion from time to time. Like most children of Krondor's
Poor Quarter, when the hot winds of summer blew he
had sought relief at the harborside, diving from the
piers into the salt water and refuse. The sensation of
clean water upon his body was something he had re-
mained ignorant of until well into his thirteenth year.

James found himself swimming lazily toward the far
side of the inlet. The trees and reeds cut into the water,
providing a series of narrow passages to whatever lay
upon the other side of the inlet. He picked his way
through, half-swimming, half-paddling, until he came
to a thick stand of reeds and grasses. He saw the grasses
and reeds were wide-spaced, allowing ample vision of
the shoreline. He turned upon his back and kicked la-

56 Prince of the Blood

zily. Above him, the morning sky turned brilliant, as the
sun was now full upon the day. The clouds were white
and beautiful as they sped upon their course. Then he
was in the grasses, seeing stalks rise high above his head
as he felt their ticklish caress while he swam. After a few
minutes of swimming this way, he righted himself and
glanced about.

Things appeared different and the way back not ap-
parent. Calm by nature, he found the notion of swim-
ming in circles within the reeds an unappealing one but
not a fearful one. He remembered Pug's words and saw
the grasses all bending to his left. He would simply swim
to where he felt ground underfoot and walk out.

Within a minute, he felt the shore under his toes. He
walked through thick reeds and tall grasses, toward a
line of trees at the water's edge. The hanging branches
and thick greenery plunged him into shadows While he
was still up to his chest in the water. He could only see a
few feet in any direction, and the morning light made
everything a pattern of murk and blinding blue-white
sky above. James followed the rising bottom until he
was in water below his waist. He felt foolish to be strid-
ing around naked, but as there was no one about, he
would only need a short scamper back to the pool
where he had left his clothing.

James took a step and suddenly found himself falling
into deep water. A current had eroded a small channel
to a depth more than his six feet and he came up sput-
tering and blind. He paddled to the far side and again
felt land under him.

A birdcall above him made him wonder if the crea-
ture was laughing at his clumsy progress. Sighing, he
continued toward the shore, which was but a few yards
away, judging by the glimpses of land he got between
the trees. With the water at his knees, he was con-
fronted with an impassable barrier of trees and reeds, a
rocky overhang rising up to shoulder height. He moved
to his right, toward what seemed a closer exit from the
foliage that conspired to trap him, and again felt a drop
beneath his feet. He settled down to chest-high water
and pushed through a very thick curtain of reeds. His

Stardock                  57

progress was slow and he could only move a few feet at
a time. His overwhelming feeling was one of unalloyed
stupidity for finding himself so distant from where he
wanted to be. Pleasant swim before breakfast, indeed.

As his knees brushed a ridge of lake bottom, signaling
an end to the channel he was wading through, he
parted the reeds before him. Abruptly, James found
himself confronted by a sight totally unexpected. Fair
skin, white as a newbom's, was revealed merely a yard
before him. And by circumstance of his depressed per-
spective, he was staring directly at the naked backside
of a young woman. Her nearly white-blond hair hung
wet from her head as she squeezed water from it, a pose
which conspired to display her hips and buttocks in a
slightly exaggerated and flattering pose.

James's breath caught in his chest. The same mixed
feeling of alarm and excitement struck him like a ham-
mer blow. He felt as embarrassed at his intrusion into
her privacy as he would have felt had she found him at
his own pool. Conflicting signals to hold motionless,
move back, say something, not be discovered, all
clashed together and paralyzed him.

Again his boyhood training overroad conscious
thought and he froze in place. Then another thought
intruded, and he felt his stomach tighten as a hot rush of
excitement gathered in his stomach and groin. Almost
aloud he said. It's about the most beautiful bottom I've
ever seen.

Instantly the young woman turned about, her hands
flying up to her mouth, as if startled by a noise. In that
instant, James discovered that the rest of her was equal
to what he had already seen. Her figure was slender,
like a dancer's, and her arms and neck were long and
elegant, her stomach flat, her breasts not large, but full
and lovely. As her hand dropped away from her face, he
saw a high forehead, fine cheekbones, and pale, slightly
pink lips. Her eyes, wide in astonishment, were the blue
of midwinter's ice. All these details were etched in his
mind in an instant. A thousand instants of recognition
flooded through James, and in each he knew the young
woman before him was at once the most wonderful and

58 Prince of the Blood

terrifying sight he had ever beheld. Then those beauti-
ful pale blue eyes narrowed and suddenly pain ex-
ploded in James's head.

He fell back as if struck by a weapon, and his voice
cried out hollow in his own ears as he went beneath the
water's surface. Sharp knives of hot agony filled his
mind as water filled his mouth. James sank into' the
murk of the water as he lost consciousness.

In a place which was not a place James swam, drown-
ing in memories: his playing upon the street cobbles
and never a moment passing without the fear. Strang-
ers were a danger, yet every day brought strangers into
his mother's house. Men who were loud and frightening
passed the boy each day, some ignoring him, others
attempting to amuse him for a brief moment with a pat
upon the head or an odd word.

Then the night when she died and no one came: the
man with the crooked smile had heard him cry and fled.
Jimmy had found his way out of the house, his child's
feet padding through the sticky blood on the floor.

Then the fights with the other boy for the bone and
the bread crust left out behind the inns and taverns,
eating the raw wheat and corn that spilled from under
the grain wagons at the dockside. And the drops of
bitter wine in the almost empty bottle. The occasional
coin from a generous passerby to buy a hot pie. Hunger
was always there.

A voice in the dark, no face to remember, asked him
if he was clever. He had been clever. Very clever. His
beginning with the Mockers.

Danger around, at all times. No friends, no allies, only
the rules of the guild to protect Jimmy the Hand. But he
was gifted; the Upright Man forgave small trespasses
from one who brought in so much wealth at such an
early age.

Then the man with the crooked smile reappeared.
Jimmy had been twelve. It had been nothing of proud
honor and hot revenge. A boy thief had crept in and
dosed the drunk's wine with a poison purchased from a
man dealing in such things. The man with the crooked

Stardock                  59

smile died without knowing his murderer's reasons, his
face blackening as his tongue protruded through swol-
len lips and his eyes bulging, while the son of a mur-
dered whore watched through a crack in the ceiling of
the flop house where he lay. Jimmy had felt no triumph,
but somehow he hoped his mother rested better. He
never knew his mother's name. He felt as if he wanted
to cry but didn't know how. He had cried twice . . .
no, three times in honesty. When Anita lay stricken and
when he thought Arutha dead. That had been grief, and
it was not a sign of weakness or shame. But he had cried
in the darkness when trapped in the cave with the rock
serpent, before Duke Martin had saved him. He could
never admit to his fear.

Other images: his incredible, almost inhuman skills in
the calling. His discovery that his fate was linked to
great things when he helped to hide the Prince and
Princess of Krondor from their captors during the reign
of Mad King Rodric. His death duel with a Nighthawk
upon the rooftops of the city, saving Arutha's life,
though he had not known it at the time. His travels
twice to the Northlands and the great battles of Armen-
gar and Sethanon, and the peace that followed after the
battle to stem the return of the Dragon Host.

Now he was James.

His service to Arutha and his reward by being ele-
vated to a place in his court, his title, and, later, another
title, and his being named Chancellor of Krondor, first
in rank after Duke Gardan in the Prince's court, all
became a haze of pleasant thoughts, the only pleasant
thoughts in his life. Faces passed, some named, others
nameless. Thieves, assassins, nobles, peasants. Women.
He remembered many, for early on he had developed a
taste for the attentions of women and, as a rising young
nobleman, had his choice of many companions. But
there was always something lacking. Something impor-
tant. Then a nude figure wading in the lake as she
squeezed water from her hair. The most stunning vision
he had beheld.

Then a face with pale blue eyes, and lips like pink
roses. A concerned face, which peered into James's be-

60 Prince of the Blood

ing. Something magical and beautiful burst within
James, and again he wanted to cry. A sadness filled him
with awful joy and he cringed before those clear eyes.
They looked inside and saw things, and he had no
secrets. He had no secrets! I am lost! he cried out and a
child whimpered at the death of his mother, and a boy
cried as a young woman lay dying from an assassin's
bolt, and a youth cried as the only man he had come to
trust lay dead before him in his chambers, and a man
cried for all the old pain and torment, the fear and
loneliness that had lived within his breast since the day
of his birth.

James awoke upon the shore, a cry of pain and fear
upon his lips. He sat bolt upright, his arm above his
head, a child avoiding a blow from above. He was still
damp, and naked. A voice said, "The pain will pass."

James turned, and as he did so the terrible aching
inside slipped away. He turned to find the young
woman sitting upon the shore a few feet away from
him. She sat with her legs pulled up before her, arms
around her knees, still without her clothing.

James had never so much wished to flee in his life. No
experience filled him with such nameless dread as see-
ing this beautiful young woman sitting near. Tears rose
unbidden to his eyes. "Who are you?" he whispered. Yet
as he wished to flee, so much more so did he long to be
close to this woman.

Slowly she rose, unself-conscious in her nudity, and
came to stand before him. She knelt until her face was
before his. A voice sounded inside his mind: I am
Gamina, James.

Fear again visited James, and he found himself unable
to move. He said, "You spoke inside my head."

"Yes," she answered aloud. "You must understand
that I can see your thoughts, hear them"—she seemed
to grope for a concept—"those words are not right. But
I know what you think unless you try to keep your
thoughts from me."

He attempted to gather his wits about him as he
fought down the aching pain inside. "What happened?
Over there . . ." He indicated the reed-filled pool.

Stardock                  61

"Your thoughts startled me, and I reacted without
reason. I can defend myself, as you discovered."

James raised a hand to his head, a memory of pain
there. "Yes," was all he could say.

She reached out and touched his cheek softly. "I am
sorry. It was not something I would have done know-
ingly. I can cause much harm to the mind. It is one of
the ways my talents could be abused."

James found the touch of her hand both reassuring
and disturbing. A fearful thrill ran from his chest to his
groin. Softly he asked, "Who are you?"

She smiled and pain and fear fled from James. "I am
Gamina. I am Pug and Katala's daughter." Then she
leaned forward and softly kissed his lips. "I am who you
have been seeking, and you are who I have sought."

James felt hot desire rise up within, but a giddy fear-
fulness came with it. No stranger to a woman's em-
brace, he suddenly felt a child with his first stolen
moment of love. Words he had never thought to hear
himself utter came unbidden. "I am frightened," he
whispered.

"Don't be," she whispered back.

Holding him close, she spoke to his mind. When I
stunned you, you fell back into the water. Had I not
pulled you out, you would have drowned. As I revived
you, your mind was open to me, and mine to you. Had
you the ability, you would know me as well as I know
you, my Jimmy.

James's own voice sounded small and wounded in his
ears as he spoke. "How can it ... ?"

"It is," she answered. Then she sat back, rubbing salt
tears from his face. "Come, let me show you." Like a
baby, he let himself be gathered to her breast, and as
her hands caressed his head and shoulders, her voice
spoke into his mind. You will never be alone again.

Borric and Eriand sat beside each other, enjoying the
array of foods for the morning meal. Besides the usual
Kingdom fare, a large number ofKeshian delicacies also
were provided. Pug's family as well as Kulgan and

62 Prince of the Blood

Meecham dined with the guests. Two places were
empty, next to Katala and Locklear.

Borric chewed a mouthful of fine cheese and wine,
while Eriand said, "Cousin Pug, how many people live
here now?"

Pug picked lightly at his plate, not eating much. He
smiled at his wife and said, "Katala attends the daily
business of governing this community." '

Katala said, "We number nearly a thousand families,
both here and on the shore. Here, upon the island—"
Her words fell away. All at the table turned to see the
cause of Katala's truncated speech.

The door at the end of the hall had opened and James
entered, escorting a young woman dressed in a simple
lavender dress cinched about the waist with a rainbow-
colored belt.

Borric, Eriand, and Locklear rose, as the girl hurried
to Pug and kissed him upon the cheek. Then she looked
into Katala's eyes for a long moment, as if speaking,
though no words were exchanged. The older woman's
eyes began to brim with tears as a smile spread across
her face.           .                          i

Pug turned to look at James, expectantly.

Locklear said, "James—"

James cleared his throat, and in a self-conscious tone
of voice, like a schoolboy reciting before his master,
said, "Lord Pug, I—I have the honor to ask permis-
sion ... to ask for the hand of your daughter in mar-
riage."

Borric and Eriand's eyes widened in disbelief, then
both looked at Locklear. James's life-long companion
since coming to the palace sat down heavily with a
stunned expression equal to the twins' own. Shaking his
head, all he could say was, "Sink me!"

Chapter Four

Concerns

Borric shook his head.

Eriand asked, "What's bothering you?"

Borric said, "What?"

"You've been shaking your head 'no' as you've been
walking for the last couple of minutes. You're arguing
with yourself again."

Borric made a sound between a sigh and a grunt. "I'm
worried about Uncle Jimmy."

Eriand turned slightly as he picked up the pace so he
could examine his brother's face while they walked.
The evening sky was turning inky as the middle moon
hadn't risen yet. But the balmy evening promised ro-
mance for those inclined and able to find willing part-
ners. It was upon such a search the twins were now
embarking. As they headed to where the ferry barge
was tied, Eriand said, "It's not usual for you to concern
yourself with others, let alone someone as capable as
Uncle Jimmy."

"That's why I'm worried," said Borric, halting to em-
phasize the point. He poked his finger on Eriand's
chest. " There's nothing dumber in the world than a
man with an erection,' he used to tell us, right?"

Eriand laughed and nodded. "Except Uncle Locky. It
just makes him that much more cunning."

"Only when it comes to finding a warm place to put
his great sword. Otherwise he's just as stupid as the rest
of us."

"The rest of us except Uncle Jimmy."

"Right," agreed Borric. "My point exactly. He's had
his share, we both know that. But he's always kept them
at a distance and never made stupid promises. Now he
meets this woman and . . ." He paused, at a loss for
words.

Prince of the Blood

"Like magic."

"Exactly!" said Borric. "And what better place to find
magic than an island of magicians."

Eriand put a restraining hand on Borric as his brother
started to walk again. "You think this is some sort of
spell? An enchantment?"

"Ah, a very special enchantment," Said a gravelly
voice from the dark.

Both brothers turned to see a stout figure sitting upon
a tree stump not ten feet away. Because the man had
been motionless, he had remained unseen in the gloom
until he spoke. Coming closer, the young Princes saw
the speaker was the old magician, Kulgan.

"What do you mean?" asked Borric, as if his suspi-
cions had been confirmed.

Kulgan laughed. He stuck out his hand for a moment
and then waved it impatiently. "Well just don't stand
there. Give an old man some help. My knees are older
than creation!"

Eriand assisted the old magician as Kulgan pulled
himself upright, one hand in Eriand's, the other on a
large wooden staff. The magician continued, "I'll walk
with you to the ferry landing. I assume you're going
across to find some trouble. Boys your age always are
interested in trouble."

"The enchantment?" said Borric impatiently.

The old man laughed. "You know, when your grand-
father was a little older than you, he was just as unwill-
ing to wait. When he wanted an answer, he wanted it
right now, by damn. It took a lot of years for him to get
over that. Your father has the same flaw, but he hides it
better. Arutha always was among the best I've known
for recognizing limits."

Eriand said, "He has that knack, except when it
comes to us."

Kulgan fixed both brothers with a baleful gaze. "Lim-
its? What do you spoiled children know of limits? Oh,
maybe you've had to use your swords now and again,
but limits?" He halted for a moment, and leaned upon
the staff. Tapping his head with one finger, he said,
"This. Your brain. When you bring all your faculties to

Concerns                  65

bear on a problem, try every conceivable solution in
your mind, and still have no solution, then you'll under-
stand what limits I'm talking about."

"Father always said you were one of his most de-
manding teachers," said Eriand with a grin.

"Ha!" snorted Kulgan. "Now Father Tully, there was
an exacting taskmaster." His eyes looked off in the dis-
tance, reflecting for a moment, then he continued, '"It's
a pity you never knew him. You were babies when he
died. Tragic loss. One of the finest minds I've ever
known . . . even if he was a priest," he added, unable
to resist the jab at his old debating partner, and feeling
sadness at the lack of a rejoinder.

Borric said, "Were you joking about the enchantment
on Jimmy?"

Kulgan said, "You are very young, my Prince." With a
more than playful whack to Borric's leg for emphasis, he
added, "You don't know half of everything yet."

"Ow," Borric said, reflexively dancing back.

As Eriand began to laugh, Kulgan gave him a bark on
the shins as well, saying, "Just to keep things even."

As both brothers made a show of being in pain, Kul-
gan said, "Now pay attention. I'm old and I don't have
the time to waste repeating myself."

When the twins ceased their little dances of distress,
Kulgan said, "The sort of enchantment I am speaking of
is nothing you can teach. It's not of the sort of magic
men can employ at whim. It's a magic the gods have
given to only a few lucky men and women. It's the
magic of a love so real and profound that nothing can
change you back once you've known it." His eyes again
sought distant horizons as he said, "I'm so old I have to
work to remember last night's dreams. Yet there are
times boyhood recollections come to me as if they were
but moments ago." He looked at Borric, as if searching
for something familiar in his young face. After a quiet
moment, he said, "Your grandfather was a passionate
man, and your uncle is, as well. So's your father, though
you'd not know it to look at him—he was trapped by
your mother almost from the moment they met, though
he was too thick to know it. Your Aunt Carline was set

66 Prince of the Blood

upon marrying your Uncle Laurie within days of meet-
ing him.

"The point is that you will feel needs in you as you get
older, needs that carousing through alehouses with net-
menders' daughters will not satisfy, no matter how rosy
their cheeks, sweet their laughter, or soft their arms
may be. And the bedsilks of nobility's daughters will
lose their luster as well."

Both Borric and Eriand exchanged glances, and Er-
land said, "That will be some time to come, I think."

Kulgan silenced him with another smack to his shins.
"Don't interrupt. I don't care if you are a prince. I've
whacked better men than you and of higher rank. Your
uncle, the King, was a poor student and saw the flat of
my hand more than once." He sighed. "Now, where
was I? Oh, yes, true love. You'll find as you get older that
passion grows and the need for a true mate deepens.
Your father found it, Carline found it, your Uncle Mar-
tin found it. The King did not."

Borric said, "He loves the Queen, I'm certain."

"Oh, in his way, certainly. She's a fine woman and I'll
not hear any man say otherwise, but there's love and
there's what your young Baron James has discovered.
He's a changed man, no doubt about it. You watch and
learn. If you're fortunate, you might see what you will
likely not know."

Borric sighed and looked at the ground. "Because I
am to be King?"

Kulgan nodded. "Precisely. You're not as thick as I
took you to be. You will marry for the good of the nation.
Oh, you'll have plenty of opportunity to satisfy itches
with willing ladies of many ranks, no doubt. I know your
uncle has given you at least a half-dozen cousins born on
the wrong side of the blanket. Several of them will no
doubt be rising in the ranks of the nobility by the time
it's over with and done. But that's not the same thing.

"James has found that person whom the gods placed
here to make his life complete. Don't doubt for a mo-
ment that it was fated, and don't think for a moment
that he was taken unawares. What seems to you to be a
hasty act of rash thoughtlessness is in fact a recognition

Concerns                 67

of something so profound that only one who has known
it can understand. So, do you understand now?"

"We should let him alone?" said Eriand.

"Precisely," said Kulgan, pleased with himself. He
smiled as he studied the Princes for a moment. "You
know, you two are nowhere near the stupid pair of
street thugs you resemble. Blood will tell after all, I
guess. Now, you'll most likely forget everything I've
told you five minutes after you find an alehouse with a
card game and a couple of amply endowed serving
women looking to snag a rich gift from a young noble.

"But with luck, at some critical time in your life, you
will recall what I've said. It will help you make choices
you must make, both of you, for the good of your na-
tion."

Borric shrugged. "It seems that the last few weeks
have been dedicated to constantly reminding us of our
duty."

"As it should be." Kulgan studied the boys. "You have
been placed upon a high seat, Borric, and you one step
below, Eriand. You are not given all the power your
rank carries for your simple pleasures and amusements.
They come to you in payment for terrible sacrifices.
Your grandfather made them, as did your uncle, and
your father. The ghosts of the many men who died
•- under your father's command haunt his nights. And
while every one of those men died willingly in service
to their King and Prince, still their deaths weigh heavily
upon Arutha. That's the sort of man your father is. You
will come to know him better as you get older."

Both brothers said nothing. At last Kulgan turned
back toward the imposing edifice ofStardock. "It's turn-
ing cool. I'll find me a fire to warm myself next to. You
go find whatever trouble you can." After he took a few
steps, Kulgan halted, turned^and said, "And be cautious
of some of our fisher lads. Make free with their women
and they'll have their cleaning knives out before they
remember you're royalty." He studied the twins' faces a
long moment, then added, "Take care of yourselves,
boys."

Borric and Eriand watched the old magician head

68 Prince of the Blood

back to the entrance of the main building of the Acad-
emy, then resumed their walk to the ferry. As they
came to the beach, Eriand said, "What do you think?"

Borric said, "About what he said? I think he's an old
man with a lot of strange ideas."

Eriand nodded in agreement as they signaled to the
ferryman they wished to cross to the beckoning lights of
the distant town.

The wind blew softly as Gamina and James walked
along the shore, silently sharing the evening. James felt
both invigorated and exhausted. In his thirty-seven
years he had shared little of himself with anyone. True
intimacy seemed impossible for him, but in Gamina he
found someone able to break past previously unbreach-
able defenses. No, it wasn't that way, he amended si-
lently to himself. She hadn't broken past anything. She
simply found the door waiting for her to open.

A scented breeze blew out of the south, the fragrance
of distant orchards and fields in bloom across the Vale of
Dreams. Middle moon rose in the east, a copper disc in
the dark night approaching. James turned to his in-
tended bride. He marveled at the arch other neck, the
way her fine pale hair seeme4 to float about her face
and shoulders, a nimbus of white tinged smoky grey in
the twilight. Her pale eyes regarded him, then she
smiled and his spirit leaped. "I love you," she said.

"I love you," he said, not quite believing his own joy.
"And I must leave you."

She turned to watch the moon for a long moment,
then her thoughts came to James. No, my love. My time
here is over. I will journey to Kesh with you.

James gathered her into his arms. "It's dangerous.
Even for one of your gifts, there will be peril." He kissed
her neck and felt her shiver slightly in response. "I
would be more content within my mind with you safely
here."

Would you? she asked. / wonder. . . . She stepped
slightly away and studied his face in the fading light. "I
fear you might retreat within yourself, Jimmy, and after
a time you would convince yourself what we have

Concerns                 69

found here was an illusion and those barriers against
love and pain would then be restored, stronger, higher,
and more firmly buttressed than ever before. You would
find a reason to journey back to Krondor another way,
and you would find reasons to postpone your return to
Stardock. For a time you would convince yourself that
you intended to come for me as soon as possible, but
there would be one reason then another to keep you
away. And always one reason or another to keep you
from sending for me. After a time, you would simply
put all this away from your heart and forget."

James looked stung. Newly discovered feelings ram-
paged through him and his usual pose of relaxed confi-
dence was absent. He looked nothing more than the
boy he had never truly been, confused and disturbed by
the loving attentions of a woman. "Do you think so little
of me, after all?"

Touching his cheek, she smiled, and the warmth of
her loving gaze swept away the fear again, as it had a
dozen times during the day. Gamina had read James's
heart and soul when she had revived him upon the
lakeshore and had shared herself with him, both her
body and heart. Still, trust for James was grudgingly
surrendered, even to the woman who had touched him
as no other had. "No, love, I do not underestimate you.
But I also do not underestimate fear. My talents are not
just magic as others upon this island know it. My skills
are also in healing the mind and heart. I can share
things with those who are weakened in spirit and sick of
mind, and help them, sometimes. I can listen to dreams.
And I have seen what fear can do. You fear to be left
again as you were by your mother."

James knew she was right. Even as she spoke, the
feelings of that dreadful night returned, when as a child
of six or seven he stole out of his mother's crib, the
stickiness upon the floor her blood, the horror of know-
ing only utter abandonment. Unbidden tears came to
James's eyes. Gamina gathered him into her arms and
let him vent his pain. You will never be alone again,
came her thoughts in his mind.

He stood motionless, holding her as if she were his

70 Prince of the Blood

only connection to life. And as it had before, the pain
slipped away, leaving behind a tired but warm and re-
lieved feeling. Something angry and festering within
him for years had been lanced, and poisonous fear and
loneliness were draining away. The wound wouldn't
heal in the space of a single day, or even many days, but
in time it would heal and James of Krondor would be
the better man for the healing. Her voice came to him
as she said. And it is my fear speaking, as well. Doubt
can make us all vulnerable.

"I have no doubt," he answered simply. She smiled as
she again hugged him tight.

The sounds of footfalls upon the ground and a pointed
clearing of a throat signaled Locklear's arrival. "Sorry to
intrude, but Pug would like to see you, James." He
smiled apologetically. "And your mother would like you
to join her in the kitchen, Gamina."

"Thank you," Gamina answered. She gifted Locklear
with a warm smile and kissed James on the cheek. "I
will see you at dinner."

He kissed her again, and she headed toward the
kitchen. James and Locklear walked toward Pug's
study. Locklear cleared his throat in a significant, theat-
rical manner.

James said, "You've got something on your mind. Out
with it."

Locklear's words came in a rush. "Look, we've known
each other, what, twenty-two years? In all that time I've
never known you to show the least bit of interest in
women—" James gave him a strange look and he
amended that to, "I mean interest in marriage, at least.
Now, out of nowhere, you suddenly walk in and an-
nounce to all that you're getting married! I mean, she's
certainly a beauty, with that nearly white hair and all,
but you've known—"

"I've known no one, nothing, like Gamina," Jimmy
interrupted. He stopped his companion with a re-
straining hand to Locklear's chest. "I don't know if
someone like you can understand, Locky, but she's seen
inside of me. She's seen all there is to see, the bad I've
done and felt, the things that I've only hinted at to you,

Concerns                 71

and she loves me despite those things. She loves me,
anyway!" He took a deep breath. "You will never know
what that means."

He resumed walking and Locklear hesitated an in-
stant before catching up. "What do you mean 'someone
like you'?"

James halted again. "Look, you're the best friend—
perhaps the only real friend—I've ever known, but
when it comes to women . . . you have no ... con-
sideration. You're charming, you're attentive, you're
persistent, and when the lady in question wakes up in
your bed, you're gone. Why some woman's brother or
father hasn't run a sword through you . . . When it
comes to you and women, Locky, you just are not very
constant."

"And you are?"

"I am now," James answered. "As constant as water
running downhill."

Locklear said, "Well, we'll see what Arutha has to say
about this headlong flight into matrimony. We court
Barons need his permission to marry, remember?"

"I know."

"Well, I'll leave you to your meeting with the spell-
caster," Locklear said as they reached the door to the
Academy building. "I expect he'll also have a thing or
two to say about you spiriting away his daughter."
Locklear left James alone at the entrance.

James entered the building and made his way down a
long corridor to the base of the tower, the top of which
housed Pug's study. He mounted a spiral stairway and
climbed until he reached the door of the study. As he
raised his hand to knock, the door swung open to admit
him. Stepping through the portal, he was not surprised
to discover Pug alone in the study, some distance away
from the door. After he was inside, the door closed
behind James without apparent aid.

"We need to speak," Pug said, as he rose and beck-
oned James to a large window. Looking out, he pointed
at small lights which dotted the far shore. "People," he
said.

72 Prince of the Blood

James shrugged. He knew the sorcerer hadn't called
him to his presence to discuss the obvious.

"When we came to Stardock over twenty years ago,
this was a barren patch of ground in the middle of a
deserted lake. The shore was a bit more hospitable, but
this Vale was the scene of constant warfare between the
Kingdom and the Empire, between rival border lords,
or gangs of renegades. Durbin slavers raided, and sim-
ple bandits plagued the farmers as much as locust." He
sighed as he remembered. "Now people lead relatively
peaceful lives. Oh, there are occasional problems, but
for the most part, things in the area of the Great Star
Lake are quiet.
-"And what caused that change?" he asked James.

James said, "It doesn't take a genius to deduce your
presence here caused that change. Pug."

Pug turned away from the view of the lake shore and
said, "Jimmy, when we first met I was a young man and
you were a boy. But in the time between then and now
I've encountered more than most men could imagine in
a dozen lifetimes." With a simple wave of his hand he
created a cloud in the middle of the room, less than two
feet in diameter. It shimmered then appeared a hole in
the air, through which James could see a strange hall. It
was a hall hanging in the midst of a grey nothingness,
along the path of which doors were spaced every dozen
yards or so. The grey void of nothingness between the
doors was so absolute that even the black of night
seemed rich and alive in comparison. "The Hall of
Worlds," said Pug. "By this path I have ventured to
places no human has seen, nor will likely see again. I
have visited the ashes of ancient civilizations and seen
new races aborning. I have counted stars and grains of
sand both, and find that the universe is so vast that no
mind, perhaps not even that of a god could encompass
it."

Pug waved his hand and the image vanished. "It
would become easy to dismiss the concerns of those
who live in such a tiny place as the Vale as trivial."

James crossed his arms as he said, "Compared to that,
it is trivial."

Concerns                 73

Pug shook his head. "Not to those who live here."

James sat without Pug's leave and said, "I know
there's a point to this. Pug."

Pug returned to his own chair behind his study table
and said, "Yes, there is. Katala is dying."

That news, unexpected as well as shocking, caught
James by surprise. "I thought she appeared unwell—
but dying. ..."

"There is much we can do here, James, but there are
limits. No magic, potion, charm, or prayer can do more
for my wife than has already been done. Soon she will
journey through a rift back to her homeland, the Thuril
Highlands on Kelewan. She has seen no kinsman in
nearly thirty years now. She will return home to die."

James shook his head, knowing there was nothing he
could say. Finally he asked, "Gamina?"

"I've watched my wife grow old before her time,
James, though had this illness not developed I would
have had to face this burden eventually. You can see I
have not aged measurably. Nor will I in your lifetime. I
may not be immortal, but my powers make me long-
lived. And I'll not watch my children and grandchildren
grow old and wither while I stay as I am.

"I will leave Stardock within hours of Katala's depar-
ture. William is firm upon his soldier's path, having for-
saken his magic gifts. I wished it were otherwise, but
like most fathers I must accept that my own dreams are
not necessarily my son's. Gamina has talents, as well,
not limited to magic, but rather stemming from an un-
usual mind. Her mental speech is both magic and natu-
ral, but her sensitive nature, her empathy, her caring,
these are special gifts."

James nodded. "I can't argue that. Her mind is ... a
miracle."

Pug said, "I agree. I've studied my daughter's talents
more closely than any upon this world and know better
than even she what the extent of her talents are . . .
and her limits. She would have chosen to stay here, had
she not met you, to take over the burdens her mother
leaves behind—Katala has been the true leader of our
community for most of our time here. I wish to spare

74 Prince of the Blood

Gamina this. She was a child burdened with great sad-
ness and pain at an early age—much like you, I sus-
pect."

James gave a slight nod. "We've shared things. . . ."

"No doubt," said Pug with a wry smile. "But that is as
it should be with lovers, husbands and wives. I will lose
much when Katala departs, more than perhaps even
she suspects." For an instant. Pug stood exposed to
James and the young Baron saw a man isolated from
others by unknowable responsibility, and one of the few
who could ease that great weight, one who could give
him a few moments of warmth and comfort, was slowly
leaving him. For just a moment, Pug revealed the depth
of his pain, then the mask was again in place. "For when
she leaves I will begin to concern myself with those
grand issues I've given you but a glimpse of, and leave
behind the 'trivial' concerns of Stardock, the Vale, even
the Kingdom.

"But I wish for my loved ones much what any man
must wish, safe homes and fine children, lives unspoiled
by turmoil and strife. In short, I wish them to be as
happy as possible. And Gamina has shown me what is in
her heart, and it is you. I wish to grant you my bless-
ings."

James let out a long sigh of relief. "I hope Arutha is as
understanding. I need his permission to marry."

"This is no difficulty." Pug moved his hands and cre-
ated a grey smoky sphere in the air. Within it, shapes
began to form, then suddenly James was looking at
Arutha in his study in Krondor, as if a window appeared
between two rooms but a wall apart. Arutha glanced up
as if at them and with an uncharacteristic display of
surprise, half-rose from his chair. "Pug?"

Pug spoke, "Yes, Highness. I am sorry to intrude, but I
have a favor to ask."

Arutha sat down with obvious relief there was both a
reasonable and friendly cause for the sudden apparition
in his study. He put down a quill with which he'd been
writing and said, "What may I do for you?"

"You remember my daughter Gamina?"

Arutha said, "Yes, very well."

Concerns                 75

y
&

"I would like to see her married ... to a man of
some rank. One of your young court Barons."

Arutha looked past Pug, caught sight of James, and
smiled, his eyes revealing a rare amusement. "I suspect
we could arrange a state marriage to one of our bright
young men, Pug. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Baron James seems a most promising young man."

Arutha's smile broadened, to what James could swear
was almost a grin, something he had never seen his
Prince do before. "Most promising," he intoned in
mock-seriousness as he returned his attention to Pug.
"He stands to be a duke someday if his more impetuous
nature doesn't get him killed along the way—or ban-
ished by an angry monarch to the Salt Marsh Islands. A
wife might be just the thing to rein in some of that
recklessness. I had given up on his ever developing an
interest in family. I am pleased to be wrong. I was ten
years married at his age." Arutha sat an instant, lost in
thought as he recalled his own youthful feeling for his
wife, then looked past Pug at James, with a rare expres-
sion of deep affection apparent. Then he resumed his
more familiar stoic demeanor. "Well, if he agrees, then
you have my permission."

Pug smiled. "He's agreed, have no worry. He and my
daughter are much in agreement on this course."

Arutha sat back in his chair, a more typical half-smile
on his face. "I understand. I still remember my own
feelings for Anita when first we met. It can come sud-
denly. Very well, we'll have a state wedding as soon as
he returns from his envoy to Kesh."

"Actually, I was thinking of something a bit more
timely. She wishes to accompany him on his envoy."

Arutha's features darkened. "I do not think I ap-
prove. James may not have told you of the dangers—"

"I have a clear idea of the dangers involved, Arutha,"
Pug interrupted. "But I think you have no idea of my
daughter's talents. I know much of what transpires in
Kesh. She will aid your sons and envoy should trouble
arise."

Arutha considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"Given that you are the girl's father, I expect she has

Prince of the Blood

some abilities that may stand her in good stead should
things prove difficult.

"Very well, let us do this much. Marry them as quickly
as you judge proper, then when they return, we'll have
a state wedding and festival in their honor. My wife and
daughter would never forgive me for letting an excuse
for new gowns pass them by. We shall have to do both."

James looked surprised. "State wedding?"

Arutha nodded once, emphatically. "Gamma's a royal
cousin by adoption—unless you've forgotten—all of
Pug's family is. Our cousin Willy will be Duke of
Stardock. You're marrying into the family." Then in
mock doubt, he sighed, "Though that thought brings
me only the coldest comfort."

"Thank you, Arutha," said Pug with some amuse-
ment at the banter.

"You are most welcome, Pug. And . . . Jimmy," he
said, again with a genuine smile.

"Yes, Arutha," said James, returning the smile.

"May you be as happy in your marriage as I am in my
own."

James nodded. While Arutha was never a demonstra-
tive man, James remembered years ago when Anita
nearly died; the grief Arutha had endured was still
keenly recalled. Only a few besides James knew how
deep was the Prince of Krondor's love for his Princess
"I think we shall be."

"Then I have a gift for you, an early wedding pres-
ent," He opened a small chest atop his writing table and
withdrew a small parchment scroll. "I shall give it over
when you return, but for the present—"

Pug interrupted. "I can bring it to him now, if you
wish, Arutha."

If the Prince was surprised by this offer, he showed
none of it. He simply said, "If you would be so kind."

Pug waved his hand, closed his eyes a moment, and
the document vanished from Arutha's hand, appearing
in his own. Arutha's eyes widened slightly, his only reac-
tion to the sorcerer's ability to really move the parch-
ment over such a distance in an instant.

Pug handed it to James. "For you."

Concerns                 77

James opened the document and read. His eyes wid-
ened briefly. "It's a patent of Office. Earl of the Prince's
Court. And King's Minister."

"I was going to give that to you on your return, any-
way. You've earned the rank, James. We'll discuss hold-
ings and revenues when you are back in Krondor. You
will also assume the duties of Chancellor of the Western
Realm when Cardan retires."

James grinned, and Pug and Arutha both remem-
bered the boy thief they had met years before. "I thank
His Highness."

"Now, let me return to work," said Arutha.
Pug said, "I bid you good evening, Highness."
"Good evening, to you, my lords Duke and Earl."
Pug waved his hand and the image of the Prince
vanished. "Astonishing," James said. "With that trick"
—he looked at the parchment he held—"and this . . .
armies—"

"Which is why we must talk of things other than your
wedding, James." Pug moved toward a table and indi-
cated a decanter of wine. James poured two goblets of a
fine fortified red. As he sipped. Pug sat and motioned
for James to do likewise. "Stardock will not be allowed
to become a tool of any nation. I have plans to prevent
that.

"My son will not inherit the title of Duke of Stardock.
I think he prefers the life of a professional soldier, in any
event. No, the two men you met upon landing, Watume
and Korsh will be given sovereignty over this island
after I depart, with another yet to be chosen, a triumvi-
rate of magicians who will decide the good of the peo-
ple here. They may expand that council as they see fit in
years to come. But Lyam will not always sit upon the
Throne of Isles and I would not give over the power of
Stardock to one like Mad King Rodric. I met him, and
had he mustered magicians such as we have here to his
cause, the world would have trembled. I also remember
the havoc created by those magicians on Kelewan who
chose to do the Warlord's bidding during the Riftwar.
"No, Stardock must remain apolitical. Always."

James stood up and said, "As a noble of the Kingdom,

78 Prince of the Blood

I fear you come close to treason." He took a few steps
toward an open window and looked out into the night
Then he smiled. "As a man who learned to think for
himself at an early age, I applaud your wisdom."

"Then you will also understand why I trust you will
always remain a voice of reason in the Congress of
Lords."

James said, "A small voice, but one that will attempt
to speak on behalf of your vision." Then he added, "Still,
I will try to make others understand. But you realize
many will be of the mind that if you are not clearly loyal
to the Kingdom you must be an enemy?"

Pug only nodded. "Now, to other matters. We shall
have a priest over from the village on the lake shore—
no temples stand upon the island itself, and our rela-
tionship with those who practice clerical magic is not,
shall we say, entirely cordial."

James smiled. "You poach their lands."

Pug sighed. "So many think. In any event, the only
clerics I found reasonable men are either dead or dis-
tant. I'm afraid as our power here grows, so does the
suspicion of the great temples in Rillanon and Kesh."
Then his expression brightened. "But Father Marias
who oversees the small Church of Killian in the village
is a decent enough man. He'll agree to a wedding."
Then Pug's face relaxed into a wide smile. "More to the
point, he'll certainly agree to the feasting."

James laughed aloud, and as thought of his wedding
to Gamina swept through him, he was both awed and
delighted by the sensations thinking of her caused.
Then Pug said, "I do not expect you to understand what
I'm about to say. But should you ever come to a time
when you need to say something upon my behalf, say
this, The last truth is that there is no magic.' "

James said, "I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to. If you understood what it
meant, you would not be traveling to Kesh; I would
persuade Arutha to keep you here. Just remember."
Pug read his future son-in-law's face and said, "Go find
my daughter and tell her we'll hold the ceremony day
after tomorrow. No reason to wait another four days to

Concerns                 79

next sixthday—we're breaking enough traditions as it

is.

With a smile James placed the half-finished wine
upon the table and left the room. As hurried footfalls
echoed down the steps of the sorcerer's tower, Pug
turned to look out the window and spoke softly to no
one, "We could all use a dose of revelry. Too many dark
days are coming."

The entire town ofStardock as well as a major portion
of those from the shore who could find a way across the
lake stood in a large circle around the portly priest.
Father Marias smiled and beckoned James and Gamina
to stand before him. He was a red-cheeked man, a baby
who had never matured, but one whose thinning hair
was turning silver-grey. His green robe and golden tab-
ard were threadbare and often washed, but he wore
them as proudly as any lord. Marias's eyes were almost
alight with pleasure at a wedding. His flock were
fisherfolk and farmers in the main, and all too often his
duties consisted of burying them. Weddings and dedica-
tions of babies to the Goddess of All Living Things were
especially delightful.

"Come along, children," he said as Gamina and James
advanced slowly. James wore the clothing he had
brought along for his presentation to the Empress, a
tunic of pale blue, dark blue leggings, and black boots.
Over this he wore a white surcoat sewn with gold
thread. On his head he wore the latest fashion, a large
beret which hung nearly down to his shoulder on his
left side, a silver badge and white owl's feather setting it
off.

Locklear stood beside him, similarly attired, though
his clothes were even more richly fashioned in russet
and gold hues. He glanced about, convinced these new
fashions appeared ridiculous, but no one seemed to no-
tice. All eyes were upon the bride.

Gamina wore a simple gown of lavender color, set off
with an extraordinary string of pearls around her neck.
The gown was cinched at the waist by a wide belt stud-
ded by matching pearls and a silver buckle. A garland of

80 Prince of the Blood

flowers circled her brow, the traditional "bride's
crown."

"Now, then," Marias said, his voice betraying the
rich, almost lyrical accent of one who was born along
the south coast of the Kingdom Sea, near Pointer's
Head, "seeing as you've come before me with the stated
intention of marriage, I've a few things to tell you." He
motioned for James to take Gamina's right hand in his
and he placed his own pudgy hand over theirs. "Killian,
the Goddess I serve, looked down upon man and
woman when they were created by Ishap, the One
Above All, and saw them apart. Man and woman looked
heavenward and cried out in their loneliness. Hearing
them and pitying them, the Goddess of Green Silence,
spoke, saying, 'You shall not abide apart.' She then cre-
ated the institution of marriage as a bond to bring man
and woman together. It is the melding of souls, minds,
and hearts. It is when two become as one. Do you un-
derstand?" He looked each in the eye and in turn
Gamina and James nodded.

To the assembled crowd, Marias said, "James of
Krondor, Earl of the Prince's Court and Gamina,
daughter of Duke Pug and Duchess Katala, have come
to this place and company to pledge themselves one to
the other, and we are to bear witness to that pledge. If
there is any here among you who knows why this should
not be, speak now or go forever in silence." If there was
to be any objection, Marias didn't wait to hear it. Plung-
ing on he said, "James and Gamina, understand that
from this moment forward, each of you is now a part of
the other. No longer separate, you are now as one.

"James, this woman seeks to spend her life with you.
Do you take her to you as mate and wife, without reser-
vation and knowing that she is now one with you, hold-
ing her to you, and putting away any other, from now
until death?"

James nodded, as he said, "I do."

With a wave, Marias motioned for Locklear to hand
James a golden ring. "Put that upon your bride's hand."
James did as he was asked, placing the ring upon the
ring finger of Gamina's left hand.

Concerns                 81

"Gamina, this man seeks to spend his life with you.
Do you take him to you as mate and husband, without
reservation and knowing that he is now one with you,
holding him to you, and putting away any other, from
now until death?"

Gamina smiled and answered, "I do."

Marias instructed Gamina to place a ring upon
James's hand, and she did so.

"In as much as James and Gamina have agreed to live
as one, in the sight of gods and men, we do hereby bear
witness."

The assembled company of guests repeated, "So do
we bear witness."

With a grin, the ruddy-cheeked priest said, "Well,
that's it, then. You're married."

James glanced around. "That's all?"

Marias laughed. "We keep it simple in the country,
my lord. Now, kiss your wife, and let's get on with the
feast."

James laughed, grabbed Gamina, and kissed her. The
crowd cheered and hats were thrown in the air.

At the edge of the crowd two men did not cheer as
they observed the celebration. An angular, thin man
with three days' growth of unshaven beard, took the
other by the elbow and led him a discrete distance
away. Both were wearing clothing best described as
ragged and torn, and both would have warranted a
wide berth from anyone with an acute sense of smell.
Glancing around to see they were not overheard, the
first man said, "Earl James of Krondor. Baron Locklear.
That means those two red-haired fighting lads are
Arutha's sons."

The second man, stout and short, yet powerful in the
shoulders, was obviously impressed at his companion's
keen observation. His cherubic face appeared almost
innocent as he said, "Don't see many Princes in these
parts, 's true, Lafe."

"You're a fool, Reese," answered the other in a grav-
elly voice. "There are those who would pay well to
know this. Get to the Inn of the Twelve Chairs at the

82 Prince of the Blood

desert's edge—they are almost certain to ride that
route. You know who to ask for. Tell our Keshian friends
that the Princes of Krondor and their company ride
from Stardock, and travel not in state, but in stealth.
Their numbers are small. And wait there for me at the
inn. And don't drink up all the money he'll give you or
I'll cut your liver out!"

Reese looked at his companion as if such duplicity was
unthinkable.

Lafe continued, "I'll follow after them that's here and
if they change route, I'll send word. They're surely car-
rying gold and gifts to the Empress for her birthday.
With no more than twenty men at arms, we can be rich
for life once the bandits cut their throats and give us our
share."

Glancing around the deserted shore, the man named
Reese said, "How can I get there, Lafe? The ferryman's
at the wedding."

Hissing through teeth black with decay, the taller
man said, "Steal a boat, stupid."

A glimmer of delight at the obvious answer shone in
Reese's eyes. "Good. I'll get some food, then—"

"You'll go now!" ordered his companion, pushing him
off to an uneasy trot toward the shore and the un-
guarded boats. "You can steal something in the town.
With everyone dining here, that should be easy enough.
But a few still linger, so be cautious." Reese turned and
waved then scampered along the shore, looking for a
boat small enough to manage alone.

Snorting in derision, the man called Lafe turned back
toward the feasting. His hunger told him that Reese's
suggestion wasn't all that bad, but his avarice made him
alert to the every move of the wedding party.

The two Princes sat quietly at the dinner table, oblivi-
ous to the joy of the newlyweds. Each was intent on
their own impatience to be on their way. James had
been uncommunicative about when they were leaving,
though Locklear had mentioned their stay wouldn't be
extended too long, despite the unexpected events of
the last two days.




Concerns                 83

If the twins had been surprised by their mentor's
sudden encounter with love, they were equally unsur-
prised by the hasty permission from their father and the
quick wedding. Little in their lives had allowed them to
take anything for granted.

The twins lived in a world of the unexpected, where
the tranquillity of the moment could be shattered at
any time by disaster. Warfare, natural cataclysm, fam-
ine, and disease were constant threats, and they lived
most of their young lives in the heart of the palace
where they had observed their father dealing with such
problems on a daily basis. From the most important
border clash with Kesh to deciding if one guild or an-
other had jurisdiction over a new trade, their father had
dealt with problem after problem.

But as they had when watching their father, their
present mood didn't reflect the excitement of the mo-
ment. Rather they were bored.

Borric drank deep of a simple ale and said, "Is this the
best they have?"

Eriand nodded. "I expect so. From what I can see, ale
isn't a major concern around here. Let us see if there's
something better in the village." The brothers stood up
from the bench, bowed slightly at the Baron and his
new Baroness, who nodded briefly in return at the
Princes' leaving the table of honor.

As they passed by the other tables set up around the
square, Borric asked, "Where are you heading?"

Eriand said, "I don't know. Around. There must be
some fishermen's daughters among all these people. I
see a few pretty faces here and there. Every one of
them can't be married," he added, attempting a light
tone.

Borric's mood seemed to darken rather than im-
prove. "What I really wish is to be quit of this nest of
spellcasters and on our way."

Eriand put his hand upon his brother's shoulder as
they walked and agreed in silence. With the steady
lectures they had been getting about responsibility,

Prince of the Blood

they felt hemmed in and controlled, and both Princes
were eager for anything that resembled movement,
change, and the possibility of adventure. Life was just a
bit too quiet for their liking.

Chapter Five

Southward

The guards laughed.

James turned to see what caused their mirth and saw
the two Princes approaching. Eriand was wearing an
improbable looking coat of heavy chain, weighing at
least five times what his usual leather armor weighed, a
bright red cloak tossed rakishly over his shoulder. But
the laughter was primarily directed at his brother, who
wore a robe which covered him from head to toe. It was
a repulsive shade of purple with arcane symbols sewn in
gold thread around the hood and sleeves—no doubt
once the stunning centerpiece of some magician's
wardrobe, it had seen better days. An odd looking
wooden staff with a milky-white glass ball mounted atop
it, hung in place of the usual sword at his side. On
Kulgan or one of the Keshian magicians the robe would
have seemed appropriate; on Borric the effect was en-
tirely comic.

Locklear joined in the laughter as he came to James's
side. "What are they made up for?"

James sighed. "I have no idea." To the Princes he said,
"What is this, then?"

Eriand grinned. "We found a game of pokiir—here
they call it poker. Our luck was . . . uneven."

James shrugged, absently wondering how long
Gamina would keep him waiting. His bride was in her
quarters, gathering the last of what she would bring
with her to Kesh. The rest of her belongings would be
sent to the palace in Krondor, in anticipation of her
return there after the Empress's Birthday Jubilee.

Borric said, "I lost my own cloak to a barge-man, and
my sword to a fellow who most likely sold it for a bottle
of wine. But then I found a magician who believed a

Prince of the Blood

little too much in luck and not enough in good card
sense. Look at this."

James cast a glance at the elder of the twins and saw
him holding out the odd-looking staff. "All right. What is
it?"

Borric took the staff out of its sheath and gave it to
James to examine. "It's a magic device. The crystal
glows when it gets dark, so you needn't bother with
lamps or torches. We saw it work last night. It's quite
good."

James nodded as if to say that was nice. "What else
does it do?"

"Nothing, except it's a rather nice-looking walking
stick, I think," answered Eriand. To his brother, he
added, "But I wager you'll wish you had your sword
back if someone comes running at you with a bloody
great falchion in his hand."

"I expect," agreed Locklear.

"Well, I'll buy another sword when we reach civiliza-
tion," said Borric.

James sighed. "And some new clothing. Those outfits
look absurd."

Locklear laughed. "You want to see absurd!" To Bor-
ric he said, "Show him the boots."

Grinning, Borric pulled up the hem of his robe, and
James shook his head in astonishment. Borric wore
boots of red leather, rising to mid-calf, each adorned
with a yellow eagle. "I won these as well."

"I think the previous owner was pleased to see the
losing hand when those were wagered," James said.
"You look like you're about to open a traveling carnival.
Hide those, if you please. The colors are beyond belief,"
he added, indicating the clash between the red and
yellow boots, and the purple robe. To Eriand he added,
"And you look like you're about to invade Kesh single-
handed. I haven't seen chain like that since the battle of
Sethanon."

Locklear who, like James, wore a simple tunic and a
leather vest, said, "You're going to love that chain when
we reach the edge of the desert."

Eriand's retort was interrupted by the appearance of

Southward               87

Gamina and her parents. Pug held Katala's arm and it
was now clear to James that she was indeed ill. Whether
it was due to the demands of her daughter's wedding
the day before or her realization that now her children
no longer needed her or the illness asserting itself,
James could not know. But it was clear to anyone with
eyes that Katala's life was numbered now in weeks at
the most.

They came to where James waited, and Katala spoke
to her son-in-law in quiet tones. "This is good-bye,
James."

James could only nod. Katala's people were warriors
and proud and always direct. So Pug had impressed on
him and so she behaved. "You will be missed," he said at
last.

"As I will miss all of you." She placed her hand on his
chest, gently, and he could feel the frail fingers touch-
ing him lightly over his heart. ''We only pass on from
view. We live here as long as we are remembered."

James lowered his head and kissed her lightly upon
the cheek, a gesture of both affection and respect. "Al-
ways remembered," he said.

She returned his kiss, and then turned away to say
good-bye to her daughter.

Pug motioned James to walk with him a short dis-
tance away. When they were out of earshot of the oth-
ers, he said, "Katala returns to her homeworld tonight,
James. There's no reason to delay any longer, and if we
linger, she might not have the strength to make the
journey from the site of the rift on Kelewan to the
Thuril border. I have friends who will help, but it will
still be an arduous trip for someone in her condition to
make alone."

James's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're not travel-
ing with her?"

Pug just shook his head. "I must be about other busi-
ness."

James sighed. "Will we see you . . .?" He had been
about to say soon, but something in Pug's expression
caused him to let the sentence fall off.

Pug glanced over his shoulder at his wife and daugh-

88 Prince of the Blood

ter, who stood holding hands silently. Both Pug and
James knew they were speaking with their minds.
"Probably not. I suspect if I come this way again, few
will welcome the sight of me, for I imagine it will herald
only the most dreadful circumstances, perhaps some-
thing akin to the terrors we faced at Sethanon."

James was quiet a moment. He had' been only a boy
when the armies of the moredhel, the Brotherhood of
the Dark Path, marched under the banner of their false
prophet, Murmandamus. But that time was forever
etched in stark relief in his memory. He still recalled
the battles of Armengar and Sethanon in detail and
could vividly recall the sight of the sky torn open by the
return of the Dragon Lords, and the nearly catastrophic
end of life their return heralded. The seemingly mirac-
ulous victory over them, directed by Pug, Tomas of
Elvandar, Macros the Black, and Arutha was still some-
thing he could not fully comprehend. Finally James
said, "That would be when you were the most needed,
though."

Pug shrugged, as if to say that wasn't necessarily true.
"In any event, I am now dependent upon others to
carry forth the work begun under my guidance. You
must help."

"What can I do?"

With a faint smile. Pug said, "The first should be no
issue between us. Love my daughter and care for her."

James smiled. "No more could any man do."

"And keep an eye on her brother."

"Willy is a competent officer, Pug. He needs little
looking after. I expect he will be the Captain of Arutha's
guard in a few years."

Pug shrugged again, showing only a small hint of his
disappointment that his son was not here to follow after
him. Whatever difficulty that had passed between Pug
and his son was not discussed. "Secondly, I need your
voice in support of Stardock's autonomy."

"Agreed."

"And remember what I told you when you need to
speak on my behalf, the secret I shared with you."

James tried to find humor in the sad departure, but

Southward               89

could only say, "As you wish. I will remember. Though
standing upon an island where men work spells of great
art every day makes me wonder at what nonsense I'm
to remember."

Pug patted his arm as he moved to return to his wife
and daughter. "Not nonsense. Never fall into the trap of
judging that which you don't understand as nonsense.
That error can destroy you."

James followed after, and then they were leaving. As
they walked to where three large barges waited to ferry
them across the lake, James glanced over at the Princes.

Borric and Eriand stood chatting about the coming
trip, obviously relieved to be away from what they
judged unwelcome tranquillity, and for a brief moment
James wondered if they might not all regret having no
more such tranquillity.

Light gusts blew stinging sand, and the twins reined
in their horses. Gamina studied the horizon and spoke
loudly enough for all to hear. "I don't think it's a serious
storm. The sky looks wrong. But it may be bothersome."
They rode at the edge of the Jal-Pur, along the road to
Nar Ayab, the northernmost city of consequence in the
Empire. The rough plateau landscape was almost as
desolate as the desert itself, with few trees and bushes,
and most of those thickly bunched along the banks of
the few small streams that coursed down out of the hills
below the mountains called the Pillars of the Stars by
the Keshians.

James motioned toward the far end of the road,
where it crested a distant hill, as a company of riders
slowly made their way toward them. "Keshian border
guards," he shouted over the rising wind. "Sergeant!
Time to display the guidons." The sergeant of the com-
pany motioned two guards forward, and they quickly
broke segments of wooden standards out of their sad-
dlebags. Hastily screwing the segments together, they
raised two small standards just as the Keshian riders
breasted the hill upon which James and his companions
waited. Two Royal Krondorian House flags, each with a
different cadence mark overlaid, Borric and Eriand's

90 Prince of the Blood

royal standards, now greeted the suspicious eye of the
advancing Keshian leader.

A dark-skinned man, his knappy beard matted with
grey dust, motioned his own company to halt. They
were a rough-looking band. Each man had a bow slung
over the saddle horn as well as a round hide shield with
a metal bosk; each rider wore a curved scimitar at his
belt and carried a light lance. All wore heavy trousers
tucked into high boots, white linen shirts, leather vests,
and metal helms with long linen head coverings hang-
ing over their necks. Borric motioned to Eriand.
"Clever, isn't it? They keep the sun off their necks and
can hook the cloth over their faces if the wind gets
vicious."

Eriand simply let but a heavy breath and said noth-
ing. He was feeling the heat in the heavy chain-mail
coat.

The leader of the Keshian patrol kicked his horse and
trotted forward, pulling up before James. He examined
the ragged-looking company, unconvinced that such
dirty, tired looking travelers would indeed be a royal
caravan from Isles. At ^ast he saluted no one in particu-
lar, a lazy gesture of bringing his right hand to his head,
palm out, then let his hand fall to his horse's neck. "Wel-
come, my lords . . . and lady."

James moved to the fore. "I am James, Earl of
Krondor, and I have the honor of presenting Their
Royal Highnesses, Princes Borric and Eriand."

The two Princes inclined their heads slightly, and the
Keshian patrol leader bowed his head slighting in re-
turn. "I am Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi, my lord. What con-
spires to bring your august company to such a miserable
place?"

"We are traveling to the City of Kesh for the Em-
press's Jubilee."

The sergeant shrugged, indicating that the ways of
the gods were not for mortals to understand, nor the
ways of nobility clearly sensible to common soldiers. "I
would have thought nobles such as yourselves would
have been traveling in more . . . stately company."

As the wind increased, the horses began to stamp and

Southward               91

shy. James raised his voice over the noise, "It seemed
better to move quickly and with stealth than slowly,
Sergeant. The storm rises. May we continue?"

The Captain signed his own men forward as he said,
"Of course, my lord. I and my men are traveling to the
Inn of the Twelve Chairs, to wait out the storm in com-
fort. I suggest you join us."

"Is it dangerous?"

The Sergeant glanced at the horizon as Gamina had
and said, "Who can say? Dust storms that rise in the Jal-
Pur may blow quickly or long. If I was a betting man, I
would wager this one will be little more than an incon-
venience. Still, I would rather be conveniently inside."

"We'll continue," said James. "We stayed longer at
our last rest than planned, and it wouldn't do to arrive
late to the Jubilee."

The Sergeant shrugged, clearly not caring one way or
the other. "Insults to the Empress, blessings be upon
her, are to be strenuously avoided. She is often merciful,
but rarely forgiving. May the gods guide your travels,
my lords."

With a wave, he motioned his patrol to give way as
the Kingdom party resumed its journey. James signaled
and his small band started down the hard-packed dirt
that passed for an Imperial road in the northern fron-
tier.

As they rode past the silent Keshians, Borric nodded
to Eriand, who had also been studying the tired, dirty
soldiers. Each man looked a seasoned fighter, with not
.one youthful face in the company. To his brother, Er-
iand said, "They keep their veterans along our bor-
ders."

Jimmy, overhearing, said loudly enough for the en-
tire company to hear, "They have veterans to spare in
Kesh. A man who retires in their army has spent twenty
years and more putting down revolts and fighting civil
wars. They keep but a tenth part of their army near our
borders."

Borric said, "Then why do they fear us?"

James shook his head. "Nations fear their neighbors.
It's a fact of life, like the three moons in the sky. If your

92 Prince of the Blood,

neighbor is bigger than you, you fear invasion and occu-
pation. If smaller, you fear their envy, so you invade
them. So, sooner or later, there's war."

Eriand laughed. "Still, it's better than having nothing
to do."

James glanced at Locklear. Both had seen more than
their share of war before they were the twins' age. Both
disagreed with Eriand's sentiments.

"Riders!"

The soldier pointed to the far horizon, where the
wind blew up a dark wall of swirling sand that raced
toward the travelers. And within the dusty murk, the
shape of approaching riders could be seen. Then, as if
the soldier's warning had been a signal, the riders
spread out and galloped their horses.

"Gamina! Get to the rear," James shouted, as he drew
his sword. The soldiers were but a moment behind in
releasing the pack animals and bringing their own
weapons to the ready.

"Bandits!" cried one, as he moved to Borric's side.
Instinctively, the Prince reached for his sword, finding
the odd staff there instead. Cursing fate, he circled his
horse away from the attack, moving toward the rear
alongside Gamina, who had taken it upon herself to
herd the shying packhorses in a circle so they didn't run
away. Seeing that the four animals were more than she
could manage, Borric leaped from his horse and took
two in hand.

The sounds of steel upon steel caused Borric to pull
the horses around, back to the wind, in time to see the
first bandits intercepted by his own soldiers. In the fray,
he sought out sight of Eriand, but the milling horses and
swirling dust made it impossible.

Then a horse screamed and a rider went down curs-
ing loudly. A clash of sword upon shield and a grunt of
effort were followed by a succession of shouts made
almost incoherent by the rising shriek of the wind. The
bandits had timed the raid with perfection, picking the
moment when the travelers would be most vulnerable
to the onslaught, almost blinded by the sandstorm. In

Southward               93

the time it had taken to react and draw weapons, the
bandits had already succeeded in throwing the men of
Isles into confusion.

But the men of Arutha's garrison were tested veter-
ans and quickly they regrouped as the first few bandits
rode past. To a man, they sought sight of Baron
Locklear, who shouted orders to those closest to him.
Then a tremendous blast of stinging sand and dust hit
the company and it was as if the sun had vanished.

In the biting sand, Borric fought to control horses
terrorized by the sounds of wind and battle and the
smell of blood. He could only use his weight to slow
their pulling, shouting "Whoa!" repeatedly. A pair of
war-trained, riderless horses heard his shouts and
halted their trot away from the battle, but the pack
animals were ready to bolt.

Borric was suddenly pulled off-balance and released
his grip on the lead ropes. He hit the ground and rolled,
coming to his feet. He thought of Gamina and won-
dered if she was in any danger from the spooked horses.
He looked about, but all he could see were riders locked
in combat. He called her name. In his mind he heard
her answer, 7 am fine. Borne. See to yourself. I will
attempt to keep the pack animals in sight.

Attempting to "think" back at her, he yelled, "Be
alert for raiders! They'll seek the pack animals!" He
glanced about, hoping to find a dropped weapon, but
saw none.

Then suddenly, a rider was galloping toward him, one
of his own guards, shouting at him. Borric couldn't un-
derstand him, but sensed something behind. He spun as
two bandits bore down upon him, one pointing a scimi-
tar at the guard who raced toward them, the other
veering his horse toward the Prince.

As the guard was intercepted by the first rider, Borric
braced himself, then jumped at the horse's bridle, caus-
ing the mount to stumble and throw his rider. The
horse's chest struck the Prince, the impact sending Bor-
ric flying back, landing upon the ground with a heavy
thud. Quickly he was on his feet, poised for the attack
he knew was coming. The raider had also come up

94

Prince of the Blood

ready for a fight, but had the advantage of his weapon.
Borric pulled the glowing staff from his belt and at-
tempted to use it to defend himself. The bandit swung
wildly, and Borric slipped the blow, moving inside the
man's guard. He drove the head of the staff into the pit
of the man's stomach, generating a satisfying explosion
of breath as the bandit went down; the wind knocked
out of him. Borric then broke the staff over the man's
head, leaving the raider unconscious or dead. The
Prince didn't have time to investigate. He picked up
the fallen rider's sword, a short bladed, heavy thing,
suitable for hacking at close quarters, not as sharp as the
scimitar most of the other raiders used, nor as pointed as
a good rapier.

Borric turned and attempted to see what was hap-
pening, but all that was visible were milling, cursing
shadows in sandy gloom. Then he felt more than heard
something behind him. He ducked to one side as a blow
intended to crack his skull glanced off the side of his
head. Falling heavily, he attempted to roll away from
the rider who had taken him by surprise from the rear.
He rose to his knees and was almost to his feet, when the
chest of a horse struck him, as the rider used his mount
as a weapon. Stunned as he lay upon the ground, the
Prince barely understood what he saw as the rider
leaped from his mount and came to stand over him.
Through dust and his own muddled senses, the Prince
watched with some detachment as the man drew back a
boot and kicked him in the head.

James spun his horse and moved to intercept a bandit
heading toward the packhorses. Two soldiers were
down by his count, and Locklear was engaged in a run-
ning fight with a raider. The raider veered off, and for
an instant James was in an island of relative calm in the
midst of the struggle. He glanced about, trying to dis-
cover the whereabouts of the two Princes and saw Er-
land clubbing a raider from his horse. There was no sign
of Borric.

Through the howl of the sandstorm, James heard
Locklear's command, "To me! To me!" Abandoning his

Southward               95

search for Borric, James spurred his horse and headed
toward the gathering band of Islemen. Quickly com-
mands were given and obeyed, and where moments
before a milling band of surprised guards had been
fleeing, now a trained unit of the finest horsemen the
Kingdom had in service sat ready to receive the next
attack by the bandits.

Then the raiders were upon them and the battle was
joined in full. Furious cries and screams of pain cut
through the constant howl of wind and the sting of sand.
James felt the giddy mix of elation and fear, a sensation
he hadn't experienced since the Battle of Sethanon. He
struck out at a raider, driving the man back as the sever-
ity of the storm increased. Then the storm overcame
the battle and all was whirling dust and noise. Each man
knew he now had a blind spot, for to look into the storm
was impossible. Men vainly attempted to cover their
faces with cloths and sleeves, but the only relief was to
turn away from the storm. After an instant of screaming
wind, the storm diminished.

A grunt of surprise and a wet sound of blood filling a
throat gasping for breath was followed only by the
sound of metal clanking as horses again moved at their
riders' commands. Steel upon steel rang out, and again
men strove to kill strangers.

Then there was only the storm and the fighting was
forgotten. The gusts were literally blinding, for to turn
one's face to the shrieking sands was to risk losing sight.
Covering his face, James turned himself and his mount
away from the wind, conscious of his unprotected back,
but there was nothing else to do. He was given at least
partial comfort by the knowledge the raiders were as
blind as he.

Again the winds lessened, and James spun his mount
to face any possible attacker. But like phantoms of
dream, the raiders were gone into the storm.

James glanced about and could only see men of Isles.
Locklear gave orders and the company dismounted,
each man gripping his horse's reins firmly as the inten-
sity of the storm alternately increased and diminished.

96

Prince of the Blood

Turning the animals' backs to the wind, they waited for
the seemingly endless howl of wind to stop.
Locklear shouted, "Are you hurt?"

James indicated no. "Gamina?" he asked after his
wife.

Locklear pointed to the rear. "She was with the bag-
gage animals. Borric was seeing after her."

Then Gamina's voice sounded in James's mind. I'm
here, beloved. I am unhurt. But Borric and another
guard were carried off by the raiders.

James shouted, "Gamina says that Prince Borric and a
guard were carried off!"

Locklear swore. "There's nothing we can do but wait
for this storm to blow out."

James tried to look into the dusty murk and could see
barely ten feet away. All they could do was wait.

Borric groaned and a rough toe jammed into his ribs
brought him to consciousness. Above him, the wind still
shrieked as the sandstorm blew itself to full fury, but the
sheltered gully where the raiders hid was relatively
quiet. He levered himself up on one elbow and found
his hands were shackled by a chain of odd design.

Beside him lay an unconscious guard from his own
band, tied with ropes. The man mumbled slightly but
was not conscious. Matted blood dried in his hair
showed he had received a vicious head wound. A rough
hand reached out and grabbed Borric by the chin, yank-
ing his face around to face the man who had kicked him.
The man squatted before Borric. He was thin, wore his
beard cut close so that it looked little more than stubble.
His head was covered in a turban that once may have
looked fine but now looked only faded and lice ridden.
He wore simple trousers and tunic and high boots. Over
his shoulder stood another man, wearing an unadorned
leather vest over his bare chest. His head was shaved,
save a single lock of hair down the middle, and a large
gold ring hung in his left ear. Borric recognized these as
the trademarks of the Guild of Slavers, from Durbin.

The first man nodded at Borric, then looked at the
guard with the bloody face and shook his head in the

Southward               97

negative. The slaver pulled Borric roughly to his feet
without a word, while the thin man took out a dagger
and before Borric realized his intent, cut the uncon-
scious guard's throat.

The slaver whispered harshly in Borric's ear, "No
tricks, spellcaster. Those chains will blank out your
magic, or Moskatoni the Trader will have my dagger for
dinner. We move before your friends can find us. Speak
a single word aloud and I'll kill you." He spoke in the
northern Keshian dialect.

Borric, still groggy from the blow to his head, only
nodded weakly. The slaver pulled him along through
the small gully where a group of horsemen were ran-
sacking a bundle of baggage. One of the men swore
quietly. The slaver's companion passed where Borric
stood and grabbed the man. "What did you find?" he
asked, speaking the patois of the desert, a mingling of
Keshian, King's Tongue, and the language of the
desertmen of the Jal-Pur.

"Women's clothing and some dried meat and cakes.
Where is the gold we were promised?"

The thin man, obviously the leader, swore as well.
"I'll kill that Lafe. He said nobles brought gold to the
Empress."

The slaver shook his head, as if he had expected this
sort of disappointment. "You should know better than
to trust fools." He glanced up at where the wind
shrieked overhead and said, "The storm passes. We're
only yards away from this one's companions." He in-
clined his head at Borric. "We don't want to be found
here when the storm is over."

The thin man turned to face his companion. "I lead
this band, Kasim." He looked to be on the edge of rage.
"I'll say when we move and when we stay."

The slaver shrugged. "If we stay, we will have to fight
again, Luten. They will be ready this time. And I see
nothing to make me think we'll find gold or jewelry
with this band."

The man called Luten glanced around, a near-feral
light in his eyes. "These are armed soldiers." He closed
his eyes a moment as if about to cry, then opened them

98

Prince of the Blood

and clenched his teeth. Borric recognized a man with a
violent temper, who ruled his company through intimi-
dation and threats as much as through any natural lead-
ership. "Ah!" he exclaimed. Nodding at Borric, he said,
"Kill him and let us flee."

Kasim moved Borric behind him, as if protecting
him, and said, "Our agreement was I'would have the
prisoners for slaves. Otherwise my men would not have
joined with yours."

"Bah!" spat Luten. "We didn't need them. We were
more than a match for those guards. We were both
misled by that fool Lafe."

As the wind began to lessen, Kasim said, "I don't
know who is worse, the fool or he who listens to the fool,
but I will have this man for the auction. He is my profit
in Durbin. My guild would not look kindly upon re-
turning without at least this small profit."

Whirling to face Borric, the man called Luten said,
"You. Where is the gold?"

Feigning ignorance, Borric said, "Gold?"
Luten stepped forward and struck the Prince across

the face. "The gold some nobles brought to the Em-
press's Jubilee."

Borric extemporized. "Nobles? There was a party of
nobles we passed along the way. Two, three noblemen
with guards, heading for ... an inn. The Inn of the
Twelve Chairs, I think. We . . . hurried because . . .
the hide trader was anxious to get his hides to the tan-
ner before they turned rotten."

Luten turned and shrieked his fury into the wind.
Two men nearby put hands to swords, startled by the
sound. "Quiet," said Kasim.

Luten spun, his dagger out, pointed at Kasim. "Don't
order me, slaver." He then pointed his dagger at Borric.
"This one is lying and I'll have more than these damn
boots to show for three men killed!" Borric glanced
down and saw the boots he had won gambling were
now on Luten's feet. He had been thoroughly searched
while unconscious, it seemed. Luten shoved Kasim
aside, coming to face Borric directly. "I'll have the truth
out of him, as well." He drew back the dagger, as if to

Southward               99

thrust at Borric, then stiffened. A sad, almost apologetic
expression crossed his face for an instant, then he fell to

his knees.

Behind him Kasim withdrew the dagger he had just
stabbed into Luten's back. Kasim then grabbed Luten
by the hair and said, "Never threaten me, you stupid
man." Then with a quick jerk he pulled back Luten's
head and sliced his neck, sending a fountain of blood
spurting off to one side. "And never turn your back on
me." Luten's eyes turned up in his head and Kasim
released him, letting him fall at Borric's feet. "Let this
be a lesson to you in your next life."

To the others in Luten's band, he said, "I lead." There
was no argument voiced. Glancing around, he pointed
to a depression in the small gully, overhung by a clump
of boulders. "Dump him in there." Two men picked up
Luten and threw him into the depression. "And the
other." The dead guard was carried and tossed in beside
Luten.

Turning to face Borric, the slaver said, "Show me no
trouble, and you'll live. Trouble me, and you'll die. Un-
derstand?"

Borric nodded. To the others, Kasim said, "Get ready
to leave now." He then jumped up to the edge of the
gully, ignoring the howling wind. The powerful slaver
put shoulder to one of the larger boulders and shoved it
over, starting a small landslide which covered the two
bodies. He leaped nimbly down into the depression,
and glanced about as if anticipating trouble from one of
Luten's men. When no one offered him any difficulty,
he rose to his full height. "To the oasis at Broken
Palms."

"What are your skills?" The slaver stood above Borric,
whose wits were slowly returning to him. He had been
dragged to a horse and forced to ride with his hands.
manacled. The pounding he had taken had added to the
disorientation he had felt since his capture. He vaguely
recalled the storm suddenly being over and then arriv-
ing at an odd oasis, surrounded by three ancient palm-

100

Prince of the Blood

tree trunks, broken off by some cataclysmic storm of
years gone by.

Borric shook his head to clear it and answered back in
the formal court language of Kesh, "What skills?"

The slaver took his answer as a sign of confusion from
the head blow. "What tricks? What magics do you do?"

Borric understood. The slaver judged him a magician
from Stardock, which accounted for the magic blanking
chains. For an instant, Borric felt an impulse to explain
who he was, but thoughts of his father receiving ransom
demands on his behalf kept him from answering
quickly. He could come forth at anytime between now
and the slave auction at Durbin, and perhaps between
now and then he could conspire to escape.

Suddenly the man lashed out and struck the Prince a
back-handed blow. "I've no time to be gentle with you,
mage. Your party is but a few hours away and no doubt
will be looking for you. Or even if they have no love of
you in their hearts, there are still many Imperial patrols
out. We mean to be far from here, quickly."

Another man came to stand over the kneeling man.
"Kasim, just kill him and leave him. No one pays a good
price for a magician at the slave blocks. Too much trou-
ble keeping them in line."

Kasim looked over his shoulder and said, "I lead this
band, now, I'll decide who we kill and who we take to
market."

Borric said, "I'm no magician. I won the robes in a
game of poker."

The second man ran a hand over his dark-bearded
face. "He lies. It's some magician's trick to get free of

the manacles and kill us all with his magic. I say kill him

now—"

now

"And I say if you don't shut up and quit arguing,
there'll be another worthless carcass for the vultures to
feast on. Get the men ready. As soon as the horses have
been watered and rested, I want to put as much dis-
tance as I can between those guards and us." To Borric
he said, "We found some pretty baubles in the bottom of
the baggage, mage. The lady you road with had enough
gold for me to pay these brigands. You're my profit."

Southward

101

With an inarticulate grunt, the raider moved away, sig-
naling the others to ready for riding.
Borric managed to sit upright against a large boulder.

"I'm no magician."

"Well, you're no fighting man, either. To travel un-
armed at the edge of the Jal-Pur, one must either have a
great company of guards or a great deal of faith. Faith is
for priests, which you're not. You don't look the fool, but
then I've never been one for casual appearances." Shift-
ing from Keshian to the King's Tongue, he said, "Where

are you from?"

"Krondor"—Borric decided through his aching head
he would be best served by obscuring his identity—"but

I've traveled a lot."
The slaver sat back on his haunches, arms resting on

his knees. "You're not much more than a boy. You speak
Keshian like a courtier and your Kingdom tongue is
nearly as fair. If you're not a spellcaster, what are you?"

Improvising, Borric said, "I ... teach. I know sev-
eral languages. I can read, write, and do sums. I know
history and geography. I can recite the line of Kings and
Empresses, the names of the major nobles and trading

houses—"

"Enough!" interrupted Kasim. "You've convinced
me. A tutor, then, is it? Well, there are rich men who
need educated slaves to teach their children." Without
waiting for any response from Borric, he stood up. As he
stepped away, he said, "You are worthless to me dead,
teacher, but I am also not a patient man. Do not be too
much trouble and you will live. Cause me difficulty, and
I'll kill you as soon as spit on you." To his band he said,
"Mount up! We ride to Durbin!"

Chapter Six

Dilemma

Eriand turned his horse.

"Borric!" he shouted over the still-howling wind.
James and the guards watched from where they stood
holding their horses. The newly elevated Earl shouted,
"Get off your horse before she runs away with you!"

The already excited mount was snorting and whinny-
ing at the frightening noises and stinging blasts from
the sandstorm, despite her training and Eriand's firm
control. The Prince ignored James's orders and contin-
ued to circle away from the others, shouting his broth-
er's name. "Borric!"

Gamina stood beside her husband and said, "It's diffi-
cult to concentrate with this wind screaming in my ears,
but there are thoughts coming from that direction."
She covered her face with her forearm, turned, and
pointed to the west.

"Borric?" asked Locldear, who stood next to James,
his back to the biting wind.

Gamina field up her arm, letting the sleeve of her
gown shield her face. "No. I'm sorry. I don't know these
men, but none of the minds I've touched is his. When I
attempt to focus on what I remember of his thoughts
during the battle ..."

"Nothing," James finished.

"Could he be unconscious?" Locklear's expression
was hopeful.

Gamina said, "If he's stunned or farther away, then I
would not sense him. My abilities are limited by the
strength and training of the other mind. I can speak to
my father from over a hundred miles away and he can
speak to me across incredible distances. But those who
attacked us are no more than a few hundred feet away; I
get images and stray words about the fight." With sad-


Dilemma

103

ness in her voice, she said, "I can't sense Borric any-
where."

James reached out to her and she came into the com-
fort of his arm. His horse nickered at the change in
pressure on the reins and James gave an impatient yank
on the leathers, silencing the animal. Softly, so that only
Gamina would hear, he said, "I pray the gods let him be

alive."

For an hour the wind blew, and Eriand circled his
companions to the limit of his ability to see them, while
he cried his brother's name. Then the winds ceased,
and in the silence that followed, his hoarse cries rang
across a desolate landscape: "Borric!"

Locklear signaled to the Captain of his company for a
report. The officer said, "Three men dead or missing,
m'lord. Two more wounded enough we should get
them to shelter. The rest are fit and ready."

James considered his options, then decided. "You re-
main here with Edand and search the immediate area,
but don't wander too tar. I'll take two men and ride to
the Inn of the Twelve Chairs and see if that Keshian
patrol can help us locate Borric." With a glance around
the barren landscape, he added, "I'm certain I have no

idea where to begin looking."

For the next few hours, through the early afternoon,
it took all of Locklear's powers of persuasion, with some
not-so-idle threatening, to keep Eriand from riding far-
ther into the wastes than Locklear judged safe. The
young Prince was frantic to search for his brother, in
case he was lying unconscious a few yards away, in a
gully or ravine, in need of care. Locklear spread the
men out to patrol the surrounding area, always keeping
a chain of guards posted so that someone was always in
sight of the impromptu camp. Gamina tended the
wounded, getting them ready to ride to the closest shel-
ter when James returned.

Finally, James returned, accompanied by the Keshian
patrol. Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi was obviously displeased to
have his respite interrupted, especially given the poten-
tial for personal difficulty should his superiors judge him

104 Prince of the Blood

somehow at fault, as the attack came in his patrol area.
He wished to put as much distance between himself
and these cursed Islemen as possible, but the possibility
of an international incident between the Empire and
her largest neighbor gave sufficient reason to put his
irritation aside and help in the search for the lost
Prince.

Experienced trackers quickly discovered the gully
wherein the raiders had hidden. Shouts brought the
entire company to the edge of a gully, where two scouts
were inspecting a large rock fall. One continued poking
about in the rubble while the second scout carried a
single boot up to where the Islemen waited. There was
no mistaking the scarlet and yellow design of the boot.
Pointing back down at the mass of boulders he said,
"M'lord, I found this. A little farther in, under the rocks,
I can see what's left of the foot that wore it."

Eriand sat in silent shock as James asked, "Can we dig
him out?"

The Keshian scout at the bottom of the rockfall shook
his head. "It would take a company of engineers a day
or two at best, m'lord." He pointed up to the place the
slide had begun. "It was recently done, from the signs.
To cover the owner of this boot, and others, perhaps."
Then he pointed to the far side of the gully. "And if too
much movement occurred here, the other side might
come down as well. I'm afraid it will be risky."

Eriand said, "I want him dug out."

James said, "I understand—"

Eriand interrupted. "No, you don't. That may not be
Borric down there."

Locklear attempted to be understanding. "I know
how you must feel—"

"No," said Eriand, "you don't know." To James he
said, "We don't know that's Borric down there. He
could have lost the boot during the struggle. He could
be a prisoner. We don't know if that's him under the
rocks."

James said, "Gamina, is there any sign of Borric?"

Gamina just shook her head. "The thoughts I de-


Dilemma               105

tected earlier were in this gully. But there was no pat-
tern of thinking that was familiar."

Eriand was unmoved. "That proves nothing." To
James he said, "You know how close he and I are. If he
were dead ... I'd feel something." Looking across the
broken landscape of the high desert he said, "He's out
there somewhere. And I intend to find him."

"And what are you going to do, m'lord?" asked the
Keshian Sergeant. "Ride out into the plateau country
alone and without water or food? It doesn't look it, but
it's as much a desert here as in the great sand ergs of the
Jal-Pur. Beyond that rise of ridges over there the true
sandy wastes begin, and if you don't know where the
Oasis of the Broken Palms is, you'll not live long enough
to find the Oasis of the Hungry Goats. There are thirty
or so places out there you can find water and a few with
food-bearing plants as well, but you can walk within
yards of several and not know them. You would die,
young lord."

Turning his horse back toward the way they had
come, Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi said, "My lords, I grieve for
your loss, but my duty dictates I ride on and discover
others bent upon breaking the Empire's peace. I shall
file a report on this when I reach the terminus of my
patrol. If you would like, I'll leave a scout with you and
you may continue your search. When you are satisfied
that nothing more can be done, head back to the road."
Pointing south, he said, "The road continues past the
foothills of the Pillars of the Stars to Nar Ayab. We keep
many stations and patrols along that route. Dispatch
riders move constantly among those stations and into
the heart of the Empire. Send word ahead of your ar-
rival and a state welcome will be mounted by the Gov-
ernor of Nar Ayab. From there, he will send mounted
soldiers to protect you until you reach the city ofKesh."
He left unsaid that had this been done from the start,
the bandits would never have been able to surprise the
Islemen. "In time, the Empress, blessings be upon her,
will order engineers out to retrieve your young Prince,
and he will be returned home for a fitting burial. Until

106 Prince of the Blood

then, I can only wish you the gods' favor in your trav-
els."

With a wave and heels to the side of the horse, the
Sergeant and his patrol headed away from the gully.
James skirted the top of the fall and looked down to the
lone Keshian scout who remained. "What do you see?"

The scout considered the signs, "Many men, milling
about. A murder, there." He pointed to a dark spot
upon the already dry ground.

"Murder!" said Locklear. "How can you be certain?"

"Blood, m'lord," answered the scout. "Which would
not be unusual after a struggle, save this is in a large
pool, with no signs of a wounded man approaching this
spot. I would guess a throat was cut." He pointed to two
lines of faint scratches in the dust leading from the
bloodstain to the rockfall. "Two heels as someone was
dragged to where the rocks were pushed." He pointed
again to the top of the gully. "One climbed there." He
glanced about once more, then scampered up the in-
cline to where his horse waited. "They move south, to
the Oasis of the Broken Palms."

Locklear said, "How do you know?"

The guard smiled. "It is the only place they can go,
m'lord, for they move into the desert, and without bag-
gage horses they cannot carry enough water to see
them through to Durbin."

"Durbin!" Eriand almost spat the word. "That rat
hole. Why would they risk the dangers of the desert to
go there?"

"Because," James answered, "it is a safe harbor for
every cutthroat and pirate from every nation bordering
the Bitter Sea."

"And the best market for slaves in the Empire," said
the scout. "In the heart of the Empire, slaves are plenti-
ful, but up here very difficult to find. Only Kesh and
Queg have open markets for slaves. In the Free Cities
and the Kingdom, the practice is discouraged."

Eriand said, "I don't follow."

James turned his horse toward the direction the scout
had indicated and said, "If only two guards—" quickly
he added, "or Borric and one guard remain alive,

Dilemma               107

there's enough profit at the Durbin slave auction to
make the raid profitable. If they are taken into the
Empire, the money is less than a third what it is in
Durbin, and then the leader has an angry crew to gov-
ern, and that can be dangerous." James spoke with au-
thority.

Eriand said, "Then why wouldn't Borric just tell them
who he is? He's certainly worth more in ransom than
he'd ever fetch as a slave."

James looked out thoughtfully across the wastelands
at the late afternoon sun. Then he said, "If he is alive, I
would have expected a message from the raiders, some-
thing telling us he is well and for us not to follow, and
that a ransom demand would be made within a short
time. It's what I would have done. ... I would have
made sure I didn't have a company of soldiers dogging
my heels."

The Keshian scout ventured, "These raiders may not
be as clever as you, m'lord. Your Prince, should he live,
may feel it dangerous to tell them who he is. They
might cut this throat to avoid trouble and flee into the
wastes. He may be unconscious, yet not injured enough
for them to abandon. There may be other answers,
m'lord."

Eriand said, "Then we must hurry."

The scout said, "We must proceed cautiously to avoid
ambush. Highness." He pointed into the sandy land-
scape. "If slavers attack the road, then out there at an
oasis or in one of the wadis a slave caravan gathers.
Many raiders with many guards will bring their catch to
be taken to Durbin—many more fighters than we could
face, even had my Sergeant remained—more than both
our companies could face. Perhaps a hundred guards."

Feeling the heavy weight of despair begin to descend
upon him, Eriand said, "We'll find him. He isn't dead."
But his own words sounded hollow in his ear.

The scout scrambled up the wall of the gully to where
his horse waited. "If we ride quickly, m'lord, we shall
reach the Oasis of the Broken Palms at sundown."

James detailed two guards to accompany the two
wounded men back to the inn where they would

108 Prince of the Blood

recuperate until they were ready to return to the King-
dom. He did a swift calculation and realized he now had
only a dozen healthy soldiers. Feeling vulnerable and
somewhat foolish, he ordered that small band into the
desert.

The sun was touching the horizon when the scout
rode at a gallop toward the Islemen. James signaled a
halt. Reining in his mount, the scout said, "In the Wadi
al Safra, a caravan gathers—one hundred guards,
maybe more."

James swore. Eriand said, "Any sign of my brother?"

"I could not get close enough to tell, my Prince."

"Is there any place nearby where we could get close
to the camp?" asked Locklear.

"A shallow ravine courses along one side of the wadi,
and at the far end it becomes a gully running close to
the camp, m'lord. Four, maybe five men could ap-
proach unobserved, be they stealthy. But it is danger-
ous. At the far end it becomes shallow enough for a
standing man to see into the camp, but it is also close
enough for a standing man to be noticed."

Eriand began to dismount, but James said, "No, you'll
clank like an armorer's wagon in that chain. Wait here."

Gamina said, "I should go, James. I can tell if Borric's
in the caravan if I can get close enough."

"How close is close enough?" asked her new husband.

"A stone's throw," answered Gamina.

James asked the scout, "Can we get that close?"

The scout said, "We shall be close enough to see if any
of the pigs have boils upon their faces, m'lord."

"Good," said Gamina, picking up the hem of her rid-
ing gown so it stayed clear of the ground. She tucked it
in her wide leather belt, in the fashion of the Stardock
fisherwomen when they waded into the shallows.

James ignored the unseemly display, exposing two
slender white legs very high up on the thighs, as he
attempted to think of a good reason to object to her
coming along; he couldn't. It's the problem with having
a logical mind and giving women the same credit for

Dilemma               109

ability as men, he mused to himself as he dismounted.
You can't contrive reasons to keep them safe.

Locklear signaled a pair of guards to accompany
James, Gamina, and the scout and the five set out down
the trail on foot. They moved slowly, as the sun fell
below the western horizon. By the time they ap-
proached the near end of the ravine, the sky was slate
grey and the desert was alive with highlights of crimson
and pink as the reflected sunlight off the clouds over the
distant sea bathed the landscape in rose twilight.

Noise from the caravan echoed through the deepen-
ing gloom and James glanced around to see if everyone
had stayed close. Gamina touched his arm lightly and
her thoughts came to him. I can sense many minds in
the wadi, my love.

BorricP he asked silently.

Nothing, she admitted. But I must get closer to be
certain.

Gripping the scout's arm, James whispered, "Can we
get closer?"

Whispering back, he answered, "There is a bend
ahead, and if we follow it, we shall be close enough to
urinate upon the dogs. But be cautious, my lord, for it is
a likely place to dump offal and garbage and there may
be guards nearby."

James nodded and the scout led them into the gloom.

James could remember several times in his past when
he had taken short journeys that seemed to take for-
ever, but none seemed to take so long as it took to travel
the short distance to the end of the gully. As they
reached it, the voices of the guards could be heard in
soft conversation as they walked easily along the perim-
eter of the camp. Not only was the journey nerve-
wracking for the danger, but the end of the gully was
being used as a garbage dump and privy trench; the
Islemen had to creep through garbage and waste, both
human and horse.

James stepped in something wet and soft and from
the odor which hung in the ravine like a noisome fog he
was certain he didn't want to know what it was. He

110 Prince of the Blood

could guess. He signaled to the scout who signaled back
that they were as close as they dared get.

Cautiously James peeked over the edge of the gully.
Standing no more than ten paces away, two silhouettes
stood outlined against the campfires. Huddled near
them for warmth were at least thirty miserable-looking
people, but nowhere in the group could James see Bor-
ric. Not every face could be seen, but James was certain
his red hair would be easily noticeable in the sea of dark
heads, despite the flickering firelight.

Then a man in a purple robe approached the two
guards and for a moment, James's chest constricted. But
it wasn't Borric. The wearer of the robe had the hood
tossed back and the darkly bearded face that scowled at
the two guards was one James had never seen before.
He.wore a sword at his hip, and ordered the two men to
cease their chatter and move on.

The robed man turned as another joined him, a large
man in a leather vest, wearing the caste mark of the
Durbin slavers on his arm. It was a mark James hadn't
seen since he was a boy, but like all members of the
Mockers, Krondor's Guild of Thieves, he knew it by
reputation. The Durbin slavers were not men to trouble
lightly.

James chanced another glimpse of the camp, then
hunkered down next to his wife. Her eyes were closed
and her face was set in an expression of concentration as
she sought out Borric among the prisoners in the camp.
Finally she opened her eyes and her mind's voice came
to James. There is no thought I recognize as Borric's in
the camp.

Are you certain? he asked.

Sadly, she said. If he were in that camp, as close as we
are, I would find him. Even were he sleeping, I could
sense his presence were he in that camp. She silently
sighed and he caught the echoes of sorrow in her mind.
There can be no explanation for it save he lay buried
beneath the rubble back where we found the boot.
There was a moment of silence, then she said. He is
dead.

James was motionless for an instant, then he mo-


Dilemma               111

tioned to the scout. By sign he gave the order to return
the way they had come. The search was over.

"No!" Eriand's face was harsh as he refused to accept
Gamina's pronouncement. "You can't know for cer-
tain."

James recounted his observations for the third time

since returning to where Eriand and the balance of
the company waited. "We saw another bandit wearing
the robe, so we can assume that it's possible they
took the boots from him as well, I grant that. But there
was no sign of him in the camp." To the Keshian scout
he said, "Is there any chance the bandits who raided us
were not part of this slaver caravan?"

The scout shrugged, as if to say anything was possible.
"Probably not, my lord. By carrying off some of your
men it is unlikely it was but a coincidence you were
raided. Any of your men who remain alive are for cer-
tain in that camp."

James nodded. "If he had been alive, Eriand, Gamina
would have been able to speak to him."

"How can you be so certain?"

So that all in the camp could hear her, Gamina said, I
have control over my talents, Eriand. I can choose how
many or few I wish to speak to, and once I touch a mind
I can recognize its thoughts. Borric's thoughts were not
among those in the camp.

"Perhaps he was unconscious."

Gamina shook her head sadly. "I would have sensed
his presence, even if he were unconscious. There was
an ... absence of him. I can't explain it better than
that. He was not among them."

The scout said, "My lord, if I may remain with you
this night, I shall have to move on to find my Sergeant.
He will wish to know of these Durbinites. The Governor
of Durbin is little better than a pirate and renegade
himself, and sooner or later, word of this outrage will
reach the Court of Light. When the Empress, blessings
be upon her, at last decides to act, retribution shall be
forthcoming, and it shall be terrible indeed. I know it
can not ease your burden, but to assault the person of a

112 Prince of the Blood

royal family enroute to her Jubilee is beyond insult. The
Empress, blessings upon her name, will no doubt take it
as a personal insult and act to revenge your family."

Eriand's anger was not soothed in the least. "What?
The Governor of Durbin reprimanded? Then a formal
letter of apology, I suppose."

"More likely she will order the city surrounded and
burned to the ground with all the citizens within, sire.
Or if she is feeling merciful, perhaps she will only send
the Governor of Durbin, with his family and retainers of
course, to your King for punishment, sparing the city. It
will depend upon her mood at the time she decides."

Eriand was overwhelmed. The shock of Borric's ap-
parent death at last setting over him and the blas6 atti-
tude of the guard as he recounted such power on the
part of one woman, conspired to render him without
wit. He just nodded dumbly.

James, seeking to turn talk away from the terrible
diplomatic situation that would arise out of Borric's
death, said, "We shall ask you to bear letters to be for-
warded back to the Prince of Krondor, so that we may
mitigate any difficulties between our two nations."

The scout nodded. "As one who serves along the bor-
der, I would do so gladly, m'lord." He then left to see to
his horse. James nodded at Locklear, who in turn mo-
tioned with his head toward Eriand. Both young nobles
moved away to speak in private.

Locklear said, "This is a fine mess."

"Well, we have faced difficulties in the past. This is
what we were trained for, to make choices."

Locklear said, "I think we should consider returning
to Krondor."

James said, "If we do, and Arutha orders Eriand back
to the Jubilee, we risk insulting the Empress by arriving
late."

"The festival will last more than two months,"
Locklear pointed out. "We would be there before it's
over."

"I still would rather have us there at the beginning."
He glanced around at the black night. "Out there some-
thing's going on. I can't help feeling that." He put a

Dilemma               113

finger on Locklear's chest. "It's just too much a coinci-
dence that we were the ones raided."

"Perhaps," agreed Locky in part, "but if we were the
target for a raid, then those behind it were those who
attempted to assassinate Borric in Krondor."

"Whoever they are." James was silent for a long mo-
ment, then said, "It makes no sense. Why would they
wish to kill the boy?"

"To start a war between our Kingdom and the Em-
pire."

"No, that's obvious. I mean why would anyone wish
war?"

Locklear shrugged. "Why does anyone ever wish to
start one? We must discover who within the Empire will
profit most from a destabilized northern border, and
that is our likely culprit."

James nodded. "We will not be able to do that in
Krondor."

Turning to find Eriand alone, facing out into the des-
ert night, James crossed to stand beside him. In quiet
tones he said, "You must come to terms with this, Er-
iand. Your grief must quickly be abandoned and you
must accept the change in circumstances fate has
forced upon you."

Eriand blinked in confusion, as one suddenly thrust
into the light. "What?"

James turned and stood before him. With firm hand
upon the younger man's shoulder, he said, "You are now
Heir. You will be our next King. And you will carry the
fate of your homeland with you when we ride to Kesh."

Eriand seemed not to hear him. The Prince said noth-
ing as he returned his gaze to the west, to the distant
slaver caravan. At last, he turned his horse slowly away
and rode to where the others were waiting to resume
their trek southward, into the heart of Great Kesh.

Chapter Seven

Captive

Borric awoke.

He lay motionless, straining to hear through the con-
fusion of voices and sounds that were ever-present in
the camp, even at night. For an instant, while still half-
dozing, he had thought he heard his name being faintly
called.

Sitting up, he blinked as he looked around. Most of
the captives still sat huddled near the campfire, as if its
light and warmth would somehow banish the cold fear
in their souls. He had chosen to lay as far from the
stench of the waste trench as possible, on the opposite
side of the band of slaves. As Borric moved, he was again
reacquainted with the manacles that bound his wrists,
the odd-looking flat silver metal with the reputed prop-
erty of blanking out all magic powers of whoever was
forced to wear them. Borric shivered, and realized the
desert night was indeed turning cold. His robe had
been taken from him and his shirt as well, leaving him
with only a pair of trousers to wear. He moved toward
the campfire, eliciting an occasional curse or complaint
as he forced his way between captives reluctant to
move. But as all the fight was gone from them, his in-
considerate shoving through the mass of slaves got him
nothing more than a glare of anger or a muttered oath.

Borric sat down between two other men, who at-
tempted to ignore his intrusion. Each lived moment to
moment in his own world of misery.

A scream cut through the night as one of the five
women captives was again assaulted by the guards. Ear-
lier a sixth woman had struggled too much, biting out
the neck artery of the guard who was raping her, earn-
ing both of them death, his the swifter and less painful.

From the sound of the pitiful wail that trailed on after

Captive                  115

the scream, Borric considered her the lucky one. He
doubted any of the women would be alive by the time
they reached Durbin. By turning them over to the
guards, the slaver avoided problems for many days to
come. Should any survive the trip, she would be sold
cheaply as a kitchen drudge. None was young enough
nor attractive enough that it was worth the slave mas-
ter's trouble to keep them out of the guards' reach.

As if summoned by Borric's thoughts of him, the
slaver appeared at the edge of the campfire. He stood
there in the golden red glow of the firelight and made
his tally. Pleased by what he saw, he turned toward his
own tent. Kasim. That's what Borric had heard him
called. He had marked him well, for someday the
Prince was certain he would kill Kasim.

As he moved away from the closely guarded slaves,
another man called his name and approached. The
man's name was Salaya, and he wore the purple robe
Borric had won two nights before in Stardock. When
Borric had first come to camp in the dawn hours that
morning, the man had demanded the robe at once and
had beaten the Prince when he appeared slow to re-
move it. The fact Borric was wearing manacles at the
time seemed to make no difference. After the Prince
had been struck repeatedly, Kasim had intervened,
pointing out the obvious. Salaya was hardly mollified as
Borric had one wrist, then the other, freed while he
removed the robe. He seemed to blame Borric for that
embarrassment before the others his own impatience
had caused, as if it had been the Prince's fault somehow
that Salaya was a stupid pig. Borric had marked him for
death as well. Kasim gave some instructions to Salaya,
who seemed to listen with a surly half-attention. Then
the slaver was gone, heading off toward the string of
horses. Most likely, thought Borric, he's off to supervise
another band of slaves being brought to the impromptu
caravansary.

Several times during the day, he had considered re-
vealing his identity, but caution always overruled him.
There was a good chance he would not be believed. He
never wore his signet, always finding it inconvenient

116 Prince of the Blood

when riding, so it was locked away in his baggage,
among those packs the bandits did not conspire to cap-
ture. While red hair might make them pause to con-
sider the probability of his claim, it was in no way
unique among those who lived in Krondor. Blond hair
might be the norm for fair-skinned people living in
Yabon and along the Far Coast, but Kro'ndorians num-
bered as many redheads as blonds among their citi-
zenry. And proving he was not a magician would take
some doing, for what difference was there between
someone who doesn't know any magic and someone
who knows magic but pretends he doesn't.

Borric was decided. He would wait until he reached
Durbin then seek to find someone a little more likely to
understand his circumstance. He really doubted Kasim
or any of his men—especially if they all were as bright as
Salaya—would either understand or believe him. But
someone with the intelligence to be the master of such
as these might. And if so, Borric could most likely ran-
som himself to freedom.

Taking what comfort he could from thoughts like
these, Borric pushed a half-dozing captive, moving him
a few inches, so Borric might lie down again. The blows
to the head had made him very groggy and sleep beck-
oned often. He closed his eyes, and for a moment the
sensation of the ground spinning beneath made him
nauseous. Then it passed. Soon a fitful sleep descended.

The sun burned like the angry presence of Prandur,
the Fire God, himself. As if hanging only a few yards
above him, the sun beat down on Borric's fair skin,
searing it. While Borric's hands and face had been
lightly tanned when serving at the northern borders,
the scorching desert sun burned him to weakness. Blis-
ters had erupted along Borric's back the second day,
and his head swam from the pain of his burn. The first
two days had been bad enough, as the caravan had
moved from the rocky plateau country down into the
sandy wastes the local desert men called the ergs of the
Jal-Pur. The five wagons moved slowly over what was

Captive                  117

less dirt than hard-packed sand baked to brick finish by
the same sun that was slowly killing the slaves.

Three had died yesterday. Salaya had little use for
weaklings; only healthy, strong workers were wanted
on the slave blocks at Durbin. Kasim had still not re-
turned from whatever business he was upon, and the
deputized caravan leader was revealed for the sadistic
pig Borric had marked him in their first minute of meet-
ing. Water was handed out three times a day, before
first light, at the noon break when the drivers and
guards halted to rest, and then with the evening meal—
the only meal, Borric corrected himself. It was a dried
mush bread, with little flavor and little that gave
strength. He hoped the soft things in the bread were
indeed raisins; he had not bothered to look. Food kept
him alive, no matter how distasteful it might be.

The slaves were a sullen group, each man lost in his
own suffering. Weakened by the heat, few had anything
to say to each other; talk was a needless waste of energy.
But Borric had managed to glean a few facts from one
or two of them. The guards were less vigilant now that
the caravan was into the wastes; even should a slave
escape, where would he go? The desert was the surest
guard of all. Once in Durbin, they would rest for a few
days, perhaps as long as a week, so bloody feet and
burned skins could heal, and weight could be regained
before they were offered upon the block. Travel-weary
slaves brought little gold.

Borric attempted to consider his choices, but the heat
and sunburn had weakened him, made him ill^ and the
lack of food and water was keeping him dull and stupid.
He shook his head and tried to focus his attention on
ways to escape, but all he could manage was to move his
feet, one then the other, pick them up and let them fall
before him, over and over, until allowed to halt.

Then the sun vanished and it was night. The slaves
were ordered to sit near the campfire as they had been
for the last three nights and listened to the guards hav-
ing sport with the five remaining women captives. They
no longer struggled or screamed. Borric ate his flat
piece of bread and sipped his water. The first night after




118            Prince of the Blood

entering the desert, one man had gulped his water,
then vomited it a few minutes later. The guards would
give him no more. He had died the next day. Borric had
learned his lesson. No matter how much he wished to
tilt back his head and drain the copper cup, he lingered
over the stale, warm water, sipping it slowly. Sleep
came quickly, the deep dreamless sleep of exhaustion,
with no real rest obtained. Each time he moved, angry
sunburns brought him awake. If he faced away from the
fire, his back smarted at any touch of heat, yet if he
moved from the fire, the cold brought him chills. But no
matter how close or far the source of his discomfort, he
soon was overcome by his fatigue, until he moved,
when the cycle began again. And then suddenly, spear
butts and boot kicks roused Borric to his feet with the
others.

In the cool of the morning, the almost damp night air
seemed nothing so much as a lens for the sun, bringing
the searing touch of Prandur to torment the slaves.
Before an hour was passed, two more men were fallen,
left where they hit the sand.

Borric's mind retreated into itself. An animal con-
sciousness was all that remained, a cunning, vicious ani-
mal that refused to die. Every iota of energy he
possessed was given over to but one task, to move for-
ward and not to fall. To fall was to die.

Then after a time of mindless moving forward, hands
seized him. "Stop," commanded a voice.

Borric blinked and through flashing yellow lights, he
saw a face. It was a face composed of knots and lumps,
angles and planes, skin dark like ebony over a curly
beard. It was the ugliest face Borric had ever beheld. It
was magnificent in its repulsiveness.

Borric began to giggle, but all that came from his
parched throat was a dry wheeze. "Sit," said the guard,
helping Borric to the ground with a surprising gentle-
ness. "It's time for the midday halt." Glancing around to
see if he was being observed, he opened his own water
skin and poured some out upon his hand. "You north-
erners die from the sun so quickly." He washed the
back of Borric's neck and dried his hand by running it

Captive                  119

through Borric's hair, cooling his baking head slightly.
"Too many have fallen along the way; Kasim will not be
pleased." Quickly he poured a mouthful for the young
Prince, then moved on, as if nothing had passed be-
tween them.

Then another guard brought around the water skin
and cups and the clamor for water began. Each slave
who could still speak announced his thirst, as if to re-
main silent was to chance being ignored.

Borric could barely move, and each motion brought
waves of bright yellow and white light and red flashes
behind his eyes. Yet, almost blindly, he pushed out his
hand to take the metal cup. The water was warm and
bitter, yet sweeter than the finest Natalese wine to Bor-
ric's parched lips. He sipped the wine, forcing himself
to hold it in his mouth as his father had taught him,
letting the dark purple fluid course around his tongue,
registering the subtle and complex components of the
wine's flavor. A hint of bitterness, perhaps from the
stems and a few leaves left in the vat of must, while
the winemaker attempted to bring his wine to just the
proper peak of fermentation before barreling the wine.
Or perhaps it was a flaw. Borric didn't recognize the
wine; it lacked noticeable body and structure, and was
deficient in acid to balance the fruit. It was not a very
good wine. He would have to see if Papa was testing
him and Eriand by putting a poor local wine on the
table, to see if they were paying attention.

Borric blinked and through eyes gummy from heat
and dryness, he couldn't see where the tip was. How
was he to spit the wine if there was no tip bucket to spit
into? He mustn't drink it, or he would be very drunk, as
he was only a small boy. Perhaps if he turned his head
and spit behind the table, no one would notice.

"Hey!" shouted a voice. "That slave is spitting out his
water!"

Hands ripped the cup from Borric's hands and he fell
over backwards. He lay on the floor of his father's dining
hall and wondered why the stones were so warm. They
should be cool. They always were. How did they get so
warm?

120 Prince of the Blood

Then a pair of hands lifted him ungently from his
sitting position, and another helped to hold him up.
"What's this? Trying to kill yourself by not drinking?"
Borric opened his eyes slightly and saw the vague out-
line of a face before his.

Weakly, he said, "I can't name the wine, Father."

"He's delirious," said the voice. Hands lifted him and
carried him and then he was in a darker place. Water
was daubed over his face and poured over his neck,
wrists, and arms. A distant voice said, "I swear by the
gods and demons, Salaya, you haven't the brains of a
three days' dead cat. If I hadn't ridden out to meet you,
you'd have let this one die, too, wouldn't you?"

Borric felt water course into his mouth and he drank.
Instead of the bitter half-cup, this was a veritable
stream of almost fresh water. He drank.

Salaya's voice answered: "The weak ones fetch us
nothing. It saves us money to let them die on the road
and not feed them."

"You idiot!" shouted the other. "This is a prime slave!
Look at him. He's young, not more than twenty years, if
I know my business, and not bad looking under the
sunburn, healthy—or at least he was a few days ago."
There was a sound of disgust. "These fair-skinned
northerners can't take the heat like those of us born to
the Jal-Pur. A little more water, and some covering, and
he'd have been fit for next week's block. Now, I'll have
to keep him an extra two weeks for the burns to heal
and his strength to return."

"Master—"

"Enough, keep him here under the wagon while I
inspect the others. There may be more who will survive
if I find them in time. I do not know what fate befell
Kasim, but it was a sorry day for the Guild when you
were left in charge."

Borric found this exchange very odd. And what had
happened to the wine? He let his mind wander as he lay
in the relative cool, under the wagon, while a few feet
away, a Master of the Guild of Durbin Slavers inspected
the others who in a day's time would be delivered to the
slave pens.

Captive                 121

"Durbin!" said Salman. His face of dark knots split in a
wide grin. He drove the last wagon in the train, the one
in which Borric rode. The two days since Borric was
carried into the shade of the wagon had returned him
from the edge of death. He now rode in the last wagon
with three other slaves who were recovering from heat-
stroke. Water was there for the taking, and their burned
skins were dressed with a soft oil and herb poultice,
which reduced the fiery pain to a dull itch.

Borric rose to his knees then stood upon shaky legs as
the wagon lurched across the stones in the road. He saw
little remarkable about the city, save the surrounding
lands were now green rather than sandy. They had
been passing small farms for about a half-day. He re-
membered what he had been taught about the infa-
mous pirate stronghold as a boy.

Durbin commanded the only arable farm land be-
tween the Vale of Dreams and the foothills of the Trol-
Ihome Mountains, as well as the one safe harbor to be
found from Land's End to Ranom. Along the south coast
of the Bitter Sea the treacherous reefs waited for ships
and boats unfortunate enough to be caught in the unex-
pected northern winds that sprang up routinely. For
centuries, Durbin had been home to pirates, wreckers
and scavengers, and slavers.

Borric nodded to Salman. The happy little bandit had
proved to be both friendly and garrulous. "I've lived
there all my life," said the bandit, widening his grin.
"My father was born there, too."

When the desert men of the Jal-Pur had conquered
Durbin hundreds of years before, they had found their
gateway to the trade of the Bitter Sea, and when the
Empire had conquered the desert men, Durbin was the
capital city of the desert men. Now it was the home of
an Imperial governor, but nothing had changed. It was
still Durbin.

"Tell me," asked Borric, "do the Three Guilds still
control the city?"

Salman laughed. "You're a very educated fellow! Few
outside Durbin know of this thing. The Guild of Slavers,

122 Prince of the Blood

the Wreckers Guild, and the Captains of the Coast. Yes,
the Three still rule in Durbin. It is they, not the Impe-
rial Governor, who decide who is to live and die, who is
to work, who is to eat." He shrugged. "It is as it has
always been. Before the Empire. Before the desert
men. Always."

Thinking of the power of the Mockers, the Guild of
Thieves, in Krondor, he asked, "What of the beggars
and thieves? Are they not a power?"

"Ha!" answered Salman. "Durbin is the most honest
city in the world, my educated friend. We who live
there lay at night with doors unlocked and may walk
the streets in safety. For he who steals in Durbin is a
fool, and either dead or a slave within days. So the
Three have decreed, and who is foolish enough to ques-
tion their wisdom? Certainly not I. And so it must be,
for Durbin has no friends beyond the reefs and sands."

Borric lightly patted Salman on the shoulder and sat
down in the back of the wagon. Of the four sick slaves,
he was the quickest to recover, as he was the youngest
and fittest. The other three were older farmers, and
none had shown any inclination to quick recovery. De-
spair robs you of strength faster than sickness, Borric
thought.

He drank a little water and marveled at the first hint
of ocean breeze that came into the wagon as they
headed down the road toward the city gate. One of his
father's advisors, and the man who had taught Borric
and Eriand how to sail, Amos Trask, had been a pirate in
his youth, rading the Free Cities, Queg, and the King-
dom under the name Captain Trenchard, the Dagger of
the Sea. He had been a renowned member of the Cap-
tains of the Coast. But while he had told many tales of
the high seas, he had said almost nothing of the politics
of the Captains. Still, someone might remember Cap-
tain Trenchard and that might stand Borric in good
stead.

Borric had decided to keep his identity hidden a
while longer. While he had no doubt the slavers would
send ransom demands to his father, he thought he
might avoid the sort of international difficulties that

Captive                 123

would arise should it come to pass. Instead, he might
bide his time in the slave pens a few days, regain his
strength, then flee. While the desert was a formidable
barrier, any small boat in the harbor would be his pas-
sage to freedom. It was nearly five hundred miles of
sailing against prevailing winds to reach Land's End,
Baron Locklear's father's city, but it could be done.
Borric considered all this with a confidence of one who,
at the age of nineteen, did not know the meaning of
defeat. His captivity was merely a setback, nothing
more.

The slave pens were sheltered by shingle roofs rested
upon tall beams, protecting the slaves from the noon
heat or unexpected storms off the Bitter Sea. But the
sides were open slats and crossbeams, so the guards
could watch the captives. A healthy man could easily
climb over the ten-foot fence, but by the time he
reached the top and crawled through the space be-
tween the fence and the crossbeams supporting ,the
roof three feet above, guards would be waiting for him.

Borric considered his plight. Once he was sold, his
new master might be lax in his security, or he might be
even more stringent. Logic dictated he attempt to es-
cape while confined close to the sea. His new owner
could be a Quegan merchant, a traveler from the Free
Cities, or even a Kingdom noble. What would be worse,
he could be carried deep into the Empire. He was not
sanguine about letting fate make the choice.

He had a plan. The only difficulty lay in getting coop-
eration from the other prisoners. If a long enough diver-
sion could be arranged for, then he could be over the
fence and out into the city. Borric shook his head. He
realized as plans go, it wasn't much.

"Pssst!"

Borric turned to see from where the odd sound came.
Seeing nothing, he turned back into himself as he con-
sidered improvements on his plan.

"Pssst! This way, young noble." Borric looked again
through the bars of the pen, but this time down, and in
the scant shadows he saw a slight figure.

124 Prince of the Blood

A boy, no more than eleven or twelve years old,
grinned up at him from the meager shelter of a large
roof support. If he moved more than inches in any di-
rection, he would certainly be spotted by the guard.

Borric glanced around, seeing the two guards at the
corner speaking to one another. "What?" he whispered.

"Should you but divert the guards' attention for an
instant, noble sir, I will be indebted to you for ages,"
came the answering whisper.

Borric said, "Why?"

"I need but a moment's distraction, sir."

Counting no harm from it, save perhaps a blow for
insolence, Borric nodded. Moving to where the guards
stood, he said, "Hey! When do we eat?"

Both guards blinked in confusion, then one snarled.
He jammed the butt of his spear through the staves of
the fence, and Borric had to dodge not to be struck.
"Sorry I asked," he said.

Chuckling to himself, he moved his shoulders under
the rough shirt they had given him, fighting the impulse
to scratch. The sunburn was healing after being dressed
for the last three days, but the peeling skin and the
itching were making him doubly cross. The next slave
auction was over a week away, and he knew he would
be on the block. He was regaining his strength quickly.

A tug at his sleeve caused him to turn and there
beside him was the boy. "What are you doing here?"

The boy gave him a questioning look. "What do you
mean, sir?"

"I thought you were trying to escape the pens," said
Borric in a harsh whisper.

The boy laughed. "No, noble youth. I needed the
distraction you so magnanimously provided, so I might
enter the pen."

Borric looked heavenward. "Two hundred prisoners
all dreaming continuously of a way out of here, and I
have to meet the one madman in the world who wishes
to break in! Why me?"

The boy looked up to where Borric's gaze went, and
said, "To which deity does my lord speak?"

"All of them. Look, what is this all about?"

Captive                  125

The boy took Borric's elbow and steered him to the
center of the pen, where they would be the least con-
spicuous to the guards. "It is a matter of some complex-
ity, my lord."

"And why do you address me as 'my lord'?"

The boy's face split with a grin, and Borric took a
good look at him. Round cheeks burned red by the sun
dominated a brown face. What he could see of the boy's
eyes, made narrow slits by merry amusement, sug-
gested they were dark to the point of being black. Un-
der a hood several sizes too large, ill-cropped coarse
black hair shot out at differing lengths.

The boy made a slight bow. "All men are superior to
one as low as I, my lord, and deserve respect. Even
those pigs of guards."

Borric couldn't help but smile at this imp. "Well,
then, tell me why you, alone among sane men every-
where, would wish to break into this miserable com-
pany?"

The boy sat upon the ground and motioned Borric to
do likewise. "I am called Suli Abul, young sir. I am a
beggar by trade. I am also, I am ashamed to admit,
under threat of punishment from the Three. You know
of the Three?" Borric nodded. "Then you know their
wrath is great and their reach long. I saw an old mer-
chant who had paused to sleep in the midday sun. Frbm
his torn purse, some coins had fallen. Had I waited until
he had awoke, and chanced he would not miss his coins,
then I would have but found them upon the ground,
and none would think the worse of me. But not trusting
the gods to keep the man from noticing his loss, I sought
to pick them up while he dozed. As the Lady of Luck
decreed, he did awake at the worst moment, and cried
'thief!' to all who were nearby. One who recognized me
added my name to the shout, and I was pursued. Now I
am being sought after by the Three for punishment.
Where better to hide than among those already con-
demned to slavery?"

Borric was silent for a moment, at a loss to answer
that. Shaking his head in wonder, he asked, "Tell me, in

126 Prince of the Blood

nine days when we are to be sold, then what shall you
do?"

With a laugh, the boy said, "By then, gentle lord, I
shall be gone."

"And where shall you go?" asked the Prince, his eyes
narrowing.

"Back to the city, young sir. For my transgressions are
slight and the Three have much to concern their atten-
tions. Some great issue is being decided now, at the
Governor's palace, or so the rumors in the streets tell.
Many officials of the Three as well as Imperial envoys
come and go. In any event, after a few days, those who
are searching for myself will be about other business
and I may safely return to my craft."

Borric shook his head. "Can you get out as easily, as
you got in?"

The boy shrugged. "Probably. Nothing in life is cer-
tain. I expect I shall be able to. If not, it's the gods' will."

Borric gripped the young beggar's shirt, pulling him
close. In whispers, he said, "Then, my philosophical
friend, we shall cut a bargain. I helped you in, and you
shall help me out."

The boy's dark face paled. "Master," he said, almost
hissing between his teeth, "for one as adroit as I, we
might contrive a means to release you from your captiv-
ity, but you are the size of a mighty warrior, and those
manacles upon your wrists confine your movement."

"Have you the means for my release of these?"

"How could I?" asked the frightened boy.

"You don't know? What kind of a thief are you?"

The boy shook his head in denial. "A poor one, mas-
ter, if the truth be known. It is the height of stupidity to
steal in Durbin, therefore I am also a stupid one. My
thievery is of the lowest order, the most inconsequen-
tial of thefts. Upon the soul of my mother, I so swear,
master! Today was my first attempt."

Shaking his head, Borric said, "Just what I need—an
incompetent thief. I could get free myself if I had a
pick." He took a breath, calming himself so as not to
frighten the boy more. "I need a hard piece of wire, so
long. A thin nail might work." He showed the boy by

Captive                  127

holding up thumb and forefinger, two inches of length.
The manacle chain made the gesture difficult.

"I can get that, master."

"Good," said Borric, releasing the boy. The instant he
was released, he turned as if to flee, but anticipating just
such a reaction, Borric's foot went out and tripped the
beggar. Before the boy could scramble to his feet, the
Prince had him by the shoulder of his garment. "You
make a scene," said the Prince, indicating the guards a
short distance away with a nod of his head. "I know
what you are going to do, boy. Don't seek to flee my
grasp. If I'm to be sold at auction in a week's time, I
might as well not go alone. Give me one more excuse to
turn you over to the guards and I will. Understand?"

"Yes, master!" whispered the boy, now completely
terrified. Borric said, "I know you, boy. I've been taught
by one who was to you as you are to the fleas who live in
your shirt. Do you believe me?" Suli nodded, unwilling
to trust his voice. "If you seek to betray me or leave me,
I will insure I don't go to the block alone. We are in this
as one, do you understand?" The boy nodded, and this
time Borric saw his agreement wasn't just to gain his
freedom, but to show he believed Borric would indeed
turn him over to the guards if he attempted to abandon
the Prince. Borric released him, and the boy fell hard
upon the ground. This time he didn't attempt to run,
but simply sat upon the hard-packed dirt, a look of fear
and hopelessness upon his face. "Oh, Father of Mercies,
I pray you, forgive my foolishness. Why, oh, why did you
cast me in with this mad lord?"

Borric settled to one knee. "Can you get me the wire,
or were you just lying?"

The boy shook his head. "I can get it." He rose to his
feet and motioned Borric to follow.

Borric followed him to the fence. The boy turned his
back so the guards would not see his face should they
look in his direction. Pointing to the boards, the boy
said, "Some of these are warped. Look for what you
need."

Borric turned his back as well, but studied the fencing
from the corner of his eye. About three boards down, a

Prince of the Blood

warp had bowed the fence outward slightly, pushing a
nail out. The Prince leaned against that board and could
feel the nailhead poking him in the shoulder.

Borric turned suddenly and pushed the boy against
the board. The boy leaned into it and, in one motion,
Borric hooked the edge of his metal cuff over the nail.
"Now pray I don't bend it," he whispered. Then with a
quick yank, the nail was free.

Stooping to pick it up, he moved to hide his prize
from any watching eyes. Glancing around, he saw with
relief that no one had bothered to take note of his odd
behavior.

With little movements, he had one, then the other
manacle off. He quickly rubbed his chafed wrists, then
put the manacles back on.

"What are you doing?" whispered the young beggar.

"If the guards see me without the bracelets, they'll
come investigate. I just wanted to see how difficult it
was going to be to get them off. Obviously, not very."

"Where has a noble son such as yourself learned such
a thing?" asked Suli.

Borric smiled. "One of my instructors had a ... col-
orful childhood. Not all his lessons were standard teach-
ing for—" He had almost said "Princes," but at the last
instant, he said, "noble sons."

"Ah!" said the boy. "Then you are one of noble birth. I
thought as much from your speech."

"My speech?" asked Borric.

"You speak like one of the commons, most noble lord.
Yet your accent is that of one from the highest born
families, even royalty itself."

Borric considered. "We're going to have to change
that. If we are forced to hide in the city for any length of
time, I must pass as a commoner."

The boy sat. "I can teach you." Looking down at the
manacles, he said, "Why the special confinement, son of
a most noble father?"

"They think I'm a magician."

The boy's eyes widened. "Then why have they not
put you to death? Magicians are most troublesome to

Captive                 129

confine. Even the poor ones can visit boils and harry
warts upon those who displease them."

Borric smiled. "I've almost convinced them I am a
poor tutor."

"Then why have they not removed the chains?"

"I've almost convinced them."

The boy smiled. "Where shall we go, master?"

"To the harbor, where I plan to steal a small boat and
make for the Kingdom."

The boy nodded his approval. "That is a fine plan. I
shall be your servant, young lord, and your father will
reward me richly for helping his son escape this evil den
of black-souled murderers."

Borric had to laugh. "You're given to a noble turn of
phrase yourself, now, aren't you?"

The boy brightened. "One must be gifted in the use
of words to earn one's living as a beggar, my most glori-
ous lord. To simply ask for alms will bring nothing but
kicks and cuffing from all but the kindest of men. But to
threaten them with curses of the most elaborate sort
will bring gifts.

"If I say, 'May your wife's beauty turn to ugliness,'
what merchant would bother to hesitate in his passing.
But should I say, 'May your mistress grow to resemble
your wife! And may your daughters do likewise!' then
he'll pay many coppers for me to remove the curse, lest
his daughters grow to look like his wife and he can find
no husbands for them, and his mistress grow to look like
his wife and he lose his pleasure."

Borric grinned, genuinely amused. "Have you such
powers of cursing that men fear you so?"

The boy laughed. "Who's to say? But what man would
hoard a few coppers against the chance the curse might
work?"

Borric sat down. "I shall share my meals with you, as
they account the bread and stew. But I must be free of
this place before they finally tally for auction."

"Then they will raise alarm and search for you."

Borric smiled. "That is what I wish them to do."

130 Prince of the Blood

Borric ate his half of his dinner and gave the plate to
the boy. Suli wolfed the food down and licked the tin
plate to get the last bits.

For seven days they had shared Borric's rations, and
while they both felt hunger, it was sufficient for them;

the slavers gave generous portions for those heading
toward the auction. No dark circles under eyes, nor
hollow cheeks, nor shrunken frames would lower price
if a few meals would prevent it.

If any others had noticed the unorthodox manner in
which the boy had joined the company in the pen, no
one commented upon it. The slaves were quiet, each
man lost in his own thoughts, and little attempt was
made to converse. Why bother to make friends with
those you would most likely never see again?

Whispering so that no one would overhear, Borric
said, "We must flee before the morning tally." The boy
nodded, but said, "I don't understand." For seven days,
he had been hiding behind the assembled slaves, duck-
ing to not be included in the head count. Perhaps he
had been seen once or twice, but the guards would not
bother to recheck the number if they had one too many
heads, simply assuming they had miscounted. If there
had been too few, they would have recounted.

"I need as much confusion in their search for us as
possible. But I want most of the guards back at the
auction the day following. You see?"

The boy made no pretense of understanding. "No,
master."

Borric had spent the last week profitably picking the
boy's brain for every piece of information he could
about the city and what lay in the area surrounding the
Slavers Guild. "Over that fence is the street to the har-
bor," Borric said, and Suli nodded to show he was cor-
rect. "Within minutes, dozens of guards will be racing
down that street to find us before we can steal away on a
boat for Queg or elsewhere, right?"

The boy nodded. It was the logical assumption. "No
one in his right mind would risk the desert, right?"

"Certainly."

"Then we're going to head toward the desert."

Captive                  131

"Master! We will die!"

Borric said, "I didn't say we'd go into the desert, just
we'd head that way and find a place to hide."

"But where, master? There are only the houses of the
rich and powerful between here and the desert, and the
soldiers' barracks at the Governor's house."

Borric grinned.

The boy's eyes widened. "Oh, gods preserve us, mas-
ter, you can't mean ..."

Borric said, "Of course. The one place they'll never
look for two runaway slaves."

"Oh, kind master. You must be joking to torment your
poor servant."

"Don't look so crestfallen, Suli," said Borric, glancing
around to make sure no one was watching. "You gave
me the idea."

"I, master? I said nothing about delivering ourselves
up to the Governor."

"No, but if you hadn't been trying to hide from the
slavers in the slave pen, I'd have never thought of this."

Borric slipped the manacles and motioned for the boy
to stand. The guards at the far end of the pen were
playing a game of knucklebones and the one delegated
to keep watch was dozing. Borric pointed upward and
the boy nodded. He stripped his robe, leaving himself
unclothed save for his breechcloth, and Borric made a
cup with his hands. The boy took one step and Borric
half-lifted, half-threw him up into the overhanging
beams of the roof supports. The boy moved agilely
along the beams to the farthest corner from the gam-
bling guards, near where the single guard dozed.

Hesitation and any sort of noise would undo them, so
Borric found himself holding his breath while the little
beggar scampered to the corner of the pen. There Bor-
ric quickly climbed a few feet of fence, and reached up
to grip the robe the boy had tied around the beam.
Hauling himself over the fence with two pulls, he
swung down to where the sleeping guard lay. Suli Abul
climbed down to hang almost directly over the sleeping
guard.

132 Prince of the Blood

In a coordinated movement, the boy lifted the
guard's metal helm from his head as Borric swung
the manacles. The iron struck the guard on the side of
the head with a dull crack, and the man slumped down.

Not waiting to see if they were observed—if one of
the other guards noticed they might as well give up
now—Borric leaped and grabbed the hanging robe.

Pulling himself up beside the boy, he paused a second
to gulp his breath back into his lungs, then motioned.
Suli set off in a crouched-over, silent walk, along the
beam that ran the length of the roof. Borric followed,
though his bulk forced him to move on hands and
knees, crawling behind the slight boy.

Over the gambling guards they moved, then into the
gloom. At the far end of the compound, they dropped to
the top of the last pen, then leaped to the outside wall.
Half-falling, half-jumping, they hit the ground and were
off in the night, running as if the entire garrison of
Durbin was on their heels, heading straight for the
home of the city's Governor.

Borric's plan had worked as he had thought it would.
In the busy house of the Governor of Durbin, there was
much confusion and many people moving. A nameless
pair of slaves crossing the courtyard to the kitchen elic-
ited no comment.

Within ten minutes, the alarm had been raised, and
many of the city's watchmen were in the streets, crying
that a slave had escaped. By then, Borric and Suli had
found a nice attic in the guest wing of the house, vacant
and, from the amount of dust on the floor, unused for
years.

Suli whispered, "You are certainly a magician, my
lord. If not of the sort they thought, of a different kind.
No one will think to search the Governor's home."

Borric nodded. He held up his finger to indicate si-
lence, then lay back as if to sleep.

The excited boy could hardly believe his eyes when
the young man fell into a fitful doze. Suli was too tense
and excited—and afraid—to try to sleep. He glanced
through the small roof window they had used to enter

Captive                 133

the attic, one which gave them a clear view of part of
the Governor's courtyard and some of the other wing
of the house.

After watching the occasional comings and goings of
the household, the beggar turned to inspect the rest of
the attic. He could stand easily enough, though Borric
would have to stoop. He walked carefully upon the
beams of the room, lest any who might happen to be
beneath the attic hear movement.

At the far end of the attic, he found a trapdoor. Put-
ting his ear against it, the boy heard nothing. He waited
a long time, or at least what he felt was a long time,
before prying the door up slightly. The room below was
empty and dark. The boy moved the trap carefully,
attempting not to cause dust to fall in the room below,
and stuck his head through the trap.

He almost cried out as he turned to see a face inches
from his own. Then his night vision adjusted and he saw
he was nose to nose with a statue, the sort imported
from Queg, life-size and carved from marble or some
other stone.

The boy put his hand upon the stone head and low-
ered himself into the room. He glanced around and was
satisfied the room was being used for storage. In a cor-
ner, under some bolts of cloth, he found a dull kitchen
knife. A poor weapon was better than none, he thought,
and he stuck the knife in his robe.

Moving as quietly as possible, the boy inspected the
only door in the room. He tested it and found it un-
locked. Opening it slowly, he peered through a tiny
crack, into an empty, dark hall.

He moved cautiously into the hall and slowly walked
to where the hall met with another, also dark. After
listening, Suli was certain no one was using this wing of
the Governor's large home. He scurried along, check-
ing in rooms randomly, and found that all were de-
serted. Many were empty, and a few had furnishings
covered with canvas tarps.

Scratching his arm, the boy glanced around. Nothing
suggested itself to him as likely plunder, so he deter-

134 Prince of the Blood

mined to return to the attic, to see if he could get some
rest.

Then, at the far end of the hall he was leaving, he
noticed a faint line of light. At the same instant, the
silence was broken by the distant sound of an angry
voice.

Caution and curiosity fought. Curiosity won. The boy
stole down the hall, to find a door through which muf-
Sed voices could be heard. Putting his ear to the wood,
the boy heard a man shouting. ". . . Fools! If we had
known ahead of time, we could have been prepared."

A second, calmer voice answered. "It was chance. No
one knew what that idiot Reese meant when he
brought word from Lafe that a princely caravan with
few guards was ripe for the taking."

"Not 'princely,' " said the first voice, anger barely
contained. " 'Princes' caravan.' That's what he meant."

"And the prisoner who escaped tonight was the
Prince?"

"Borric. Or the Goddess of Luck is having more sport
with us than I care to imagine. He was the only red-
headed slave we took."

The calmer voice said, "Lord Fire will be displeased
that he lives. With Borric thought dead, our master's
mission is completed, but should a living Prince of Isles
make his way home ..."

The angry voice said, "Then you must insure that he
does not, and for good measure, that his brother dies, as
well."

Suli attempted to peek through the crack of the door
and saw nothing, then he looked through the keyhole.
He could only see a man's back and part of a man's hand
resting upon a desk. Then the man at the desk leaned
forward, and Suli recognized the face of the Governor
ofDurbin. His was the angry voice. "No one outside this
room can know the escaped slave is Prince Borric. He
must not be allowed to identify himself to anyone. Cir-
culate the rumor he killed a guard while escaping, and
order that the slave be killed the instant he is caught."

The man with the calm voice moved, blocking Suli's
view. The beggar stood back, fearing the door was

Captive                  135

about to be opened, but the voice said, "The slavers will
not like a kill-on-sight order. They will want a public
execution, preferably death by exposure in the cage, to
warn others against attempting to escape."

The Governor said, "I will placate the guild. But the
fugitive must not be allowed to speak. Should any dis-
cover we had a hand in this—" He left the thought
unfinished. "I want Lafe and Reese silenced, as well."

Suli moved away from the door. Borric, he thought to
himself. Then his new master was . . . Prince Borric,
of the House of conDoin, son of the Prince of Krondor!

Never before had the boy known fear as he knew this
minute. This was a game of dragons and tigers and he
had stumbled into the middle of it. Tears ran down his
face as he hurried to the attic, barely keeping his wits
about him enough to close the door silently when he
passed through into the storage room.

Using the Quegan statue, he boosted himself back
into the attic and carefully put the trap back. He then
scampered to where the dozing Prince lay. Softly, he
whispered in his ear, "Borric?"

The young man was instantly awake, and said,
"What?"

With tears running down his face, Suli whispered,
"Oh, my magnificent lord. Have mercy. They know
who you are and they are searching for you in force.
They seek to kill you before others discover your iden-
tity."

Borric blinked and gripped the boy by the shoulders.
"Who knows about me?"

"The Governor and another. I could not see who.
This wing connects to where the Governor holds coun-
sel with others. They speak of the slave with red hair
who escaped this night, and they speak of the Prince of
Isles. You are both."

Borric swore softly. "This changes nothing."

"It changes everything, gentle master," cried the
boy. "They will not stop searching for you after a day,
but will hunt you down for as long as they must. And
they will kill me for what I know, too."

Borric let go of the frightened boy and swallowed his

136           Prince of the Blood

own fear. "Then we'll just have to be more clever than
they are, won't we?"

The question sounded hollow in his own ears, for if
the truth were to be known, he had no idea what he
would do next.

Chapter Eight

Escape

The boy shook his head no.

"Yes," repeated Borric.

Suli again shook his head. He had been almost speech-
less since returning to the attic. In a hoarse whisper, he
said, "If I go back they shall kill me, my Prince."

Borric leaned forward and firmly took the boy's
shoulders. He attempted to fill his voice with as much
menace as possible while whispering. "And if you don't,
I will kill you!" From the terror that shone from the
boy's eyes, he must have succeeded.

The debate was over the boy's refusal to return to his
listening post near the Governor's chambers to discover
more of what was said there. Borric had told him that
the more information they possessed, the better their
chances of survival. The theory seemed lost upon the
terrified boy.

Discovering that the prisoner who escaped was a
royal prince from a neighboring kingdom was a shock,
enough of a shock to push the boy to the brink of hyste-
ria. Then by the time the boy had returned to the attic,
it had sunk in that every power in the city of Durbin
was being turned toward finding that Prince, with one
thought in mind, to kill him! That had him teetering
over the edge of hysteria. Then it hit him that whoever
was found in the company of said Prince would be dis-
posed of at the same time, to insure his silence, and the
boy found himself hanging out over the brink of hyste-
ria, his feet churning in air as he clung with all his might
to what remained of his wits. He sat silently crying, only
his fear of discovery keeping him from wailing like a
scalded cat.

Borric at last saw the child was beyond reason. Shak-

138 Prince of the Blood

ing his head in disgust, he said, "Very well. You remain
here and I'll go. Which way was it?"

The prospect of this large warrior knocking over stat-
ues and banging into furniture in the dark and making
enough noise to wake the city hit the boy like cold
water. It was an even more fearful choice than risking
capture one more time. Shivering, the boy swallowed
his fear and said, "No, my good master, I'll go." He took
a moment to collect himself, then said, "Stay quiet, and
I will go listen to what is said."

Once he had made the choice, the boy acted without
hesitation, and moved back to the trapdoor. He levered
it up and slipped through silently. Borric thought that
despite everything, the boy showed a particular type of
courage, doing what had to be done regardless of how
frightened he was.

Time passed slowly for Borric and after what seemed
an hour, he began to worry. What if the boy had been
caught? What if instead of a round-faced little beggar
coming through that trap, an armed warrior or assassin
climbed into the attic?

Borric picked up the dull kitchen knife and held it
tightly. It was scant comfort.

More minutes passed, and Borric was left alone with
the sound of his own heartbeat. Someone wanted him
dead. He had known that since the football match in
Krondor. Someone named "Lord Fire." A silly name,
but one designed to hide the identity of the author of
that order to kill the son of the Prince of Krondor. The
Governor of Durbin was part of the plot, as was a man in
a black cloak. Probably a messenger from this Lord
Fire. Borric's head ached from stress, fatigue, hunger,
and the aftereffects of his journey across the desert. But
he forced himself to concentrate. For the Governor of
even a pest-hole city like Durbin to be involved in such
a plot meant two things: the author of the plan to
plunge the Empire into war with the Kingdom was
placed highly enough to influence many people of rank,
and the plot was far flung, as there were few places
within the Empire farther away from the capital city as
Durbin.

Escape                 139

The trap opened and Borric tensed, bringing his
knife to the ready. "Master!" a familiar voice whis-
pered. Suli had returned. Even in the dark, Borric could
sense his excitement.

"What?"

The boy hunkered down close to Borric, so he could
whisper the news. "Much consternation in the city from
your escape. The auction is closed tomorrow! This is an
unprecedented thing. All wagons and packtrains from
the city are to be searched. Any man with red hair is to
be arrested at once, gagged so he may not speak, and
brought to the palace for identification."

"They really want to insure no one knows I'm here."

Borric could almost sense the boy's grin as he said,
"Difficult, master. With so much alarm in the city,
sooner or later someone will discover the cause. The
Captains of the Coast have agreed to sweep the sea-
lanes between the reefs and Queg, from .here to
Krondor, to find the runaway slave. And every building
in the city is to be investigated, the search is underway
even as we speak! I do not understand this thing."

Borric shrugged. "I don't know either. How they
could get so many people to agree to this sort of business
without telling them what they were after . . ." Borric
moved toward a tiny gap in the support beam of the
roof, where he could peek into the courtyard. "It's an-
other five, six hours to dawn. We might as well get some
rest."

"Master!" hissed the boy. "How can you rest? We
must flee!"

Borric said softly, "Fleeing is what they expect. They
are looking for a man who is fleeing. Alone. A red-
haired man."

"Yes," agreed the boy.

"So we wait here, steal a little food from the kitchen,
and wait for the search to wind down. In a household as
big as this, we should be able to pass unnoticed for a few
days."

Sitting back on his haunches, the boy let out a long
sigh. It was clear Suli wasn't pleased to hear this, but

J

140 Prince of the Blood

having nothing more intelligent to offer, he remained
silent.

Borric awoke with a gulp of breath, his heart pound-
ing in his chest. It was still dark. No, he corrected him-
self as he spied a bit of light entering through the crack
at the roof line, it's still dark in this attic.

He had been dreaming, of a time when he and his
brother had been playing in the palace as children,
using the so-called secret passages that were used by
servants to move unseen between the different suites.
The boys had split up and Borric had become lost. He
had waited a long, lonely time before his Uncle Jimmy
had come looking for him. Borric smiled as he remem-
bered. Eriand had been the more upset of the two.

Moving to peer through the tiny crack at the sliver of
courtyard he could see, Borric had little doubt it was
much the same now. "Eriand must think me dead," he
muttered to himself.

Then he realized he was alone. The boy, Suli, was
gone!

Borric patted around in the dark for the knife and
found it where he left it. Feeling only slightly better for
the presence of the indifferent weapon, he wondered
what the boy could be up to. Perhaps he figured to
bargain his own life in exchange for knowledge of the
whereabouts of a certain red-haired slave?

Borric felt close to panic. If the boy had indeed tried
to bargain for his own safety, both were as good as dead.
Forcing himself to calmness, he again peered through
the little crack. It was nearly sunrise, and already the
Governor's household was busy, with servants hurrying
between the outbuildings, the kitchen, and the main
house. Still, there was nothing to suggest other than the
normal morning's activities. No armed men were in
sight, no shouting voices would be heard.

Borric sat back and thought. The boy might not be
terribly educated, but he was not stupid. No doubt he
knew his own life was forfeit if anyone learned of his
involvement with the escaped slave. He most likely was
hiding in another part of town, or perhaps even on a

Escape                 141

ship heading out of the city, working as a common sea-

inan.

Always a hearty eater, Borric felt his stomach knot.
He had never truly been hungry before in his life, and
he didn't care for the feeling. He had been too misera-
ble while traveling to Durbin to dwell much on his
hunger; it was merely one among many afflictions. But
now with his sunburn turned to a deep reddish tan and
his strength almost returned in full, he was very aware
of his empty stomach. He wondered if he could slip out
into the early morning bustle, and decided against try-
ing. Redheaded slaves over six feet tall were certainly
not common in this city and he would probably be
caught before he got within a hundred paces of the
kitchen. As if fate conspired to torment him, a familiar
odor came wafting in on the morning breeze. The
kitchen cooked bacon and ham for the Governor's
household. Borric's mouth began to water, and he sat
for a miserable minute, thinking of breakfast cakes and
honey, boiled eggs, fruit with cream, hot slabs of ham,
steaming fresh bread, pots of coffee.

"No good can come from this," he scolded himself,
forcing himself back from the crack. Hunkering down
in the dark, he attempted to discipline his mind away
from the torment of hunger. All he need do was wait for
night to fall and then he could steal into the kitchen and
nick some food. Yes, that's all he need do. Wait.

Borric discovered, that like hunger, waiting was not
to his liking. He would lay back for a time, then cross
over to the crack in the roof, peer through, and wonder
how much time had passed. Once he even dozed for a
while, and was disappointed to discover that—judging
from the nearly unchanged shadow angles—only min-
utes had passed when he had hoped for hours. He re-
turned to his place of resting, a section of attic where
the floor seemed a little less uncomfortable than the
rest of the floor, more likely due to his imagination than
any real difference. He waited and he was hungry. No,
he corrected himself. He was ravenous.

More time passed and again he dozed. Then to break
the routine, he practiced some stretching exercises a

142 Prince of the Blood

Hadati warrior had once taught him and Eriand, de-
signed to keep muscles loose and toned at times when
there was no room for sword practice or the other rigors
common to warcraft. He moved one way then another,
balancing tension and relaxation. To his astonishment,
he discovered that not only did the exercises take his
mind off of his stomach, they made him feel better and
calmer.

For the better part of four hours, Borric sat near the
crack, observing the comings and goings of those in the
Governor's courtyard. Several times, soldiers running
messages hurried through Borric's field of vision. He
considered: if he could stay hidden here long enough—
assuming he could steal food and not get caught—in a
few more days they would assume he had somehow
slipped out of their grasp. At that time he might be able
to sneak aboard an outbound ship.

Then what? He thought upon that prickly issue. It
would do little good to return home, even if he should
find a way. Father would only send fast riders south to
Kesh with warnings to Eriand to be cautious. No doubt
he could be no more cautious than he already was. With
Borric's disappearance, Uncle Jimmy was sure to as-
sume the worst and count Borric dead. It would take a
gifted assassin to win past Earl James's notice. As a boy,
Jimmy had rightly been counted something of a legend
in^the city. When years younger than Borric's present
age, he was already a master thief and counted an adult
by the Mockers. No mean feat that, Borric thought.

"No," he whispered to himself. "I must get to Eriand
as quickly as possible. Too much time will be lost if I
return home first." Then he wondered if perhaps he
should attempt to reach Stardock. The magicians could
do astonishing things and perhaps could provide him
with a faster way yet to reach Kesh. But Jimmy had
mentioned Pug was leaving the day after they de-
parted, so he was already gone. And the two Keshian
magicians he left in charge were not men who ap-
peared to Borric as likely candidates for generous help.
There was something decidedly off-putting about both

Escape                  143

of them. And they were Keshian. Who knows how far
this Lord Fire's plotting reaches? Borric considered.

Looking up from his musing, he realized that night
was falling. The evening meal was being prepared in
the kitchen and the smell of meat roasting over a spit
was nearly enough to make him mad. In a few hours, he
told himself. Just relax and let the time pass. ... It
won't be long. In just a few more hours, the servants will
be in their own beds. Then it will be time to steal out
and—

Abruptly the trap moved and Borric's heart raced as
he readied the knife to defend himself. The trap raised
up and a slight figure pulled himself into the trap. Suli
Abul said, "Master?"

Borric almost laughed from relief. "Here."

The boy scurried over and said, "I feared you might
have been found, though I suspected you were wise
enough to stay here and await my return."

Borric said, "Where did you go?"

Suli was carrying a sack that Borric could barely make
out in the gloom. "I stole out before dawn, master, and
as you were sleeping soundly I chose not to disturb you.
Since then I have been many places." He opened the
bag and brought forth a loaf of bread. Borric tore off a
hunk and ate without having to be asked twice. Then
the boy handed over a block of cheese and a small skin
of wine.

Through his full mouth, Borric asked, "Where did
you get this?"

The boy sighed, as if being back in the attic was a
relief. "I have had a most perilous day, my kind master.
I fled with the idea of perhaps leaving you, then consid-
ered what fate has offered. Should I be caught, I will be
sold for a slave because of my incompetent theft. If I am
linked with your escape, I will be dead. So, what are the
risks? By hiding until you are caught and hoping you
will not speak the name of Suli Abul before they kill
you, I wager a death sentence against the possibility of
regaining the life I had before these recent turns of
events, which upon consideration is not a very grand
thing. Or I can risk that poor life and return to help my

144 Prince of the Blood

young master against the day you return to your father,
to reward your faithful servant."

Borric laughed. "And what reward shall you have if
we get safely back to Krondor?"

With a solemnity that almost made Borric laugh
again, the boy said, "I wish to become your servant,
master. I wish to be known as the Prince's body ser-
vant."

Borric said, "But what about gold? Or perhaps a
trade?"

The boy shrugged. "What do I know of trade, master?
I would be a poor merchant, and perhaps be ruined
within a year. And gold? I would only spend it. But to be
the servant of a great man is to be close to greatness in a
way. Do you not see?"

Borric's laughter died in his throat before it was
voiced. He realized that to this boy of the street, the
position of a great man's servant was the highest attain-
ment he could imagine. Borric thought about the
countless and nameless bodies that had surrounded him
all his life, the servants who had brought this young son
of the Royal House his clothing in the morning, who
washed his back, who prepared his meals, each day. He
doubted he knew more than one or two by name and
perhaps only a dozen by sight. They were . . . part of
the landscape, no more significant than a chair or a
table. Borric shook his head, and sighed.

"What is it, master?"

Borric said, "I don't know if I can promise you a
position that close to me, personally, but I will guaran-
tee that you'll have a place in my household and that
you will rise as high as your talents will take you. Is that
fair enough?"

The boy bowed with solemn formality. "My master is
most generous."

Then the boy pulled some sausage from the sack. "I
knew you would be a generous, kind master, so I re-
turned with many things—"

"Hold a moment, Suli. Where did you get all this?"

The boy said, "In one of the rooms below, a woman's
sleeping chamber from its look, I found a comb with

Escape                 145

turquoise set within silver, left behind by a thoughtless
maid when the quarters were last vacated. I sold this to
a man in the bazaar. I took the coins he gave me and
purchased many things. Not to worry. I moved along
and purchased each item from a different merchant,
insuring no one knew what business I was upon. Here."
He handed Borric a shirt.

It was nothing fancy but obviously a significant im-
provement over the rough homespun the slavers had
given him. Then the boy passed over a pair of cotton
trousers, the kind worn by sailors throughout the Bitter
Sea. "I could not find boots, master, that I could pur-
chase, yet have enough left for food."

Borric smiled at the boy. "You did well. I can go with-
out the boots. If we're to pass as sailors, bare feet will not
bring us any notice. But we'll have to sneak to the har-
bor at night and hope no one sees this red hair of mine
under a lamp."

"I have taken care of that, master." The boy handed
over a vial of some liquid and a comb. "I have this from
a man who sells such to the older whores down by the
waterfront. He claims it will not wash out nor run with
water. It is called oil of Macasar."

Borric opened the vial and his nose was assaulted by a
pungent, oily odor. "It better work. The smell will have
people marking me."

"That will pass, according to the merchant."

"You'd better put it in my hair. I wouldn't want to
pour it over half my head. There's barely enough light
for you to see what you're doing."

The boy moved behind him and ungently rubbed the
vial's contents into the Prince's hair. He then combed it
through, many times over, spreading it as evenly as
possible. "With your sunburn, Highness, you will look
every inch the Durbin sailor."

"And what of you?" asked Borric.

"I have trousers and a shirt in the bag, too, my master.
Suli Abul is known for his beggar's robe. It is large
enough for me to hide limbs when I play at being de-
formed."

Borric laughed as the boy continued to work on his

146 Prince of the Blood

hair. He sighed in relief as he thought. Just maybe we do
have a chance to get out of this trap.

Just before dawn, a sailor and his younger brother
ventured into the streets near the Governor's estate. As
Borric had surmised, there was little activity near the
Governor's home, as it was logical to assume the fugi-
tive was unlikely to be anywhere near the heart of
Durbin authority. Which is why they made back toward
the slave pens. If the Governor's house was an unlikely
place for the fugitives to hide, the slave quarters were
even less likely. Borric was not entirely comfortable
being in a rich part of town, as the presence of two
obviously shabby figures near the residences of the
wealthy and powerful was in and of itself sufficient to
bring unwanted scrutiny upon them.

When they were but a block from the slave quarters,
Borric halted. Upon the wall of a storage shed was a
newly hung broadside. Painted by skilled craftsmen, it
proclaimed in red letters a reward. Suli said, "Master,
what does it say?"

Borric read aloud. " 'Murder most foul!' it says. It says
that I killed the wife of the Governor." Borric's face
went pale. "Gods and demons!" He quickly read the
entire broadside, then said, "They say a Kingdom-born
house slave raped and killed his mistress, then fled into
the city. They've put a reward of one thousand Golden
Ecu on me." Borric couldn't believe his eyes.

The boy's eyes widened. "A thousand? That is a for-
tune."

Borric tried to calculate the worth. It came out to
roughly five thousand Kingdom Sovereigns, or the in-
come from a small estate for a year—a staggering sum
indeed for the capture, dead or alive, of a runaway
slave, but one who had murdered the city's foremost
lady of society. Borric shook his head in pained realiza-
tion. "The swine murdered his own wife to give the
guards a reason to kill me on sight," he whispered.

Suli shrugged. "It is no surprise when you understand
that the Governor has a mistress who demands more
and more from him. To put aside his first wife and

Escape                  147

marry his mistress—after the appropriate period of
mourning, of course—will ease two sources of concern
for him: keeping his mistress and Lord Fire happy. And
while astoundingly beautiful, the mistress would do
well to consider the future of one who marries a man
who killed his first wife to make her his second. When
she becomes older and less fair of face—"

Borric looked around. "We better keep moving. The
city will be at full speed within the hour."

Suli seemed unable to stifle his incessant chatter, ex-
cept under the most dire circumstances. Borric didn't
attempt to shut him up, deciding the garrulous lad
would look less suspicious than one who was sullenly
glancing in all directions. "Now, master, we know how
the Governor convinced the Three to help apprehend
you. The Three and the Imperial Governor have little
love amongst them, but they have less love for slaves
who murder their lawful lords."

Borric could only agree. But he found the Governor's
means to achieve that reaction chilling. Even if he
hadn't loved the woman, he had lived with her for some
number of years. Wasn't there any compassion in him?
wondered Borric.

Rounding a corner, they saw the side of the slave
pens. Because the auction had been canceled, the pens
were especially crowded. Borric turned his face toward
Suli and moved steadily, but not so hurried as to attract
attention. To any guards who might be looking, he was
simply a sailor speaking to a boy.

A pair of guards walked around a corner and ap-
proached them. Instantly, Suli said, "No. You said I
would have a full share this voyage. I am grown now. I
do the work of a man! It was not my fault the nets
fouled. It was Rasta's fault. He was drunk—"

Borric hesitated only an instant, then replied in as
gruff a voice as he could muster, "I said I would consider
it. Be silent or I'll leave you behind, little brother or not!
See how you like another month working in Mother's
kitchen while I'm gone." The guards gave the pair a
quick glance, then continued on.

Borric resisted the temptation of looking to see if the

8           Prince of the Blood

guards were paying attention. He would know quickly
enough if they became suspicious. Then Borric turned
another corner and collided with a man. For a brief
instant the stranger looked into his eyes with a threat-
ening mutter, his alcohol-ladened breath in Borric's
face, then the man's expression turned from drunken
irritation to murderous hatred. "You!" said Salaya,
reaching for the large dagger in the belt of his robe.

Reacting instantly, Borric put his fingers together in a
point and drove it as hard as he could into Salaya's chest,
right below the bottom-most ribs. As his fingers
smashed into the nerves there, Salaya's breath was
driven from his lungs. As he struggled to catch his
breath, Salaya's face turned crimson and his eyes went
unfocused. Borric then struck hard into his throat,
pulled him forward, and smashed down as hard as he
could manage on the back of the slaver's neck, at the
base of the skull. Borric had him by the arm before
the slaver hit the ground, and if any more guards
chanced to glance their way a moment after the en-
counter, they would see nothing more suspicious than
two friends,, a man and boy, helping home a friend who
had had too much to drink.

Halfway down the street they came to an alley and
turned into it, dragging the now-unconscious man
along like so many sacks of rotten vegetables. Borric
deposited him on a pile of refuse and quickly had his
purse off. A fair number of Keshian and Kingdom coins
weighed down the heavy leather pouch. That went in-
side Borric's shirt. He removed the belt knife and
sheath, wishing the slaver had carried a sword as well.
As he hesitated as to what to do next, Suli stripped
Salaya of his rings, four from his hands, two from his
ears. Then the boy took off the slaver's boots and hid
them. "If we leave anything of value behind, it will look
suspicious." Stepping back, he said, "You can kill him
now, master."

Borric halted. "Kill him?" Suddenly it registered. He
had dreamed of revenging himself upon this swine, but
all those visions had involved killing him in a duel, or

Escape                 149

bringing him before a magistrate on charges. "He's un-
conscious."

"All the better, master. There will be no struggle."
Seeing Borric hesitate, he added, "Quickly, master, be-
fore someone chances upon us. The city stirs and this
alley will be traveled shortly. Someone is bound to find
him soon. If he is not dead ..." He let the conse-
quences of that go unspoken.

Steeling himself, Borric withdrew the knife he had
taken from Salaya and held it. But then he was con-
founded by a completely unexpected concern: how to
do it? Should he drive the knife into the man's stomach,
cut his throat, or just what?

Suli said, "If you wish not to kill a dog, master, let your
servant do it for you, but it must be done now! Please,
master."

The thought of letting the boy kill was even more
repugnant to Borric, so he pulled his arm back and
drove the knife into the slaver's throat. There was not
the slightest movement from Salaya. Borric stared in
astonishment, then with a bitter laugh, he said, "He was
already dead! The second blow must have broken his
neck." Borric shook his head in astonishment. "The
punch to the chest and throat was one of the dirty
fighting tricks taught me by James—not the sort of
things noble sons usually learned—but one which I am
glad to have been taught. I didn't know the blow to the
neck would be lethal."

Not caring for explanations, Suli said, "Let us go now,
master! Please!" He tugged on Borric's tunic, and the
Prince let the boy pull him out of the alley.

When he was clear of the sight of the dead slaver,
Borric turned his thoughts away from revenge and back
toward escape. Putting his hand upon Suli's shoulder,
he said, "Which way to the harbor?"

Suli didn't hesitate. He pointed down a long street
and said, "That way."

"Then lead on," was Borric's answer. And the beggar
boy led the Prince through a city ready to kill them
both at a moment's notice.

150 Prince of the Blood

"That one," said Borric, indicating a small sailboat
tied to a relatively lonely dock. It was a pinnace, the sort
used as a tender, to run to and from larger ships in the
harbor, carrying passengers, messages, and very small
cargo. But if handled right, it would do well upon the
open sea, as long as the weather remained fair. As the
entire Heet ofDurbin pirates had put out the day before
to intercept the murdering slave, there was almost no
activity in the harbor. But that condition wouldn't last
long, Borric was certain, as there were common citizens
who had no concerns with the hunt for the murderer of
the Governor's wife. Soon the docks would be busy and
the theft of the boat would be observed.

Borric looked about and pointed to a coil of old, filthy
rope that lay nearby. Suli picked it up, and slung the
wet, foul-smelling coil over his shoulder. Borric then
picked up a discarded wooden crate, pushing the open
slats closed. "Follow me," he said.

No one paid any attention to two sailors walking pur-
posefully toward the small boat at the end of the docks
Borric put the crate down and jumped into the boat.
quickly untying the bow line. He turned to find Suli
standing in the rear of the boat, an open look of perplex-
ity upon his face. "Master, what do I do?"

Borric groaned. "You've never sailed?"

"I have never been on a boat before in my life, mas-
ter."

Borric said, "Bend down and look like you're doing
something. I don't want anyone to notice a confused
sailor boy on board. When we're underway, just do
what I tell you."

Borric quickly had the boat pushed free of the dock,
and after a fitful start, the sail was up and the boat
moving steadily toward the harbor mouth. Borric gave
Suli a quick list of terms and some duties. When he was
done, he said, "Come take the tiller." The boy moved to
sit where the Prince had, and Borric gave him the tiller
and the boom hawser. "Keep it pointed that way," the
Prince instructed, pointing at the harbor mouth, "while
I see what we have here."

Borric went to the front of the boat and pulled a small

Escape                 151

boat's locker out from under the foredeck. The box was
unlocked and inside he found little of value: a single sail,
a rusty scaling knife left over from when the boat had
belonged to an honest fisherman, and some frayed line.
He doubted any fish caught on that line would be big
enough for more than bait. There was also a small
wooden bucket bound in iron, used as a bailer or to pull
up water to keep a catch wet, back when this boat was
used for fishing. A rusty lantern without oil was his only
other discovery. Turning to face the boy who studied
the sail and held the tiller with fierce concentration on
his face, Borric said, "I don't suppose you have any
more bread or cheese left?"

With a look of sincere apology, the boy said, "No,
master."

One thing about this change in his circumstances,
Borric commented to himself; hunger was becoming a
way of life. . . .

The wind was a brisk nor'easter, and the pinnace was
fastest in a broad beam reach, so Borric turned her
north by northwest as he left the harbor mouth. The
boy looked both terrified and exhilarated. He had been
babbling most of the way through the harbor, obviously
his means of dealing with his fear, but as they had exited
the harbor mouth, with no more than a casual glance by
the deck crew of a large lateen-rigged caravel, the boy's
fear had vanished. Borric had sailed intentionally close
to the ship, as if unconcerned by its presence, but rather
irritated by the need to sail around it.

Now with the harbor mouth behind them, Borric
said, "Can you climb?"

The boy nodded, and Borric said, "From the front—
and mind the sail—climb the mast to that ring up there
and hang on. Look in all directions and tell me what you
see."

The boy shinnied up the mast like one born to it and
gripped the observation ring at the top of the small
mast. It swayed dramatically with the additional weight
at the top, but the boy didn't seem to mind. Yelling
down, he said, "Master! There are small white things

152 Prince of the Blood

along that way!" He pointed eastward, then swept with
his hand toward the north.

"Sails?"

"I think so, master. They mark the horizon as far as I
can see."

"What about to the north?"

"I think I see some sails there, too, master!"

Borric swore. "What of to the west?"

The boy squirmed and shouted, "Yes, there are some
there, too."

Borric considered his choices. He had thought to es-
cape to Ranom, a small trading port to the west, or if
needs be, LiMeth, a modest city high up on the south-
ern peninsula below the Straits of Darkness. But if they
had some pickets established just against that choice, he
would have to put out farther north, perhaps reaching
the Free Cities eventually—if he didn't starve first—or
brave the straits. This time of the year the straits were
only moderately dangerous, unlike the winter when
they were impassable, save for an exceptional brave, or
stupid, sailor.

Borric signaled for Suli to climb down and when the
boy was near, the Prince said, "I think we'll have to run
to the northwest and get around the pickets. He
glanced at the sun and said, "If we steer away from
those western pickets, they're sure to come running,
but if we hold a steady course as if we're simply going
about our business, we may fool them." He looked
down. "See how the water changes color from here"—
he pointed—"to there?"

The boy nodded. "That's because this is a deep chan-
nel, and that is a coral reef. This boat has a very shallow
draft, so we can slip above those reefs, but that big ship
we saw at the harbor would bottom out here and crash.
We must also be cautious; some of these reefs are too
near the surface for even our small boat, but if we are
alert, we can avoid them."

The boy looked at Borric with fear in his eyes. He
obviously felt overwhelmed by what the Prince was
saying and didn't understand. "That's all right," said
Borric. "I'll tell you what to look for if we have to flee."

Escape                  153

He glanced at the distant western horizon, where he
could barely see a single white dot on the surface of
blue-green. "Anything in close to shore will have just as
shallow a draft as we have and probably be faster."
Checking the luff of the sail to make sure he was at the
proper angle to the wind for maximum speed, Borric
said, "Just keep watching that white speck on the west-
ern horizon, Suli, and tell me if it starts to get bigger."

With concentration that bordered on the single-
minded, the boy hung over the windward side of the
boat, using the angle of the craft as a means to sit at the
highest perch possible, short of climbing the mast again.
For the better part of an hour the white spot appeared
to neither shrink nor grow, then suddenly it was head-
ing straight at them. "Master!" the boy yelled. "They
are coming!"

Borric turned the craft, attempting to get the maxi-
mum angle to the wind for speed, but the sail slowly
grew. It was a faster craft. "Damn," he swore. "They'll
overtake us if we keep running."

Suli shouted, "Master, another!"

As if summoned by the first ship to intercept the
pinnace, a second sail appeared upon the northern hori-
zon. "We're cut off," yelled Borric. He swung the tiller
hard about, cursing himself for a fool. Of course the
guards at the harbor mouth had been lax. They were
instructed to intercept only those who looked like the
runaway, and could clearly see that the two sailors were
neither redheaded. But the ships on picket would only
know a sail was on the horizon. They would intercept,
and Borric wanted nothing to do with close inspection.
In Durbin, he might have tried to bluff his way out with
a contrived story, but out here, with freedom so close,
he wasn't going to chance another capture. To be
caught was to be killed, he reminded himself.

Borric looked about and said, "Come here!"

The boy hurried to Borric's side and the Prince gave
him the tiller and boom line. "Hold on this course."

Borric moved quickly to the front of the boat and
took the second sail from the locker. He attached it to

154 Prince of the Blood

the front of the mast, but didn't raise it. "Hurry, mas-
ter!" cried the boy.

"Not now. It would only slow us down. We're at the
wrong angle." Borric returned to the tiller.

The two other boats were turning to give chase and
now Borric could make them out. The northern inter-
ceptor was a large two-masted galleon, fast running
before the wind, but slow to maneuver and with a deep
draft. He knew that captain wouldn't follow him into
the reefs. But the first boat they had seen was a fore-
and-aft-rigged, sleek-looking sloop. Newly found upon
the Bitter Sea over the last twenty years, they were
favored by pirates working the shoals of the southern
coast. Faster than the pinnace in a light wind, they were
more maneuverable and had almost as shallow a draft.
Borric's only hope was to get past the sloop, put on
more canvas, and get into the shallowest water possible.
Only in a very heavy wind in a broad reach could his
pinnace possibly outrun that boat.

The larger boat moved to cut off Borric's smaller craft
and he eased off the tiller, turning more and more
upwind. Then he jibbed his boat and left the galleon
wallowing close-hauled into the wind, its speed evapo-
rating like water on a hot stone.

The sloop turned to cut him off as he sailed back
toward the reef, and Borric spilled wind from his sail,
letting the captain of the larger boat think he had cut off
the fugitives. Borric concentrated, as it was going to be
a very close thing, and any miscalculation would leave
him either too much room between the sloop and pin-
nace, so the larger boat could turn again and intercept
him, or bring them too close, so they could be grappled
and boarded. Borric pulled hard over on the tiller, as if
attempting to turn back away once more. Sailing just
shy of directly into the eye of the wind was the only
point of sailing he was faster than the sloop in this light
breeze, but not by much. And if he attempted to stay
that course he would end up sailing directly back to the
galleon.

Borric let the pursuing craft get near enough to make
out the crew, nearly thirty unsavory-looking thugs, all

Escape                  155

armed with sword and pike. If there are archers on the
boat, he thought to himself, we'll never make it alive.

Then he surprised the crew of the sloop and Suli both,
by jibbing his boat directly toward the larger craft. Suli
cried out and threw his arms before his face, expecting
a collision, but rather than the crack of splitting tim-
bers, the only sound above the sounds of the sea were
the loud oaths from the sailors on the sloop, taken by
surprise. The sloop's helmsman reacted as Borric hoped
he would, turning his wheel hard over. The sloop's cap-
tain's curses filled the air. The helmsman was now steer-
ing away from the boat they wanted to come alongside
and grapple, and he started to turn the wheel back. But
the damage had been done.

Borric's pinnace stood still, trembling in the teeth of
the wind, then started moving slightly backwards. Like
a dancer spinning on her heels, the boat swung away
from the sloop, coming quickly around. The sound of
the canvas snapping taut echoed across the waters as
the pinnace seemed to jump away, running before the
wind. Astonished-looking sailors stood at the rail of the
sloop with their mouths open. Then one made so bold as
to attempt to leap across the narrow gap between. He
fell only a few feet short of the stern of Borric's craft.

Borric yelled, "Suli! Come here!"

The boy scampered to take the tiller from Borric,
while the Prince raced the mast. The instant he was
sure they were on a running broad reach again, he
hauled the second sail aloft, making a crude spinnaker.
He hoped it would give the pinnace just enough extra
speed to stay away from the sloop.

The captain of the sloop, swearing mightily, ordered
his men to come about. Quickly, the nimble boat turned
and gave chase. Borric divided his attention fore and
aft, watching to see if the larger boat was overtaking
them, and then looking to see they stayed clear of dan-
gerous shoals.

Suli sat with eyes wide with terror, listening as Borric
shouted, "A little more to starboard!"

The boy yelled, "What, master?" He stared at the

156 Prince of the Blood

Prince in confusion, not understanding the nautical
term.

Borric yelled back, "More to the right!" Borric turned
his attention back to the dangers ahead. He shouted to
Suli, directing him first to come a little right, then left.
then right again, as they steered a maddening course
through the shoals.

Borric glanced back and saw the larger boat had
closed some distance, and he cursed. Even with the
spinnaker, they were not moving fast enough. He
yelled, "Turn toward shore!"

The boy reacted instantly, turning so hard Borric al-
most lost his footing. Borric looked for rocks, rocks just
below the surface of the water that they could avoid but
that would bring their pursuer to a nasty halt.

As they moved closer to shore, the boat's up and
downward movement became more pronounced, as
the ground swells moved toward the breaker line. The
sound of surf could now be heard clearly. Borric
pointed with one hand. "There! Steer there!"

Praying to the Goddess of Luck, Borric said, "Let us
hit that on the crest!"

As if the Laughing Lady had heard him, Borric felt
the boat on the rise as they passed over the spot he had
marked. Even so, as they started to feel the boat come
down, a groaning, tearing sound of the bottom scraping
rock could be heard and a teeth-jarring vibration came
up through the hull of the boat.

Suli's face turned ashen as he crouched, holding on to
the tiller as if it were his only connection to life. Borric
shouted, "Come left!" and the boy yanked upon the
tiller. Again the sound of wood scraping over rock filled
their ears, but the boat settled down into a trough and
rose without further difficulty.

Borric glanced back and saw the sloop heeling over as
the captain gave orders to his frantic crew to turn away
from shoals too lethal even for his shallow craft. Borric
gave a low whistle of relief.

Turning his mind to what to do next, he signaled Suli
to head slightly away from the coast, picking up speed
as they moved out of the tide's pull and into a better

Escape                  157

angle away from the wind. The freshening breeze
moved the boat along, and Borric could see the sloop
fall farther behind with every minute as the captain had
to stay outside the reef that now lay between the two
boats.

Borric lowered the makeshift spinnaker and took the
tiller from Suli. The boy grinned at him with an expres-
sion that was half-delight, half-terror. Perspiration
soaked the lad's tunic and Borric found himself wiping
his drenched brow.

Borric pointed the boat slightly upwind and could see
the sloop's sail falling off even farther as the reef ran off
toward the northwest. He laughed. Even with the head-
sail jib the sloop's crew was running out, it was too late.
By the time they rounded the reef, the pinnace would
be so far ahead they could be anywhere upon the sea. It
would be nightfall before the distance could be made
up, and Borric planned on being far away by nightfall.

The next two hours passed uneventfully, until Suli
left his place at the bow and came toward Borric. Borric
noticed water splashing under the boy's feet.

Borric looked down and saw water was gathering in
the bilge. "Start bailing!" he yelled.

"What, master?"

Realizing the boy didn't understand that term either,
he said, "Get the bucket from the locker and start
scooping up the water and pouring it out!"

The boy turned, got the bucket, and began bailing
out the water. For an hour or so it seemed the boy kept
even with the incoming water, but after another hour
of the exhausting work, the water had gathered about
his ankles. Borric ordered him to switch places and took
over. After another hour, it was clear that even when
bailing at a furious rate, it would prove an eventually
hopeless undertaking. Sooner or later the boat was go-
ing to sink. The only question seemed to be when and
where.

Borric glanced to the south and saw that not only had
the coastline been running southwest, away from them,
but their course was northwest, toward the Straits of
Darkness. By his reckoning, they were now as far away

158 Prince of the Blood

from the coastline as they could get, slightly northeast
of Ranom, where the coastline would turn northward.
Borric had to make a quick choice, either head for the
south shore, or hope that between Suli and himself they
could keep the boat afloat long enough to reach the
coast somewhere south of LiMeth. As he was about
equal distance between either part of the shoreline, he
decided his best choice was to keep as much speed as
possible and hold his present course.

As the sun sped westward, Borric and Suli alternated
bailing out the boat and keeping it pointed toward
LiMeth. Near sundown, a scattering of clouds appeared
in the north and the wind turned, now blowing into
their faces. The pinnace was decent enough traveling
into the eye of the wind, but Borric doubted they would
survive long enough to reach land if it started to rain. As
he considered this, the first drops hit him in the face,
and less than an hour later, the rain began to fall in
earnest.

As the sun rose, a ship was upon them. Borric had
seen its approach for the last quarter hour, as it sud-
denly had appeared out of the predawn gloom. Both
the Prince and Suli, exhausted from a night's bailing to
keep afloat, could barely move. Yet Borric mustered
what little reserve of energy he possessed and stood up.

They had taken down the sail at sundown, decided it
was better to drift in the dark and have both of them
bail for periods, than to sail blindly in the dark. The
sound of breakers would alert them to any chance of
coming too close to shore. The only problem was that
Borric didn't have any idea of how the currents in this
part of the Bitter Sea ran.

The ship was a small three-masted merchantman,
square-rigged with a lateen sail on the back. It could
have come from any nation on the Bitter Sea, so it could
be their salvation or their doom.

When the ship was close enough for him to be heard,
Borric called out, "What ship?"

The Captain of the vessel came to the rail as he or-
dered the helm put over, bringing the ship to a slow

Escape                  159

pace as it passed Borric's sinking pinnace, wallowing in
the chop. "The Good Traveler, out of Bordon."

"Where are you bound?"

"Bound for Farafra," came the reply.

Borric's heart began to beat again. It was a Free Cities
trader bound for an Empire city on the Dragon Sea.
"Have you berths for two?"

The Captain looked down at the ragged pair and
their rapidly wallowing boat and said, "Have you the
price of passage?"

Borric did not wish to part with the coins he had
taken from Salaya, as he knew they would need them
later. He said, "No, but we can work."

"I've all the hands I need," called back the Captain.

Borric knew by stories that the Captain would not
likely leave them to drown—sailor's superstition for-
bade it—but he could exact a price of an indenture for
several cruises; seamen were an inconstant lot and
keeping a steady crew was difficult. The Captain was
bargaining. Borric pulled out the rusty fishing knife and
brandished it. "Then I order you to strike your colors;

you are all my prisoners."

The Captain stared in wide-eyed disbelief, then be-
gan to laugh. Soon every sailor on the ship was laughing
uproariously. After a moment of genuine amusement,
the Captain called out, "Bring the madman and the boy
aboard. Then make for the Straits!"

Chapter Nine

Welcome

The trumpets sounded.

A thousand soldiers came to attention and presented
arms. One hundred drummers on horseback began a
rhythmic tattoo. Eriand turned to James, who rode to
his left, and said, "This is unbelievable!"

Before them stood the Imperial City, Kesh. They had
entered the "lower city" an hour earlier, to be met by a
delegation from the City Governor and his retinue. It
was the same ceremony they had been forced to endure
at each stop along the wearisome journey from Nar
Ayab to the capital. When the Governor of Nar Ayab
had met them at the outskirts of town, Eriand found the
welcome a relief from his black mood. He had been
numb with Borric's death for nearly a week, giving
himself over to dark bouts of depression, interspersed
with rage at the unfairness of it all. The pageantry of the
Governor's welcome had taken his mind off the ambush
for the first time, and the novelty of seeing such a dis-
play had kept him diverted for over three hours.

But now, the displays wore upon his patience. He had
received another extravagant welcome at the cities of
Kh'mrat and Khattara, and a half-dozen other
welcomes that might have been smaller in scale, but
were just as formal and tedious at smaller towns along
the way. From any official from Regional Governor
down to town elderman, Eriand had been forced to
endure welcoming speeches from them all.

Eriand glanced behind to where Locklear rode with
the Keshian official sent to meet them at the lower-city
gates. The Prince signaled, and both men set heels to
their mounts, trotting them to where Eriand rode. The
official was one Kafi Abu Harez, a noble of the Beni-
Wazir, one of the desert people of the Jal-Pur. Many

Welcome               161

desertmen had come to Imperial service over the last
hundred years, with a marked preference and talent for
diplomacy and negotiations. Kesh's old Ambassador to
the Western Realm, Abdur Rachman Memo Hazara-
Khan, deceased for ten years now, had once told Eriand
and his brother, "We are a horse people, and as such we
are rigorous horse traders." Eriand had heard his father
curse the man with grudging respect enough times to
believe it so. He knew that whatever else this protocol
officer might be, he was no man's fool and he needed to
be watched. The desertmen of the Jal-Pur were terrible
enemies.

Kafi said, "Yes, Your Highness. How may I serve you?"

Eriand said, "This is a bit of a change from what we've
been seeing. Who are these soldiers?"

Kafi pulled his robe around him slightly as he rode.
His outfit was similar to those Eriand had seen before in
Krondor, head covering, tunic, trousers, long vest,
knee-high boots, and belt. But where this costume dif-
fered from those Eriand had seen before was in the
intricate designs sewn into the fabric. Keshian court
officials seemed to display an almost unnatural affection
for gold thread and pearls.

"These are the Imperial Household Guard, High-
ness."

Eriand casually said, "So many?"

"Yes, Highness."

"It looks almost like a full city garrison," observed
Locklear.

The Keshian said, "It would depend which city,
m'lord. For a Kingdom city, it is. For a Keshian city, not
quite. For the city of Kesh, but a small part."

"Would it be giving military secrets away to ask how
many soldiers guard the Empress?" asked Eriand drily.

"Ten thousand," answered Kafi.

Eriand and Locklear exchanged glances. "Ten thou-
sand!" said the Prince.

"The Palace Guard, which is a part of the Household
Guard, which is but again a part of the city garrison—
that is the heart of Kesh's armies. Within the walls of the

162 Prince of the Blood

upper and lower city, ten thousand soldiers stand ready
to defend She Who Is Kesh."

They turned their horses along the route lined by
soldiers, and curious citizens, who stood and observed
the passing Islemen in relative quite. Eriand saw the
road turn upward and climb an incline, a gigantic high-
way of stone that wound its way up to the top of the
plateau. Halfway up the ramp, a gold-and-white banner
flew and, Eriand took note, the uniform of the soldiers
above and below changed. "These are different regi-
ments, then?" he asked.

Kafi said, "In ancient times, the original people of
Kesh were but one of many nations around the Overn
Deep. When pressed by enemies, they fled to the pla-
teau upon which the palace rests. It has become tradi-
tion that all who serve the Empire, but who are not of
true Keshian stock, live in the city below the palace."
He pointed up the ramp to where the banner flew. "All
the soldiers you see here in Kesh are of the Imperial
garrison, but those above the Imperial banner are all
soldiers of true blood. Only they may serve and live in
the palace." There was a faint edge to his voice as he
added, "No one who is not of the true Keshian blood
may live within the palace." Eriand looked close, but
there was nothing to indicate any feelings one way or
the other in the protocol officer. He smiled, as if to say it
was a mere fact of Keshian life.

As they neared the bottom of the ramp, Eriand also
could see that those who stood guard along the route
were much as he had seen throughout the Empire so
far: men from all races and of all appearances—more
dark skins and hair coloring than in the Kingdom, to be
certain, but a few redheaded and blond citizens. But
those above the banner were of nearly uniform appear-
ance: dusky skin, but not black or dark brown, nor fair.
Hair uniformly black or dark brown, with an occasion-
ally red cast to it, but no real redheads, blonds, or light
browns in sight. It was clear that this company of
soldiers came from bloodlines with little intermixing
with the other peoples of Kesh.

Eriand studied the wall that ran along the edge of the

Welcome               163

plateau above, noticing the many spires and towers visi-
ble from where he rode. Considering the size of the
plateau, he said, "So then all who live in the city above,
but outside the palace, are also of 'true' blood?"

Kafi smiled indulgently. "There is no city atop the
plateau, Your Highness. All you will see atop the plateau
is the palace. Once there were other buildings atop the
plateau, but as the palace grew and expanded over the
centuries, they were displaced. Even the great temples
were relocated below so that those not of true Keshian
blood could worship."

Eriand was impressed. Under the rulership of Mad
King Rodric, the city of Rillanon had been beautified to
become the most splendid city on Midkemia, or that
was Rodric's stated ambition. But Eriand was forced to
admit that even had Rodric's plan come to fruition,
even with the marble facings on all public buildings, the
gardens along the walking paths throughout the city,
the waterways around the palace, even with all that,
Rillanon was a poor thing next to the city of Kesh. It was
not that Kesh was a lovely city; it wasn't. Many of the
streets they had ridden were packed tight with dirty
little buildings thick with the odors of life—cooking, the
acrid smell of the forge, the pungent leather of the
tanner, and the ever-present stink of unwashed bodies
and human waste.

There was little that was lovely in the city of Kesh.
But it was ancient. It held the echoes of centuries of
history, a mighty nation rising to become a great em-
pire. There was a culture that produced artists and mu-
sicians here when Eriand's own ancestors were
fishermen who had just turned their hand to raiding
their neighboring islands from their safe harbor at Rilla-
non. The point had been made to him by his history
teacher as a child, but now he could see exactly what his
teacher had meant. The stones under his horse's hooves
were worn with the passage of raiders, captive chief-
tains, and triumphant captains before Rillanon had
come under conDoin rule. And conquering armies un-
der legendary generals passed here to bring subjuga-
tion to other nations when Rillanon and Bas-Tyra first

Prince of the Blood

began their trade wars, two city-states seeking domi-
nance over what would come to be called the Kingdom
Sea. Kesh was old. Very old.

Kafi said, "Of course. Your Highness, those who are
guests of the Empress, will be housed in a special wing
of the palace, overlooking the Overn Deep. It would be
unkind to require you to ride this route daily."

Eriand came out of his reverie and said, "But you ride
this route each day, do you not?"

There was a tiny tightening around the man's mouth
as he said, "Of course, but those of us not of true
Keshian blood understand our place in the scheme of
things. We serve gladly, and such a small inconvenience
is not even to be discussed."

Eriand took the clue and let the subject drop. Coming
down to meet him was an assortment of officials, each
more colorfully dressed than the one before. The thun-
dering drums ceased, and a band of musicians played
something that sounded suspiciously like a Kingdom
tune but played by those who had never heard such.

To James, he said, "Welcomed in grand fashion."

James nodded absently. Since reaching the city, he
had let old habits of watchfulness come to the fore. His
eyes constantly scanned the crowd, looking for any sign
that trouble was coming at Eriand. Messages had been
dispatched to Krondor and an answer had overtaken
them, as the Keshian rider post had operated with
amazing efficiency in carrying word to Arutha of Bor-
ric's death and bringing his answers. There had been
many letters in the pouch the rider had carried. The
Kingdom rider was exhausted as he had been ordered
not to surrender the contents of the diplomatic pouch
to any but Earl James, Baron Locklear, or Prince Er-
iand. He had been escorted by a changing succession of
Keshian post riders, changing fresh horses at stations
along the way. The man had ridden without stopping
for over three weeks, halting only when exhaustion was
overwhelming, otherwise napping in the saddle as well
as eating while riding. James had commended the man
and sent back word to Krondor with him, along with an
order to return at a more sedate pace, as well as a

Welcome               165

recommendation for promotion and reward for his he-
roic ride.

Arutha's reply to the news of Borric's death had been
what James expected: closed off, all personal reaction to
the news absent. The Prince of Krondor let nothing
sway him from the hard choices he faced as ruler of the
Western Realm. He had cautiously instructed Earl
James to see to recovering Borric's body, but that under
no circumstances was there to be any significant change
in their demeanor. The envoy's first duty was to pay the
Kingdom's respects to the Empress, on the event of her
seventy-fifth birthday Jubilee, and nothing was to cause
more friction between the two nations. James smelled
trouble. Borric had been murdered to plunge the Em-
pire into war with the Kingdom, but Arutha had re-
fused to rise to the bait. This could only mean an
escalation in the provocations. And the only thing
James could imagine more provocative than killing one
Prince of the Blood would be killing both of them.
He felt personally responsible for Borric's death, and he
had put his own grieving aside for a time while he
protected Eriand. Glancing at his side, he noticed his
wife watching him. To Gamina, he thought. How are
you doing, my love?

I will be glad to be off this horse, at last, my love,
came the answer, as Lady Gamina showed no outward
signs of discomfort. She had born up under the rigors of
the long trip without complaint, and each night as she
lay at James's side, she was well aware that their happi-
ness at being together took away the day's discomfort
but could not eradicate James's pain at Borric's death,
nor his concern for Eriand's well-being. She nodded
toward the front of the procession. The most official
welcome yet, my darling.

At least a hundred officials stood just a short distance
beyond the white-and-gold banner, to welcome the
Prince and his retinue to the upper city. Eriand's eyes
opened slightly at the sight. The first impression was
disbelief, as if some odd joke was being perpetrated
upon him. For standing before him were men and
women wearing very little clothing and a great deal of

166 Prince of the Blood

jewelry. The common dress was a simple skirt or kilt,
fashioned from gauzy silk, wrapped once about the
hips, from waist to mid-thigh. Ornate belts held the kilt
in place, with golden clasps of complex designs com-
mon throughout the party. But both men and women
alike were bare-chested, and the footgear of choice was
an unadorned cross-gartered sandal. All the men had
their heads shaved and the women wore their hair cut
short, at the shoulder or at the ear, with magnificent
rows of gems and gold woven into the tresses.

Kafi spoke with his head turned slightly toward Er-
land. "Perhaps Your Highness didn't know, but the
nudity taboo common to your nation and some of the
people of the Empire does not exist among those of
the true Keshian blood. I also had to become accus-
tomed to the sight—among my people, to see another
man's wife's face is to die." With an ironic note, he said,
"These people are from a hot land. Highness, but not so
hot as my home desert, where to dress such would be to
invite death. When you experience the long, hot, windy
nights up on the plateau, you will understand why here
clothing is a matter of fashion only. And the Keshian
truebloods have never been terribly concerned with
the sensibilities of their subject peoples. 'In Kesh you do
as the true Keshians do,' goes an old adage."

Eriand nodded, attempting not to stare at so much
skin. A man stepped forward, not much older than Er-
land, powerfully muscled and carrying a shepherd's
crook and a bow, both which appeared ceremonial
rather than functional. His head was shaved like the
others, but for a lock of hair, tied with loops of precious
stone, gems, and gold. An instant later, another man,
stout and obviously discomforted by standing in the hot
sun, stepped to the first's side. Ignoring the perspiration
which coursed off his reddening skin, he said, "We wel-
come our guests."

To the heavy man, Kafi said, "My lord Nirome. I have
the honor of presenting His Highness, Prince Eriand,
Heir to the Throne of Isle, Knight-Captain of the Ar-
mies of the West, and envoy to She Who Is Kesh."

"Your Highness," said the stout Nirome. "To honor

Welcome               167

your arrival, one of the Imperial blood comes to greet
you. It is my great honor to present Prince Awari, son of
She Who Is Kesh."

The young man stepped forward again, and spoke
directly to Eriand. "We welcome our brother Prince.
May your stay here be happy and for as long as it pleases
you. Prince Eriand. For the King of Isles to send his heir
is an honor indeed. She Who Is Mother To Us All is
pleased enough to have sent her poor son to bid you
welcome. I am to tell you that all Kesh's hearts are
gladdened the moment you come to us and that each
moment of your stay is as riches in our treasury. Your
wisdom and valor are unrivaled and She Who Is Kesh
waits with anticipation at welcoming you to her court."
So saying, Prince Awari turned and began walking up
the road. The men and women of the Imperial welcom-
ing committee stepped aside so the Prince and Lord
Nirome could pass, then Kafi indicated the Prince and
Baron Locklear should follow, with himself and Earl
James behind.

As they moved up the ramp, James turned to Kafi and
said, "In truth, we know so little about the Empire, save
what we see along its northern border. It would please
His Highness if you could guest with us and perhaps tell
us more of this wondrous place."

The man smiled and James saw something in his eyes.
"Your wish has been anticipated. I shall be outside your
door at first light each day and not be gone from your
side until you have given me leave to depart. The Em-
press, blessings be upon her, has ordered it so."

James smiled and inclined his head. So, he's our
watchdog.

Gamina smiled at those nearby and said Among
many, I'm sure, beloved.

James turned his attention to the front of the com-
pany, where Eriand followed the Imperial welcoming
delegation. His wits and talents might be tested in the
next two and a half months, he knew. And he had but
two basic tasks: keep Eriand alive and the Kingdom out
of war.

168 Prince of the Blood

Eriand was almost incapable of words. His "apart-
ment" was a six-room complex set off in the "wing" of
the palace set aside for them, which itself was nearly as
large as his father's palace in Krondor. The Imperial
palace was indeed a city unto itself. And the guest apart-
ments were opulent beyond imagining. The stone walls
had all been faced with marble, polished to a brilliance
that reflected back torchlight like the sparkle of a thou-
sand jewels. Rather than the Kingdom fashion of many
small rooms, all the rooms in the apartment were large,
but able to be partitioned by hanging curtains of vary-
ing opacity. Right now, the only curtains were to his
right and left, and both were transparent gauze, al-
lowing him to see that divans and chairs were arrayed
in anticipation of his need for holding conferences. And
at his left, a large terrace permitted a stunning view of
the Overn Deep, the gigantic freshwater lake that was
the heart of this Empire. The sleeping chamber lay just
beyond a pair of doors in this, the audience chamber,
where he could meet with his advisors if needed.

Eriand signaled one of his two guards, detailed to act
as servants, to open the large door. Before they could
react, a young woman appeared at his side. "M'lord,"
she said, clapping her hands loudly, once.

The doors swung open and Eriand nodded absently
as he stepped through to what was his sleeping cham-
ber. The Prince halted at the sight which greeted him.
Everywhere he glanced, he saw gold. It was used on the
tables and divans, stools and chairs that were arrayed
around the room, for whatever needs he might have
while dressing, composing messages, or eating a solitary
meal. High upon the wall, the marble ceased and was
replaced by sandstone, upon which murals of bright
color had been painted against the muted ocher of the
sandstone. In the stylized Keshian fashion, they showed
warriors, kings, and gods, many depicted with animal
heads, as the Keshians gave aspects to the gods that
differed markedly from how they were perceived in the
Kingdom.

Eriand stood silently taking in the splendor of the
room. A giant bed dominated the chamber, surrounded

Welcome               169

on three sides by gauzy silk curtains, hanging from a
ceiling twenty feet above his head. The bed was twice
the size of his own large bed at home, which had
seemed immense when he and Borric had returned
from their service with Lord Highcastle, given what
they had been used to sleeping on, the narrow cots of
Highcastle's barracks.

Thinking about Borric made Eriand wistful for a mo-
ment, as he wished he could share his astonishment
with his brother. For a countless time again since the
attack, Eriand could not admit to his brother's death.
Somehow it just didn't feel within as if Borric was dead.
He was out there somewhere, Eriand was certain. The
young woman who had entered with them clapped
again, and suddenly the room was filled with activity.

The Prince's guards stood in mute amazement at the
seemingly endless parade of Keshian servants who
paraded through the suite, first for their quick efficiency
in unpacking the Prince's baggage and laying out for-
mal clothing upon an armoire nearby, but mostly for
the fact they were women, all beautiful and all clad
in the same scanty fashion as the welcoming commit-
tee. The only difference was the lack of jewelry. The
plain kilt was bound about the waist with a linen belt.
Other than that, the women were naked.

Crossing to where the two guards stood, Eriand said,
"Go get something to eat. If I need you, I'll send word."

The two saluted and turned, obviously uncertain of
where to go, but as if reading the Prince's mind, a young
woman said, "This way," and led them off.

Another young woman, with eyes mahogany brown,
came to stand before Eriand. "If it pleases m'lord, your
bath is ready." Eriand noticed her belt was red, with a
gold clasp, instead of the common white one, and as-
sumed her to be the one in charge of this host of young
women.

Feeling suddenly both overdressed in the still hot air
in the palace, and dirty from two days' ride, Eriand
nodded and followed the woman into the next cham-
ber. There a pool at least thirty feet long awaited. At the
far end a gold statue of some sort of water spirit held a

170 Prince of the Blood

vase pouring water into the pool. Eriand glanced
around, for at least five women waited for him in the
pool, all without clothing.

Two others stepped to his sides, while the one who
led him turned and began unfastening his tunic.
"Er . . ." began Eriand, reflexively stepping away.

"Is there something amiss, m'lord?" asked the young
woman with the mahogany eyes. Eriand was suddenly
aware that her dark skin was several hues: a reddish
warmth of suntan over the naturally dark olive-tinged
duskiness. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight
braid, and Eriand noticed her very long neck.

Eriand started to speak, then stopped, uncertain of
what to say. Had Borric been with him, he was sure the
two of them would both be splashing about in the pool.
testing the limits of their prerogatives with the lovely
serving women. But alone ... he felt awkward.
"What is your name?"

"Miya, m'lord."

"Ah, Miya . . ." He glanced at all the lovely ladies
waiting for him to make his requirements known. "...
In my land it is not the custom for so many servants to
... so many are not needed."

The young woman's eyes searched his for an instant.
Softly she answered, "If m'lord would indicate which
servants he finds pleasing, I will send the rest away."
She hesitated a second, then added, "Or should you
wish but one, I would be most honored to ... care for
your needs, m'lord." The last was said with clear mean-
ing.

Eriand shook his head. "No, I mean ..." He sighed
in resignation. "Just get on with it."

Deft hands stripped him of his clothing, and when he
was nude he stepped quickly into the pool, feeling awk-
ward and self-conscious. The water was hot, he was
surprised to discover, when he descended the steps into
the shallow pool. Feeling foolish, he sat upon the bot-
tom step, the water coming to his chest. Then Miya
unclasped her own belt and her small kilt fell to the
floor. Unself-consciously she entered the water and sat
upon the step just behind Eriand. Clapping once, an-


Welcome               171

other bath attendant signaled those outside of the pool
to begin bringing oils, soaps, and unguents.

With gentle pressure on his shoulders, Miya drew him
back until his head was resting upon her soft breasts.
Then he felt her fingers working upon his scalp as she
rubbed scented oils into his hair. Two other servants
were now at his side, rubbing his chest with soaps that
smelled faintly of flowers. Another two then began to
clean and trim his fingernails, while two more were
busy kneading the tired muscles in his legs.

After the first moment of tension at being handled so
intimately by seven strange women, Eriand took a deep
breath, willing himself to relax. This was not much dif-
ferent from having one of the serving men scrub his
back at home, he told himself. Then he glanced around
at the dozen beautiful women standing on the side of
the pool, and the seven in the water with him, and
chuckled. Sure it was just like back home.

"M'lord?" asked Miya.

Eriand let out a long breath. "This takes some getting
used to."

The woman ceased washing his hair, rinsing his head
with water from a golden bowl, then she began to
knead the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Despite
his self-consciousness at being in the pool with the nude
servants, he found that the persistent massage was caus-
ing his eyelids to feel heavy. Smelling the lovely sun-
touched fragrance of Miya's damp skin along with the
soft aromas of the oils, he closed his eyes and felt fatigue
and worry begin to slip away from him.

He sighed deeply, and Miya spoke softly. "Does
m'lord desire anything?"

Eriand smiled for the first time since the bandits'
attack and said, "No, I think I could get used to this."

"Then rest, my handsome young lord with the fire
hair," she whispered in his ear. "Rest and refresh your-
self, for tonight She Who Is Kesh will receive you."

Eriand settled back against the soft body of the ser-
vant and let the warmth of the pool and the kneading
fingers of the women, as they probed tense and tired
muscles, overtake him. Soon he felt himself drifting off

172 Prince of the Blood

into a hazy, sensuous doze, and as he relaxed, he felt
himself responding to the gentle caresses of the women.
Through lowered lashes he saw smiling faces looking at
him with expectation, as two of the servants exchanged
whispers and stifled a giggle. Yes, he thought, I could get
used to this.

One of the servants shook his foot, as she whispered,
"M'lord!"

Eriand elbowed himself up to see what was occurring
and blinked through sleepy eyes. Rousing himself fully
awake, Eriand said, "What?"

"The Lord James sends word he will be here within
the half-hour, m'lord. He advises you to be ready for
your presentation to the Empress. You must get
dressed."

Eriand looked first right, then left, and found himself
hemmed in on both sides by two motionless bodies; on
his right, the sleeping Miya made soft breathing sounds,
while on the left, another servant—the one with the
startling green eyes, he remembered, but he couldn't
recall her name—watched him through half-closed eye-
lids. Slapping Miya playfully on her bare buttocks, he
said, "Time to get ready, my darlings!"

Miya responded by coming fully awake and out of the
huge bed in one fluid motion. She signaled by clapping
her hands once and instantly a half-dozen more slaves
appeared with Eriand's wardrobe, cleaned and ready to
wear. Eriand jumped out of bed and motioned for them
to wait and hurried into the room with the pool. Mo-
tioning the servants to stay out of his way, he walked
down the three steps, dunked himself under, and rinsed
off. To Miya, who had followed him, he remarked, "I
was drenched. And I needed this."

The woman smiled slightly. "You were . . . very ac-
tive for a time, m'lord."

Eriand returned the slight smile. "Is it always so hot?"

The girl said, "This is the summer season, so it is like
this. Fans are used to cool those who wish them. In the
winter, it is really very cold at night and many furs are
needed upon the beds to keep warm."

Welcome               173

Eriand found that hard to imagine as he left the pool.
Three women dried him quickly, and he returned to
the bed chamber.

Being helped to get dressed turned out to be more
difficult than he had imagined. He kept trying to do
things for himself and that interfered with the women
attempting to fasten laces or buckle clasps. But he was
fully dressed when Earl James was announced. Eriand
nodded permission for him to enter.

James appeared and said, "Well, you look better.
Have a nice nap?"

Eriand glanced about at the abundant female flesh on
display and said, "Quite nice, actually."

James laughed. "Gamina was not pleased to see so
many beautiful young women in our suite, so they sent
some handsome young men. She became very dis-
tressed when they offered to help her bathe." He
glanced about. "I would call them a wanton people, but
to them this is normal. To them, we must appear ... I
don't know how we must appear."

Motioning Eriand to come with him, the Earl led the
young man into a large hallway, where Locklear and
Gamina were speaking. As they entered the hall,
Gamina's mind spoke to Eriand: Eriand, James has al-
ready marked two listening posts in our chambers. Be
wary of what you say aloud.

I would be willing that at least one of my "servants"
is a Keshian intelligence officer, he thought back at her.

There was a silence as a Keshian court officer, in the
same dress they had seen everywhere, the white kilt
and sandals, came for them. But he also wore an ornate
torque of gold and turquoise and carried a staff of office.
"This way, Your Highness, m'lords, m'lady."

He led them down a long hall, where the entrances to
vast chambers and apartments were alternated with
open breezeways. Through the breezeways, fountains
and small gardens would be illuminated by standards
with torches placed atop them. As they passed many
such gardens, James said, "You might as well get used to
those naps, Highness. It's the custom here. Court busi-
ness in the morning, the Empress and her privy officers,

174 Prince of the Blood

an afternoon meal, nap from after lunch to evening,
court business from sundown to about the ninth hour,
then supper."

Eriand glanced at several serving women passing by,
again wearing nothing but the small kilt. "I'll manage,"
he said.

A thought came from Gamina, not a vocalized word,
but an attitude, and it was wholly disapproving.

At the end of the hallway, they intersected and en-
tered an even larger hallway. Columns of stone were all
faced with marble and rose to a height of three stories
over head. The walls on both sides of the hallway were
painted with stylized renderings of great events and
mythical battles between gods and demons. Down the
center of the hall they walked, their feet treading on a
carpet of fabulous design and weave, impossibly long,
yet without apparent flaw.

Every twenty feet or so, a Keshian guard stood at the
ready. Eriand noticed how little these men looked like
the famous Dog Soldiers who manned the frontier with
the Kingdom. These soldiers seemed to have been cho-
sen for their appearance more than their experience,
Eriand thought. Each wore only the short kilt, though
of different design, cut away in front so that the legs
might move more freely. Each man wore a breechcloth
of the same white linen as the kilt, and an ornate belt
fashioned of many colors, closed in front by a silver
clasp. Each soldier wore the plain cross-gartered san-
dals, as well. Upon their heads were helms of fascinating
design to Eriand, barbaric, primitive looking. One wore
a leopard skull atop his head, with the skin of the animal
allowed to fall around his shoulders. A few others wore
elk heads and bear heads in a similar fashion. Many
wore hawk or eagle feathers attached to ivory rings set
upon their heads, or helms fashioned from brightly
colored parrot plumes, and a few high conical helms
made of reeds dyed bright colors, that looked far from
functional for battle.

James spoke aloud, "A grand display, isn't it?"

Eriand nodded. Nothing he had seen so far in the
upper city of Kesh spoke of anything less than excess. In

Welcome               175

contrast with what they had seen in the lower city, it
was even more overwhelming. In even the most minor
detail, richness and opulence was the order of the day.
Where something base could suffice, it was replaced by
something noble: gold in place of common iron, gems in
place of glass, silk where cotton would be expected.
And after passing through more chambers and halls, he
knew the same held true for the servants. If a man was
needed, he not only must be fit and able, he had to be
handsome. If a woman were to be seen walking through
the halls, even by chance, then she must be lovely and
young. A few more days of this, thought Eriand, and I'll
welcome the sight of a plain face.

Reaching a massive pair of doors, gold leafed over all,
the officer who led them brought the metal butt of the
staff down on the floor, announcing, "The Prince Er-
iand, the Earl James, the Countess Gamina, and the
Baron Locklear!"

The doors swung open wide, and through them Er-
iand could see a vast hall, at least a hundred yards from
where they stood to the opposite wall, and against that
distant wall, a high dais rose, upon which sat a golden
throne.

Out of the side of his mouth, Eriand said, "You didn't
tell me it was a formal reception."

James said, "It isn't. This is a casual, intimate dinner."

"I can hardly wait for formal court." Taking a deep
breath, Eriand said, "Well, then, let us take a bite with
Her Majesty." Stepping forward. Prince Eriand led his
advisors into the hall of the Empress of Great Kesh.

Eriand marched purposefully and directly down the
center of the hall. The sound of boot heels cracking
against the stone floor seemed alien, a loud and brash
intrusion in this hall where the soft leather of sandals
and slippers were the norm. Silence drank the noise, as
no one in the hall spoke and all eyes were upon the
retinue from the Kingdom of the Isles.

Upon the dais, before a golden throne, a pile of cush-
ions had been placed. Laying upon this was an old
woman. Eriand tried to look directly at her, yet not

176 Prince of the Blood

stare, and found the task impossible. Here, reclining
upon cushions before the mightiest throne in the
known world, was the single most powerful ruler in the
known world. And she was a tiny, withered woman of
unremarkable appearance. Her costume was similar to
the customary short white kilt, though hers was long,
reaching past the knees. Also her belt was studded with
magnificent gems which caught the torchlight and sent
sparkles dancing upon the walls and ceiling. She wore a
loose vest of white fabric, clasped in front by a golden
brooch set with a stunning pigeon's-blood ruby. Upon
her head a diadem of gold rested, set with sapphires and
rubies equal to any the Prince had ever seen before
The ransom of a nation rested upon the body of this old
woman.

Her dusky skin couldn't hide the pallor of age. And
her movements were those of a woman ten years moie
than her seventy-five, but it was her eyes that made
Eriand sense greatness, for they still had fire.

Dark eyes, with lights as brilliant as those in the sap-
phires and rubies upon her brow dancing in them, re-
garded the Prince as he walked along the aisle between
the diners who shared the evening with the Empress
Around the base of the dais a dozen low tables had been
placed in a semicircle, and around each round table,
reclining upon cushions, were those whom the Empress
deemed worthy of such honor.

Eriand came to stand before the Empress and bowed
his head, no more than he would do to his own uncle,
the King. James, Gamina, and Locklear bent their knee,
as they had been instructed by the protocol officel,
waiting the signal to rise.

"How fares our young Prince of the Isles?"

The woman's voice was lightning cutting through a
languid summer's afternoon, and Eriand almost
jumped at the tone of it. That simple question con-
tained nuances and meanings beyond the young man's
ability to articulate. Overcoming an unexpected attack
of panic, Eriand answered as calmly as possible, "Well,
Your Majesty, my uncle, the King of the Isles, sends his
wishes for your continued good health and well-being."

Welcome               177

With a chuckle, she answered, "As well he should, my
prince. I am his best friend in this court, have no
doubt." She sighed, then said, "When this business of
Jubilee is over with, return Kesh's fondest wishes for
Isles' continued well-being. We have much in common.
Now, who is this with you?"

Eriand made introductions, and when that was done,
the Empress surprised them all by sitting up slightly
and saying, "Countess, would you do me the courtesy of
approaching."

Gamina flashed a quick glance at James and then
moved up the ten steps that put her before the Em-
press. "You of the North can be so fair, but I have never
seen your like," said the old woman. "You are not from
the area near Stardock, originally, are you?"

"No, Your Majesty," answered Gamina. "I was born in
the mountains north of Romney."

The Empress nodded, as if this explained everything.
"Return to your husband, my dear. Your looks are lovely
in their exotic fashion."

As Gamina descended from the dais, the Empress
said, "Your Highness, a table has been set aside for your
party. You will do me the pleasure of dining with us."

The Prince bowed again and said, "It is our honor,
Your Majesty."

When they were seated at the indicated table, that
one closest to the Empress, save one, another courtier
appeared and announced, "Prince Awari, son of She
Who Is Kesh!" The Prince who had met Eriand that
afternoon made his entrance from a side door that Er-
iand assumed came from another, different wing of the
palace than the one in which his party was housed.

"If I may advise His Highness," came a voice from
Eriand's right, and he turned to find that Kafi Abu
Harez had insinuated himself between the Prince and
Earl James. "Her Majesty, may she prosper, considered
your potential for discomfort at so many new things and
instructed me to sit at your side and answer whatever
questions you might have."

And discover what it is we are curious about, came
Gamina's thoughts.

178

Prince of the Blood

Eriand nodded slightly, and to Kafi it appeared he
was merely considering this, but Gamina knew he was
agreeing with her. Then the courtier cried, "The Prin-
cess Sharana!" Behind Awari came a young woman
near Eriand's age from her appearance. Eriand felt his
breath catch in his throat at sight of the Empress's
granddaughter. In this palace of beautiful women, she
was stunning. Her dress was in the fashion of all others
he had seen, but like the Empress, she also wore the
linen vest—and her allure was heightened by more of
her being hidden from view. Her arms and face were
the color of pale almonds, turned golden by the hot
Keshian sun. Her hair was cut at the forehead and
shoulders, square and without fashion, but she wore a
long braid in back, interwoven with gems and gold.
Then the courtier shouted, "The Princess Sojiana."

Locklear almost came out of his seat. If the Princess
Sharana was loveliness in its first bloom, then her
mother, Sojiana, was beauty at its height. A tall woman
of athletic stature, she moved like a dancer, each step
designed to show her body to maximum advantage.
And an exceptional body it was, long-limbed, flat stom-
ach, and ample breasts. She had the look of fullness
without hint of fat, of softness over firm muscle. She
wore only the white kilt, with a golden girdle rather
than the white belt. Around her arms two golden ser-
pents coiled and around her neck she wore a golden
torque set with fire opals, all of which set off her dusky
tan skin. Her hair was the brown of wine-soaked wood,
red as abundant as brown. And from a face as striking as
her body, eyes of the most startling green regarded her

mother.

"Gods," said Locklear, "she is astonishing."
The desertman concurred. "The Princess is conceded
among the most beautiful of the trueblood, m'lord
Baron." There was a guarded tone in his observation.

James looked at Kafi with an odd, questioning expres-
sion on his face, but the desertman seemed unwilling to
speak. After enduring James's stare a moment, he took
note of Locklear's rapt attention to the Princess as she
came to stand before her mother, and at last said, "Lord

Welcome               179

Locklear, I feel the need to add a note of caution." He
glanced back at the Princess Sojiana as she reached the
dais, and whispered, "She is the most dangerous woman
in their court after the Empress. And that makes her
the second most dangerous woman in this world."

With a defiant grin, Locklear said, "I can well believe
that. She is breathtaking. But I think I could rise to the
challenge."

Gamina gave him a dark look at the crude joke, but
the desertman forced a smile. "She may give you the
opportunity. It is said her tastes are . . . adventure-
some."

James didn't miss Kafi's true message, even if
Locklear was too enamored of the woman to listen.
James gave Kafi a slight nod of thanks for the warning.

Unlike Awari and Sharana, Sojiana did not simply
bow before the Empress and retire to the table set aside
for the Imperial family, but she bowed and spoke. "Is
my mother well?" she asked in a formal tone.

"I am well, my daughter. We rule another day in
Kesh."

The Princess bowed and said, "Then my prayers are
answered." She then moved to sit beside her brother
and daughter, and the servants entered the hall.

Dishes of remarkable variety were presented one af-
ter the other, and Eriand had to consider what to try
every minute or two. Wines were brought forth, dry
and sweet, red and white, the latter chilled by ice
brought down from the peaks of the Guardian Moun-
tains.

To the Keshian, Eriand said, "Tell me, then, why
were the Imperial family members last to enter?"

Kafi said, "In the strange way we in Kesh do things,
those of the least importance enter first, the slaves and
servants and minor court officials, who make all ready
for the highborn. Then, She Who Is Kesh enters and
takes her place upon her dais, then come the others of
noble birth or special merit, again in the order of least
to most important. You're the only ranking noble in
attendance besides the Imperial family, so you entered
just before Prince Awari."

180 Prince of the Blood

Eriand nodded, then found himself struck by an odd-
ity. "That would mean his niece, Sharana, is—"

"Higher in rank in this court than the Prince," fin-
ished Kafi, glancing about the room. "This is something
of a family dispute, my Prince."

And something he doesn't wish to speak of here,
added Gamina. Eriand gave her a glance and she said,
I'm not reading his thoughts. Highness. I would not do
that with anyone who did not give me permission, but
he's . . . announcing it. I can't explain it better, but he
is straining to not speak about many things.

Eriand let it drop, and began asking questions about
the court. Kafi answered in much the same way a bored
history teacher might, save when questions could lead
him into funny, embarrassing, or scandalous anecdotes.
He was revealed to be something of a gossip.

James chose to let the others do most of the speaking,
while he sifted through the answers Kafi gave. While
the meal continued, he pieced together hints and tanta-
lizing bits of this and that and fitted them into the pat-
tern of what he already knew. Kesh was as complex as
an anthill, and it was only the presence of this hill's
queen, the Empress, that maintained order. Factions,
old national rivalries, and age-old feuds were facts of
Keshian court life, and the Empress kept her Empire
intact by playing off one faction against another.

James sipped a fine dry red wine and considered what
part they were to play in this drama, for he knew as
certain as he knew boots hurt his feet that their pres-
ence would be seized upon by someone to further his
own political ends. The question would be who would
try the seizing and what his motives would be.

To himself, he added, not to mention how such a
person would attempt to employ Eriand's presence in
court. It was clear that at least one faction in court
wanted Eriand dead and war between the Kingdom
and the Empire. James glanced around the room, and
then tasted the dry red wine again. As he savored it, he
considered that he was a stranger in a very strange land
and he would quickly have to learn his way around. He
let his gaze wander, studying faces here and there and

Welcome               181

found more than a half-dozen faces studying him in
turn.

He sighed. There would be time, and he doubted
much trouble would arrive the first night they were in
the palace. For if he were in charge of murdering Er-
iand, he would do so when there were more guests to
throw off suspicion and the effect of the death would do
more to ruin the Empress's Jubilee. Unless, of course, he
amended, it's the Empress herself who wishes Eriand
dead.

He picked up a delicately seasoned piece of melon off
his plate and ate it. Savoring the taste, he decided to let
matters of state go for a few hours. But less than a
minute later, he found his gaze wandering again about
the room as he sought some clue, some hint of from
where the next attack might originate.

Chapter Ten

Companion

The lookout pointed.

"Farafra!"

The captain called to trim sails as they rounded the
headlands and came into view of the Keshian seaport. A
sailor at the rail turned to Borric and said, "Some fun
tonight, eh. Madman?"

Borric smiled ruefully. From behind, the Captain
said, "Get aloft and make ready to reef in sail!" The
sailors jumped to obey. "Two points to port," com-
manded the Captain, and Borric turned the large ship's
wheel to bring the ship to the indicated heading. Since
joining the crew of The Good Traveler, he had earned
the grudging respect of the Captain and crew. Some
tasks he did well, while others he seemed to have no
understanding of, but learned quickly. His sense of the
ship, and shifts in current and wind, learned while sail-
ing small boats as a boy, had earned him the job of
helmsman, one of three sailors the Captain allowed the
task.

Borric glanced upward, where Suli ran along a spar,
negotiating the sheets and hawsers like a monkey. Suli
had taken to the sea like one born to it. In the month
they had been at sea, his child's body had put on a little
bulk and muscle, made strong by constant exercise and
the plain but filling food, hinting at the man he would
be someday.

The Prince had kept his identity to himself, which
probably wouldn't have mattered. After his lunatic be-
havior with the knife, he was called by crew and Cap-
tain alike "the Madman." Claiming to be a Prince of
Isles was unlikely to change their minds, he was sure.
Suli was just "the Boy." Nobody had pressed them for

Companion              183

why they had been drifting at sea in a boat near to
sinking, as if to know such things was to invite trouble.

From behind, the Captain said, "A Farafran pilot will
take us into harbor. Bloody nuisance, but that's the way
the Port Governor likes it, so we must heave to and
wait." The Captain called out to reef sails and made
ready to drop anchor. A pair of green and white pen-
nants were run up, a request for a pilot. "Here's where
you leave us, Madman. The pilot will be here within the
hour, but I'm putting you over the side and will have
you rowed to a beach outside the city."

Borric said nothing. The Captain studied the Prince's
face and said, "You're a fit lad, but you were no kind of
real sailor when you came aboard." His eyes narrowed
as he said, "You know a ship like a sailing master knows
one, not like crew; you knew nothing of the most com-
mon sailor's duty." As he spoke, the Captain kept glanc-
ing about, insuring everyone was performing his tasks
as he should. "It's like you've spent your days upon the
quarterdeck and never a minute below or aloft, a boy
captain." Then his voice lowered, "Or the son of a rich
man who owns ships." Borric moved the v 'heel slightly
as the ship's speed dropped off, and the Captain contin-
ued, "Your hands showed calluses, but those of a horse-
man, a soldier, not a sailor." He glanced about to see if
anyone was shirking his duty. "Well, I'm not asking to
know your story. Madman. But I do know that the pin-
nace you had was from Durbin. You'd not be the first
pair to want out of Durbin in a hurry. No, the more I
think on it, the less I wish to know. I can't say you've
been a good sailor, Madman, but you've given your
best, and been a fair deck hand with no complaining,
and no man can ask for more." He glanced aloft, saw the
sails were all in, and called out for the anchor to be
dropped. Lashing the wheel while Borric held it steady,
the Captain said, "Normally, I'd have you bursting your
liver hauling cargo until sundown with the rest of the
men, not counting your work for passage finished until
then, but there's something about you which tells me
trouble's following in your wake, so I'll have you oS and
unnoticed." He looked Borric up and down. "Well, get

184 Prince of the Blood

below and get your things. I know you robbed my men
blind with your card tricks. It's a good thing I haven't
paid them yet, or you'd have all their earnings, as well
as the rest."

Borric saluted and said, "Thank you, Captain."

He turned toward the companionway and slid dov n
the ladder to the main deck, yelling up to Suli, "Bo\ 1
Come below and get your things!"

The Durbin beggar boy swung down the ratlines and
met Borric at the entrance to the forecastle. They went
inside and gathered together their few belongings. E
sides the sheath knife and belt, Borric had won a sm i ,
stake of coins, a pair of sailor's tunics, a second pair ^'
trousers, and a couple of like pieces of clothing for Suli

By the time they emerged from below, the crew was
idly standing around, waiting upon the arrival of the
Farafran pilot. Several bade the two good-bye as they
crossed to the rope ladder which hung off the lee side of
the ship. Below, a small captain's boat waited, with two
sailors to row them to shore.

"Madman. Boy!" said the Captain as they turned to
descend the ladder. Both hesitated. He held out a tiny
pouch. "It's a quarter wages. I'll not turn a man penni-
less into a Keshian city. It would be kinder to have left
you to drown."

Suli took the pouch and said, "The Captain is kind
and generous."

As the boat was rowed toward the breakers, BoYric
took the pouch of coins and hefted it. He put it inside his
tunic, next to the pouch he had taken off of Salaya.
Letting out his breath, he considered his next action. To
get to the city of Kesh, obviously, but how, that was the
question. Deciding not to dwell on that until land was
underfoot, he asked Suli, "What did the Captain mean
he'd not turn a man penniless into a Keshian city?"

It was one of the two sailors who answered, before the
boy could speak. "To be penniless in Kesh is to be a
corpse. Madman." He shook his head slightly at Borric's
ignorance. "Life is cheap in Kesh. You could be the
bloody King of Queg and if you didn't have a coin upon
you, they'd let you die in the street, step over you as

Companion              185

thev go about their business, and curse your soul to the
Seven Lower Hells for your corpse being in the way."

Suli said. "It's true. Those of Kesh are animals."
Borric laughed. "You're of Kesh."

The boy spit over the side. "We of Durbin are not
truly of Kesh, no more than the desert men. We have
been conquered by them; we pay their taxes, but we are
not Keshians." He pointed toward the city. "Those are
not Keshians. We are never allowed to forget this. In the
city of Kesh the true Keshians are found. You shall see!"

"Boy's right. Madman," said the talkative sailor.
"True Keshians are a strange lot. Don't see many along
the Dragon Sea or anywhere else 'cept near the Overn
Deep. Shave their heads and walk around naked they
do and don't care if you make free with their women.
It's a fact!" The other sailor grunted, as if this was but
another story yet to be proven to his satisfaction. The
Brst said, "They ride in their chariots, and they think
they're better 'en us. They'd kill you as soon as look at
you." Both sailors pulled hard as they neared the
breaker line, and Borric felt the boat rising on the back
of a comber. The first sailor returned to his narrative.
"And if one of 'em does kill ya, why the courts'11 just
turn 'im loose. Even if'n he's just as common as you are,
Madman. It's being trueblood."

The second sailor said, "That's fact enough. Watch
yourself with the truebloods. They think different than
the rest of us. Honor's different. If you challenge one, he
m? "^ht fight you, might not, won't care a fig about honor.
But if he figures he's a grievance agin' you, why he
tracks you, like you'd hunt an animal."

The first sailor added, "And he'll follow you to the
edge of the world if he has to; that's a fact, too."

The breaker caught the boat and propelled it into the
beach. Borric and Suli jumped out into waist-high water
and helped the two rowers turn the boat around, then
when the tide began to surge back out toward sea, they
gave the boat a shove, so that the rowers would have
some momentum to carry them over the breakers.
Wading out of the water, the Prince turned to the beg-
gar boy and said, "Not the sort of welcome to Kesh I had

186 Prince of the Blood

anticipated, but at least we're alive"—he jiggled the
pouch under his tunic—"have some means to eat, and
are free of pursuit." He glanced back to where the ship
waited for the Keshian pilot. He knew that sooner or
later one of the seamen would mention the man and
boy picked up outside of Durbin, and those who might
be in this part of the Empire seeking news of him would
connect that fact with his escape. Then the hunt would
be on again. Taking a deep breath, Borric said, "At least
no pursuit for the moment." Slapping the boy playfully
upon the back, he said, "Come along and let's see what
this Keshian city has to offer by way of a good, hot
meal!"
To that prospect, Suli agreed vigorously.

Where Durbin had been crowded, dirty, and misera-
ble, Farafra was exotic. And crowded, dirty, and misera-
ble. By the time they were halfway to the center of the
city, Borric understood exactly what the Captain had
meant by his remark. For within twenty yards of the sea
gate, next to the docks where they entered the city, a
dead body lay rotting in the sun. Flies crawled over it
and from the mangled appearance of the tors6^ dogs
had feasted sometime before dawn. People passing the
corpse ignored it, the only noticeable reaction being an
occasional averting of the eyes.

, Borric looked around and said, "Doesn't the city
watch or someone do something?" '

Suli was peering in every direction, constantly on the
lookout for any opportunity to make a coin or two.
Absently he said, "If some merchant nearby decides the
stink is bad for business, he'll pay some boys to drag it to
the harbor and toss it in. Otherwise it will lie there until
it's no longer there." Suli seemed to take for granted
that eventually some magic agency would dispose of
the corpse.

A few feet away, a man in a robe squatted, ignoring
those who passed by. As Borric watched, the man stood,
and moved into the flow of traffic, leaving behind fresh
proof he hadn't been squatting to say devotions to some
god, but rather to answer the call of nature. "Gods

Companion              187

above," said Borric. "Aren't there public Jakes in this

city?'
Suli looked at him with a curious expression. "Public?

I've never heard of such a thing. Who would build them
and clean them? Why would anyone bother?"
Borric said, "Never mind. Some things are just hard

to get used to."

As they entered the flow of traffic from the docks into
the city, Borric was astounded by the impossible variety
of people. All manner of speech could be heard, and all
fashions of dress could be observed. It was unlike any-
thing he had seen before or expected to behold. Women
passed by dressed in desert garb, covered from head to
foot in plain blue or brown robes, nothing shown but
their eyes, while a few feet away, hunters from the
grassy plains stood inspecting goods, their dark, oiled
bodies naked save for a simple thong breechclout, but
their vanity showed in the copper bracelets, necklaces,
and earrings they wore and in their choice of weapons.
Clan tattoos marked faces here, and odd temple robes
marked beliefs there. Women with skin as dark as morn-
ing's coffee passed wearing brightly colored cloth
wrapped round from under-arm to knee, with high
conical hats of the same cloth. Babies with serious eyes
seemed to guard the rear from slings hung over their
mothers' backs. Children of every possible description
raced through the street, chasing a dog who dodged
through the forest of human legs before him. Borric
laughed. "That dog runs as if his life depended upon it."

Suli shrugged. "He does. Those street boys are hun-
gry."

Borric could hardly take it all in. There was just too
much that was too new to comprehend. Everywhere he
looked, hundreds of people moved by, going one way or
another, some strolling, others hurrying, but all oblivi-
ous to the throng surrounding them. And more than the
press of bodies and the constant babble of voices, there
was the smell. Unwashed bodies, expensive perfumes,
human excrement, cooking, exotic spices, animal odors,
all filled his nose with the reek of this alien land. The
street was packed, with little room to move without

188 Prince of the Blood

coming in contact with strangers. Borric was aware of
the weight of his two purses in his tunic, as safe a place
for them as he could manage. Any pickpocket was goirg
to have to stick his arm down the front of Borric's shu t,
which seemed unlikely. Borric felt his senses assaulter,
and he needed a respite.

They came to an open-front 'alehouse and the Prince
motioned the boy to turn in. In the relative dark, they
saw a pair of men speaking softly at a corner table, but
otherwise the room was empty. Borric ordered a bitter
ale for himself and a light ale for the boy, paying from
the meager purse the Captain had given him, prefer-
ring to keep his more ample purse hidden in his shirt
front. The brew was average in quality, but welcome
for the long interval since Borric had tasted such.

"Clear the way!" A woman's shriek was followed b\
the clatter of hooves and more shouts, punctuated by
the crack of a whip. Borric and Suli both turned to see
what the fuss was. Before the open front of the ale-
house, a strange scene was unfolding. A pair of splendid
bay horses pulling an ornate chariot were rearing and
whinnying as they were halted by their driver.

The cause of the sudden stop was a large man, who
stood fore square in the center of the street. Behind the
driver, the charioteer shouted, "Fool! Idiot! Get out of
the way!"

The man in the street walked toward the two horses
and grabbed the bridle of each. He clucked with the
side of his tongue and pushed, and the horses moved
backwards. The driver cracked his whip behind the ear
of one of the horses, shouting loudly. But the horses
obeyed the constant pressure from the front, rather
than the noise from the back. The chariot was being
backed up despite the driver's curses and protestation;-
while the charioteer behind him looked pn in stunnec.
disbelief. The driver drew back to crack a whip again
and the man pushing the horses said, "Crack that thing
once more, and it will be the last stupid act of your life!"

"Fascinating," Borric remarked. "I wonder why oui
large friend is doing that?"

The "large friend" was a mercenary soldier by his

Companion              189

look, wearing leather armor over his green tunic and
trousers. Upon his head rested an old metal helm, much
dented and in desperate need of a wire brush and pol-
ish, and across his back was a leather sheath, containing
what appeared to be a half-and-a-half-, or bastard-
sword. Upon his sides, two long dirk handles showed
weapons at his belt.

The man behind the chariot driver looked upon the
man blocking his way in outrage. He was undressed,
save for a white kilt and an odd weapons harness,
crossed leather straps over his shoulders, forming an X
across his chest. Spears were within easy reach of him,
tied to the side of the chariot, looking like a boat's mast
as they pointed straight up. A bow was also slung to the
side of the vehicle. With his face turning crimson, the
charioteer shouted, "Make way, you idiot!"

Suli whispered to Borric, "The man in the chariot is of
true Keshian blood. He is also a member of the Order of
Imperial Charioteers. He is therefore upon the business
of the Empire. The man who has halted them is a very
brave man or a fool."

The man who held the horses merely shook his head
and spit. He forced the horses to retreat until the char-
iot began to turn to the right, backing into a pot dealer's
small shop. The pot merchant shouted in alarm and
jumped to get out of harm's way, but the man with the
large sword ceased pushing the horses just short of
wreaking havoc on the man's livelihood. The merce-
nary released the bridle and bent down to pick some-
thing up, then sauntered aside. "You can go now," he
said.

The chariot driver was about to start the horses on
their way again, when the charioteer pulled the whip
out of his hand. As if anticipating the move, the warrior
wheeled about as the leather lash sang through the air
and let it catch upon a leather bracer he wore on his left
arm. Quickly grabbing the whip, he yanked hard and
almost pulled the charioteer over the side of his chariot.
Then just as the man was regaining his balance, the
mercenary drew one of his two long dirks and cut the
lash. The charioteer fell backwards and almost went

190 Prince of the Blood

over the other side. As the angry charioteer started to
right himself again, the mercenary struck the nearest
horse on the flank, shouting "Ya!" at the top of his lungs.
Caught unawares, the driver was barely able to pull
them around and head them down the street without
driving through a packed mob of merchants and shop-
pers.

Laughter filled the boulevard as the enraged chario-
teer called back curses upon the large warrior. The
warrior watched the departing chariot, then entered
the ale shop and came to stand beside Suli.

"Ale," he said, putting down what he had picked up
in the street. It was a copper coin.

Borric shook his head. "You were almost run down
because you stopped to pick up a copper?"

The man removed his metal helmet, revealing damp
hair clinging to his head, where he had hair, for the man
was at least in his forties or fifties and had lost most of
the hair on top. "You can't take the chance of waiting,
friend," he said slowly, his accent giving him a full-
mouth sound as he spoke, as if he was speaking around
cotton wadded in his cheeks. "That's five luni, it's more
money than I've seen in a month."

Something in his accent sounded familiar upon Bor-
ric's ear, and he said, "Are you from Isles?"

The man shook his head. "Langost, a town in the
foothills of the Peaks of Tranquillity. Our^ people were
from Isles stock, though. My grandfather's father was
from Deep Taunton. I take it you're from Isles?"

Borric shrugged as if it really didn't matter. "Most
recently from Durbin," he said. "But before that I was
in Isles."

"Farafra isn't paradise, but it's a better place than
that pest-hole Durbin." The man stuck out his hand
"Ghuda Bule, caravan guard, late of Hansule, and be-
fore that Gwalin, and before that Ishlana."

Borric shook the man's hand, heavily callused from
years handling both sword and livestock. "My friends
call me Madman," he said with a grin. "This is Suli."

Suli solemnly shook hands with the fighter, as if one
among equals.

Companion             191

"Madman? Must be a story aboui. that name, or didn't
your father like you?"

Borric laughed. "No, I did some crazy things once
and the name stuck." Borric shook his head. "Caravan
guard? That would explain why you knew how to move
those chariot horses."

The man smiled, little more than curling his lip
slightly, but his blue eyes danced. "Charioteers and
their drivers give me gas. And one thing I do know
about horses is that when someone is pushing on their
faces, they don't like it and will back up. You can try that
with a fool wiggling their reins and trying to flick a whip
behind their ear, but I wouldn't try it with a rider on
their back with a strong leg and a pair of spurs." He
chuckled. "Pretty stupid, wasn't it?"

Borric laughed. "Yes, it was."

Ghuda Bule drained the last of the ale from his cup
and said, "Well, best be off to the caravansary. My most
recent woman threw me out of her crib this morning
when she finally figured out I wasn't going to marry her
and get a job in the city, after all. So, I'm without funds
''nd that means time to find work. Besides, I've about
had my fill of Farafra and could do with a change of
scenery. Good day to you both."

Borric hesitated an instant, then said, "Let me buy
you one."

Ghuda put the helm he had just retrieved back on the
bar. "You talked me into it. Madman."

Borric ordered another round. When the barkeep
had put the drinks down, Borric turned to the merce-
nary and said, "I need to get to the city of Kesh,
Ghuda."

Ghuda turned about as if looking to see where he was.
"Well, first walk that way," he said, pointing down the
street, "until you reach the southern tip of the Spires of
Light—it's a large mountain range; you'll notice them
right away. Then turn left to bend around them, then
right where the River Sarn6 runs along the north tip of
the Guardians. Follow the river to a place on the 0\ ern
Deep where a lot of people live, and that's the city of

192 Prince of the Blood

Kesh. Can't miss it. If you start now, you should get
there in six or eight weeks."

"Thanks," said Borric drily. "I mean I need to get
there and I'd like to hire on a caravan heading that
way."

"Uh-huh," said Ghuda noncommittally, nodding.

"And it would help if I had someone known around
here to vouch for me."

"Uh-huh," said Ghuda. "So you'd like me to take you
along to the caravansary and tell some unsuspecting
caravan master that you're my old friend from home, a
truly cracking good swordsman, who, by the way, is
called the Madman."

Borric closed his eyes as if he had a headache. "Not
quite."

"Look, friend, I thank you for the drink, but that
doesn't entitle you to risk my good name by making
recommendations that are bound to reflect badly on me
in time."

Borric said, "Wait a minute! Who said it would reflect
badly on you. I'm a competent swordsman."

"Without a sword?"

Borric shrugged. "That's a long story."

"It always is." Ghuda picked up his helm and put it
crookedly upon his head. "Sorry."

"I'll pay you."

Ghuda took his helmet off and put it back on the bar.
He signaled to the barman for another round. "Well,
then, let's cut to the heart of it. Reputations have a
certain value, don't they? What do you suggest?"

"What will you earn on a trip from here to Kesh?"

Ghuda considered. "It's a pretty uneventful route,
well patrolled by the army, so there's little pay, which is
why there are always caravans needing guards. A large
caravan, perhaps ten ecu. A small one, five. And food on
the trip of course. Maybe a bonus if there are bandits
along the way we have to fight."

Borric did a quick calculation in his head—he could
only think in terms of Kingdom coins—and reviewed
the money he had in his purse from Salaya and his poker
winnings on ship. "I'll tell you what. Get the three of us

Companion              193

hired on to guard a caravan and I'll double whatever is

paid you."
"Let me get this right: we get you on a caravan to

Kesh and you'll give me your wages when we get

there?"       „

"That's right.

"No," he said, drinking down his ale. "What guaran-
tee do I have you'll not skip out with the money before I
can collect?"

Borric gave him an exasperated look. "You'd doubt
my word?"

"Doubt your word? Sonny, we've just met. And what
would you think if you were me and this was being
proposed to you by someone who's called 'Madman.' "
He looked significantly down at his empty cup.

Borric signaled for another round. "All right, I'll pay
you half on account before we leave and the rest when
we get there."

Ghuda still wasn't convinced. "And what about the
boy? No one will consider him a likely guard."

Borric turned to look at Suli,,who was now clearly
wobbling from the influence of three ales. "He can pass
work. We'll hire him on to the caravan as a cook's mon-
key."

Suli just nodded, bleary-eyed. "Cook."

"But can you handle a blade, Madman?" asked
Ghuda, seriously.

Borric said matter-of-factly, "Better than any man
I've met."

Ghuda's eyes widened. "That's a boast!"

Borric grinned. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Ghuda stared at Borric a moment, then threw back
his head and laughed. "Ah, that's good." Killing what
was left of his ale, Ghuda pulled out his two long dirks,
and reversed the one in his left hand, handing it to
Borric. "Show me what you've got. Madman."

Suddenly Borric was twisting and parrying a vicious
lunge, barely able to avoid a potentially killing stroke.
He didn't hesitate as he struck the mercenary as hard a
blow to the head as he could with his left hand. As
Ghuda shook his head to clear it, Borric lunged, and the

194 Prince of the Blood

mercenary was falling away from the point, striking a
table with his back.

The barman shouted, "Here you two! Stop breaking
up my shop!"

Ghuda sidled along the table, as Borric measured
him. "We can stop any time you're convinced," said the
Prince, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet,
shoulders hunched, the point of the dirk aimed at
Ghuda.

The mercenary grinned, his manner playful. "I'm
convinced."

Borric flipped the dirk, catching the blade between
thumb and forefinger, and handed it back to Ghuda.
The mercenary took it and said, "Well, we'd better find
a weapons dealer and get you set up. You may know
how to handle a weapon, but it does you little good if
you don't have one."

Borric put his hand down the front of his baggy tunic
and pulled out his purse. He took out a pair of copper
coins and handed them to the furious barkeep. "Suli,
let's be off—" He discovered the boy was slumped down
at the foot of the bar, snoring loudly.

Ghuda shook his head. "Can't say as I trust anyone
who can't hold his drink."

Borric laughed as he pulled the drunken boy to his
feet. Shaking him severely, he said, "Suli, we have to
go."

Through bleary eyes, the boy said, "Master, why is
the room spinning?"

Ghuda grabbed his helm and said, "I will wait for you
outside. Madman. You tend the boy." The mercenary
exited the shop and stood next door examining some
copper jewelry while the sounds of a boy being very
sick emerged from the ale shop.

Three hours later, two men and a very pale boy
passed through the eastern city gate, and entered the
caravansary. The large field, surrounded on three sides
by tents and sheds, was located just to the east of the
city, less than a quarter mile from the gates of Farafra.
Close to three hundred wagons of varying sizes were

Companion              195

spread around the meadow. Dust filled the air as horses,
oxen and camels moved from one place to another.

Suli hefted the large sack he carried, full of various
items Ghuda had insisted they buy. Borric had followed
the mercenary's lead in the matter, save when it came
to his own armor. Borric now wore an old but service-
able jacket of leather, with leggings and bracers. He
couldn't find a light helm, so rather than one he didn't
care for, he chose a leather band with a cloth
headcover, to keep his lengthening hair back and per-
spiration out of his eyes. The covering also protected
;   the back of his neck from the harsh Keshian sun. A
longsword hung from his left hip, and a dirk from his
right. He'd have preferred a rapier, but they were rarer
in Farafra than in Krondor and beyond his means. The
day's shopping had eaten away at his meager supply of
coins and he was aware that he was still a long way from
the city of Kesh.

As they moved along past the corrals where horses
were kept, they came to the main concourse, a series of
wagons arrayed in two lines. Strolling along between
them were a full score of armed men, as well as mer-
;   chants seeking transport for their goods.

i     Moving down the concourse, the three were called to

by a man atop each wagon. "Bound for Kimri. I need
i   guards for Kimri!" At the next, a man shouted to them,
"Ghuda! I need guards for Teleman!" The third called,
"Top price paid. We're leaving tomorrow for Hansule!"

Halfway down the concourse, they found a caravan
bound for the city of Kesh. The caravan master looked
them over and said, "I know you by name, Ghuda Bule.
I can use you and your friend, but I don't want the boy."
i ^   Borric was about to speak, but Ghuda cut him off. "I
( : don't go anywhere without my Good Luck Cook."
[ ^   The stout caravan master looked down upon Suli,
perspiration beading upon his hairless head as he said,
"Good Luck Cook?"

Ghuda nodded, as if it was something so obvious he
needn't comment upon. "Yes."

"What, 0 Master of Ten Thousand Lice, is a Good
Luck Cook?"

196 Prince of the Blood

"When I was guard on Taymus Rioden's caravan from
Querel to Ashunta, seven years back, we were raided by
bandits. Struck as if by lightning. Had no time to even
get out a prayer to the Death Goddess." He made a
good luck sign, as did the caravan master. "But I sur-
vived as did my Good Luck Cook. Not another man did.
I have always had my Good Luck Cook with me since."

"As that boy can be no more than twelve summers,
Father of Prevaricators, he must have been precocious
indeed to have been a caravan cook seven years ago."

"Oh, it wasn't him," said Ghuda, shaking his head as if
that should be obvious. "Different cook. You see, I was
down in the gully with my britches around my ankles
with the worst case of runs in my life when the bandits
struck. Couldn't even get up to fight. They just never
found me."

"And how did the cook survive?"

"He was squatting a few feet away."

"And what happened to him?" asked the caravan-
master, squinting down at Ghuda with interest.

"I killed the bastard for almost poisoning me."

The caravan master couldn't help himself but laugh.
When he was through, Ghuda said, "The boy'11 cause
you no trouble. He can help the cook around the camp-
fire at night and you needn't pay him. Just let him eat a
full meal every day until we reach Kesh."

"Done!" said the master, spitting in his hand and ex-
tending it. Ghuda spit in his and they shook. "I Cc •
always use a good liar around the fire at night. Make
the journey pass quickly." To Suli he said, "Go find n;

cook, boy." He hiked his finger over his shoulder t
where a cook wagon could be seen amidst a doze"
freight wagons. "Tell him you're to be his new cook'
monkey."

Suli looked to Borric, who nodded he should go. A
Suli left, the caravan master said, "I am Janos Saber
trader from Kesh. We leave at first light tomorrow."

Ghuda unslung the small bundle he carried over hi'
shoulder. "We'll sleep under your wagons tonight."

"Good. Now, leave me, as I need four more guards
before nightfall."

Companion              197

Borric and Ghuda wandered from the spot, and
found some shade under a widely spreading tree.
Ghuda took his helm off and ran his hand over his
sweaty face. "Might as well rest now, Madman. Tomor-
row it gets really miserable."

"Miserable?" asked Borric.

"Yes, Madman. Today we're merely hot and bored.
Tomorrow we will be thirsty, dirty, tired, hot, and

bored."

Borric crossed his arms on his chest and tried to rest.
He knew that it had been drilled into him since boy-
hood that a soldier steals rest whenever the opportunity
appears. But his mind raced. How was Eriand faring
and what was transpiring in Kesh? By his estimate, Er-
land and the others should be in Kesh by now. Was
Eriand safe? Did they count Borric dead, or merely

missing?

Sighing aloud, he settled down. Soon he was dozing in
the afternoon heat, the noise of the busy caravansary
becoming lulling in its own fashion.

Chapter Eleven

Hunting

The lion stood motionless.

Eriand watched with interest as the cat waited with
eyes fixed upon a grazing herd of grassland antelopes.
Eriand sat on his horse, next to James and Locklear, and
the desertman, Kafi Abu Harez. Arrayed nearby were a
half-dozen chariots, the traditional centerpiece to
Kesh's army. The Commander of the Imperial Chario-
teers, Lord Jaka, watched as his son Diigai made ready
to hunt the cat. The elderly commander's face was set
in stoic repose, as if carved from weathered black stone,
showing no emotion at his son's approaching confronta-
tion.

Kafi pointed to where the lion hunkered down in the
tall grass. He said to Eriand, "This young male has no
pride." Eriand took note of the huge animal, mrch
larger than the small lion that hunted the mountains in
parts of the Kingdom. Also this one had a huge mane
that was nearly black, while the lions Eriand had seen
were completely tawny. This was a truly magnificent
animal. "He hunts for himself," continued Kafi. "If the
lion survives this day, he will someday be a fat, lazy
fellow with lionesses to hunt for him."

"Might he survive?" asked Locklear.

Kafi shrugged. "Most likely not. It is as the gods will.
The boy may not leave the field unless he is disabled,
which is much the same as death for one of his rank. His
father is among the most important lords in the Empire,
so to be reduced to the rank of a sah-dareen—a
nonhunter—would be more shame than the family
could endure and retain its influence. The boy would
most likely go out and do something terribly foolish,
and brave, but die nevertheless, to expiate the shame."

The lion padded forward silently, head low and eyes

Hunting                199

fixed upon his quarry. He had already marked a weak
herd member, a young calf or a sickly old buck or doe.
Then the wind shifted and, as one, the heads of the
antelopes came up. Black noses twitched as the herd
tested the wind for the scent of approaching danger.

Abruptly, one buck sprang up in a seemingly impossi-
ble four-footed jump, and the herd was off. The lion
sprang after, using an uncustomary burst of speed to
overtake the rear of the herd. An old doe, weakened by
age, kicked at the lion, causing the animal to veer a
moment. The young lion stood in confusion. Antelope
weren't supposed to do that, he was certain. Then the
lion picked up a new scent on the breeze and realized
suddenly that he was no longer the predator but the

prey.

At that moment, Diigai gave a shout and his driver
cracked his whip and called for his horses to give pur-
suit. That was the signal, and the hunt was on. Borric
and his companions put heels to their mounts and gal-
loped to keep up with the chariots.

In a military maneuver, the chariots fanned out to
intercept the lion if it broke right or left. Hunting calls
filled the air as the young Keshian hunters cried ancient
invocations of their hunting god, Guis-wa. Seen as a
dark god in the Kingdom, the Red-Jawed Hunter was a
major deity in Kesh and patron god of all Keshian hunt-


ers.

The lion raced over the grassy plane. The lion could
not run long effectively, and there was no clear hiding
place in sight. Diigai and the other charioteers moved
after the fleeing cat.

Suddenly James reined in, calling Eriand to halt. The
Kingdom riders pulled in, as did Kafi Abu Harez.
"What?" asked Eriand.

James said, "Just give that organized confusion a mo-
ment to get ahead of us that's all. I wouldn't want you to
find yourself in front of it accidentally."

Eriand was about to protest, then realized what
James was telling him. It was the sort of scene that
would lend itself to an "accident." He nodded, and
turned his mount, bringing her to a canter, fast enough




200 Prince of the Blood

to see what was occurring ahead without the risk of
being caught up in the hunt.

Suddenly the chariots were reining in, giving Diigai
ample room to face the lion. By the time Eriand's part)
caught up, Diigai was off his chariot, stalking the lion
with a long spear and hide shield.

Eriand said, "Those are pretty primitive weapons to
be hunting a cat of that size. Why not use a bow?"

Kafi said, "This is his manhood rite. He is a very im-
portant boy, being the eldest son of Lord Jaka. The
trueblood will use a bow to kill an animal raiding his
herd, but to be a great hunter—a simbani—to have a
lion's-main headdress for formal occasions, you must
use the weapons of your ancestors."

Eriand nodded and moved his horse next to Diigai's
chariot. His driver, a boy of about the same age, looked
oh anxiously, obviously concerned for the young noble's
safety. The young hunter was now about fifty yards
ahead of his chariot, halfway to where the lion
crouched.

The lion crouched, his tongue lolling in his mouth as
he panted to catch his breath. His eyes darted and his
head turned as he attempted to determine if danger
was approaching and if so from where. Then he reared
up on his haunches and looked around. There was no
avenue of escape, as a ring of chariots stood ready to
block his flight on all quarters. Then he spied the ap-
proaching figure. The lion roared a scream of anger and
fear.

Several horses nickered and attempted to move, but
their drivers held them steady. Eriand turned to Kafi
and said, "What if he misses on his throw?"

Kafi said, "He won't throw. It's too dangerous. He'll
attempt to goad the lion into charging and set spear and
impale it, or get close enough to stab it."

That made sense to Ertand, as much as any of this
barbaric ritual made sense. To hunt down lions, bears,
wolves, and wyverns that were raiding herds made
sense. To hunt something you couldn't eat so you could
wear its head as a trophy, didn't.

Then the lion charged. A slight sound of surprise es-
caped the lips of several of the charioteers, and it was
obvious to Eriand and his companions this was unusual
behavior for this breed of lion. Diigai hesitated, and in
that instant he lost his opportunity to be ready. His
spear was incorrectly set when the lion charged and he
gave it only a glancing blow. Suddenly all was confu-
sion: the boy was knocked back, his shield saving him a
terrible raking as the lion lashed out blindly at the
source of his pain. Then the animal was biting at his
flank, as if some enemy was biting him there. The young
man's spear protruded from his side.

Hunting                201

The lion knew only two things, pain and blood. It
roared, and the young man attempted to back away
while covering himself with the shield. The lion spun in
a circle, attempting to bite the spear, then the weapon
was dislodged. And Diigai discovered he was on one
side of an angry wounded lion with his spear on the
other.

"He'll be killed!" Eriand shouted.

Kafi said, "No one will interfere. It's his right to kill or
be killed." The desertman shrugged. "I don't see much
logic in it myself, but it is the trueblood way."

Suddenly, Eriand pushed back in the saddle, kicking
his legs out of his stirrups. He reached under the right
knee roll and quickly unbuckled his right stirrup
leather. Pulling it free of the saddle, he rebuckled it,
and pulled his left stirrup iron up so it wouldn't strike
his horse. Eriand wrapped the leather of his right stir-
rup around his right hand twice, swung the heavy iron
in his hand to test the weight and how far he could
strike with it. James began to say, "What are you—" but
before the question was finished, Eriand had his horse
off toward the young hunter.

The lion crouched and snarled, and began to move at
a fast crawl, keeping low until the moment to spring,
but as he neared the young man who held his shield to
take the charge a new attack materialized.

Eriand charged the lion, striking downward with the
heavy stirrup iron. The lion roared in pain and Eriand's
horse instinctively danced sideways. The lion spun and
swung out with a huge paw, but the horse was away.

202 Prince of the Blood

The big cat began to move after, then remembered
there was another enemy to face.

Eriand's distraction was enough. Diigai sprinted to
where his spear lay, and made ready. As Eriand re-
turned to his companions, the young Keshian noble
shouted his hunter's cry and the lion turned. Crazed
with pain and confused with the attacks from all quar-
ters, the young cat sprang at Diigai. This time the spear
was correctly set and it took the lion full in his massive
chest. His own momentum carried the lion forward,
driving the spearhead into his heart.

The charioteers shouted and the young man stood
over the twitching cat. Eriand turned his horse, who
was shying at the smell of blood. It took a moment to
control him without stirrups, but being an excellent
horseman, the Prince quickly had the mount turned
and trotting away from the shouting trueblood men. A
chariot approached and Eriand found LordJaka passing
by. Suddenly the enormity of his impulsive act struck
Eriand. Had he violated some fundamental law of theirs
by distracting the lion? As they passed one another,
Eriand and Jaka's eyes met. Eriand looked for some-
thing in the old man's glance, approval or condemna-
tion, but as the Master of Charioteers passed, he
revealed nothing, gave no sign or gesture to the young
Prince. James came to where Eriand sat, reattaching his
leathers and irons and said, "Are you mad? What pos-
sessed you to do something that foolish?"

Eriand said, "He would have been killed. The others
would have then killed the lion. Now only the lion is
dead. Made sense to me."

"And if your horse had shied a moment earlier, you
could have been the lion's first victim!" James grabbed
Eriand's tunic and pulled him almost off his horse as he
drew him closer. "You are not some stupid son of a
nameless noble. You are not the idiot child of a wealthy
merchant. You are Isles' next King, for mercy's sake. If
you ever try anything that foolish again, I will person-
ally beat you within an inch of your existence."

Eriand pushed James's hand away. "I haven't forgot-
ten that." Eriand circled his horse, anger on his face. "I

Hunting                203

haven't forgotten that for an instant, my lord Earl. Not
since my brother died!" Suddenly, Eriand kicked his
mount and was riding at a fast gallop back toward the
city. James signaled and the Kingdom honor guard gave
chase. They wouldn't try to stop him, but they wouldn't
let him ride unprotected either.

Locklear came to where James sat, now alone, and
said, "The boy's not making it easy, is he?"

James shook his head. "It's the sort of thing you or I
would have tried at his age."

Locklear said, "Were we really that stupid?"

"I'm afraid so, Locky." James glanced around.
"They're taking the lion's head, so we'll be heading
back to the palace. And they'll be inviting us to another
celebration."

Locklear grimaced. "Has anyone ever told these peo-
ple that it's acceptable for less than fifty people to eat
together at one time?"

"Apparently not," answered James, kicking his horse
into motion.

"Let's go soothe our Prince's wounded pride," said
Locklear.

James looked off toward where Eriand rode, closely
followed by his guard, and said, "It's not his pride that's
wounded, Locky." Glancing at the ceremonial dismem-
berment of the lion, he said, "Diigai is the same age as
Eriand . . . and Borric. Eriand misses his brother."
James let out a long breath, almost a loud sigh. "As do
we all. Come on, we still need to talk to him."

Together, the two advisors approached the waiting
Kafi Abu Harez, who turned his mount and joined in
with them to ride back to the city. As they left the
celebrating Keshians, Locklear asked, "Kafi, what has
Eriand done by taking a hand?"

The desertman said, "I do not know, my lord. Had
your young Prince killed the lion, then he would have
not only shamed Diigai by showing the world the boy
could not hunt, he would have made a powerful enemy
in Lord Jaka. As it is, he only distracted the animal,
allowing the boy to regain his weapon and kill the cat."
Kafi shrugged and smiled as he spurred his horse to a

204 Prince of the Blood

canter, along with James and Locklear. "Perhaps noth-
ing will come of this. With the trueblood, who can say?"
James said, "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."
They rode the rest of the journey back to the city in
silence.

Miya sat behind Eriand in the pool,' rubbing the ten-
sion from his neck and shoulders. They were alone, as
Eriand had sent away the others. While he had taken
advantage of the willingness of the Keshian serving
women available to him, he had discovered himself re-
turning more and more to Miya's company. He felt
nothing he would call love for the young Keshian ser-
vant, but with her he felt the comfort of being able to
relax and speak of what bothered him. She seemed to
know when to stay silent or when to ask the probing
question that cleared up his own confusion. And their
lovemaking had progressed from the excitement of
newness and raw clashing of desire to a more sedate
familiarity of two people who understood one another's
need.

Another servant entered and said, "Highness, the
Lord James-asks permission to enter."

Eriand felt like refusing, but realized he would have
to speak with James sometime today, so he nodded
once. A moment later, James entered the bathing room.

James looked down upon the nude pair, and if he was
startled to discover the girl with Eriand, he hid it. He
didn't ask anything of the servant who remained in the
room, but removed his cloak and handed it to the young
woman, who took it from him. He then crossed over to a
small stool, carrying it himself to the pool's side.

Sitting down, James said, "Well, then. Feeling bet-
ter?"

Eriand said, "No. I'm still angry."

"Who are you mad at, Eriand?"

For a silent moment the frustration was clearly
etched on the young man's face. Then it seemed to
wash away as Miya continued to probe at the knots of
tension in his neck and shoulders.

"The universe, I guess. The gods of fate and chance.

Hunting                205

You My father. Everyone." Then his voice fell away.
"Mostly I'"1 furious with Borric for getting himself

Tames nodded. "I know. I feel that way, too."

Eriand let out a long sigh of tension released and said,
"I guess that's why I did what I did. I just couldn't see
that boy killed by that lion. Maybe the boy's got a
brother—" Words failed him as tears came unbidden.
For a moment, Eriand sat in the warm pool, his grief
manifested for the first time since the bandit attack.
James waited while the young Prince cried for his dead
brother, neither showing or feeling embarrassment at
the display. James had done his crying a week before, in
the arms of his wife.

After a moment, Eriand looked at his teacher with
red-rimmed eyes. "Why, damn it?"

James could only shake his head. "Why? Only the
gods know and they aren't talking. At least not to me."
He reached down and stuck his hand into the water. A
moment later he withdrew it and wiped his brow.
"Some things make sense, others don't. I don't know."

James was reflective a while, then said, "Look, I've
not told you this. Your father saved my life. A couple of
times. Now I'm no more an expert on why a Prince of
Isles should save the life of a boy thief than I am on why
another Prince of Isles should die in an ambush on the
way to a birthday party. I can only tell you that no one
ever told me, ever told me, that life makes sense. It just
is."

Eriand sank back against Miya's soft body and let
warmth infuse him. He sighed and felt something leave
from within, an ache that had been there every minute
since the ambush. "It's so odd," he said quietly. "It just
hit me now that Borric must be dead. Yet ..."

"What?" James asked quietly.

"I don't know." Eriand looked at James and there was
a question in his eyes. "How is it supposed to feel? I
mean, Borric and I haven't spent more than a few days
apart ever. It's like we were . . . just part of each
other. I thought that if I lost him, or he me, we'd . . .
feel it. Do you know what I mean?"

206 Prince of the Blood

James got up. "I think so. At least, I think I know as
much as anyone can who has never had one in their life
to be as close with as you two were with each other. But
I've watched you since you were babies and I've seen
you fight and play. I think I know what you mean."

Eriand sighed again. "I just thought it would feel
different. That's all. It's not like he's dead, you know
just very far away." Eriand's eyes got heavy and he
closed them. A moment later his breathing became
more regular and he dozed.

James motioned for the servant who held his cloak to
return it. To Miya he said, "We dine with the Empress
again, tonight. Wake him when it's time?"

She nodded, not speaking so as not to wake the sleep-
ing Prince. James folded his cloak over his arm and
departed.

Eriand finished dressing as Miya announced Lord
Jaka. The Prince was not surprised, as he had a feeling
there would be a reaction from Diigai's father over this
afternoon's business. Eriand motioned for the servant
to admit the Keshian noble and a few moments later the
tall warrior entered. Miya moved a discreet distance
away, out of earshot but close enough should Eriand
need her.

Jaka bowed before Eriand, then said, "My lord
Prince, I trust I have not come at an inopportune min-
ute?"

"No, Lord Jaka. I was just finishing my dressing in
anticipation of dining with your Empress."

Jaka made a gesture with both his hands, held parallel
and moving them downward and out, the meaning of
which Kafi had told him was, "May heaven protect," or
"May heaven give bounty," an all-purpose benediction.

The old warrior said, "I have come to speak to you of
this thing you did this afternoon."

"Yes?"

Jaka seemed to struggle with the words he wished to
say. "As a hunter of great reputation, it would have
been a shameful thing for my son to have failed in his

Hunting                207

manhood hunt, today. It is difficult to accept such a

"There are those who will say that you robbed my son
of a courageous death, or that his kill is tainted because
of your interference."

Here it comes, thought Eriand. He had half-expected
something like this.

"Yet," continued Jaka, "you did but annoy the animal,
distracting it long enough for my son to recover his

spear."

Eriand nodded. "The kill was his."

"This is true. So, while I am partially mixed in my
feelings as to the elegance of the kill, as a father of a boy
I love deeply, I wish to thank you for allowing him his
manhood." Softly he added, "And for saving his life."

Eriand stood motionless an instant, struggling with
what he should say. Then he took the course that would
allow the father the most pride possible under the cir-
cumstances. "Perhaps he would have regained the
spear without my aid. Who can say?"

"Who, indeed?" said the old man. "It was a young cat,
inexperienced and in great pain. A more experienced
hunter would have struck it in the face with the flat of
the shield, no damage, but noise and pain. If the cat
attacks the shield, the experienced hunter lets him and
attempts to recover the spear. It is a thing we teach,
though in the heat of the moment, it is easily forgotten.
Easily forgotten. Your Highness.

"I must leave, my lord Prince. But before I do, know
that should you have need, I am in your debt."

Eriand could think of nothing appropriate to say to
such a straightforward offer of thanks, so he merely said,
"Thank you for the courtesy of your call, and the honor
of your presence. Lord Jaka."

The Commander of the Imperial Charioteers bowed
to Prince Eriand and departed. Eriand turned to where
Miya stood, and said, "I will see you later this evening, I
expect."

Miya came to Eriand and stood a moment, adjusting
his tunic, more for the closeness it brought than for any

208 Prince of the Blood

true need, and said, "I will see you sooner, my Prince. I
am ordered to the Empress's presence."

"Something's amiss?"

Miya shrugged. "Nothing. All who serve in the palace
of She Who Is Kesh are occasionally permitted to share
the glory of the Empress's court."

"Good. I will see you there."

Eriand motioned for the doors to his apartment to be
opened and two young women swung them wide. Out-
side, four Krondorian Palace Guards stood waiting, in
formal uniform. They fell in around Eriand, and in lock
step they marched down the large halls of the palace.

Along the route, they were joined by James and
Gamina, then Locklear, and finally Lord Kafi. When
they reached the Imperial complex of the palace, the
Krondorian Guards halted, as it was not permitted for
soldiers of a foreign nation to approach the Imperial
presence.

Eriand entered to the fanfare of trumpets. Leading
his small band, as senior most in rank he was required to
address the Empress first. The Keshian Master of Cere-
monies intoned the long list of praise for the approach-
ing Prince, and Eriand knew from his coaching this
signaled that the court was a formal one. He refrained
from smiling as he thought that the difference between
formal dining and informal was a matter of label with
the Empress. He was sorely wishing to be back in
Krondor, eating at a simple table with Borric in the
corner of the kitchen, something they had done often,
rather than endure state dinners with their parents.

Reaching the foot of the dais, Eriand bowed and the
Master of Ceremonies, said, "0 She Who Is Kesh, I have
the honor of presenting to you His Highness, Prince
Eriand, Heir to the Throne of the Kingdom of the Isles,
Knight-Captain of the Western Realm."

Eriand stood upright and said, "Your Majesty, I thank
you for the kindness of sharing your bounty with myself
and my companions. May I present—" and he went
through the formality of presenting his companions, as
he had each time they had come before the Empress.

Hunting                209

He wondered if this nonsense went on at every meal of
the day for the Empress.

The Empress said, "Your Highness had a busy day,
from all reports." Eriand waited for her to say more, but
all she said was, "It is our pleasure that you join us again,
Your Highness. Please, enjoy the bounty of our tables."

Entering the hall as Eriand turned was Prince Awari,
with several of his companions. One, closest to Eriand
as he passed, spat upon the floor before the Prince.

Eriand halted, his eyes widening and his face redden-
ing. The young man who had spat began to move on,
when Eriand turned and said, "You!"

All eyes turned to watch the two young men. The
young man looked at Eriand with narrow eyes. He was a
trueblood, probably an important noble's son, given his
proximity to the Prince, and his body was muscular and
strong. Eriand smelled a fight coming, and was in no
mood to avoid it.

"Eriand!" James's voice hissed in the Prince's ear.
"Back offl"

The Empress watches, came Gamina's warning.

Eriand glanced at the throne as the young noble
came to stand before him. The Empress's attention was
riveted upon the two who stood facing each other. A
court noble moved to intercede, and the Empress or-
dered him to her side. She seemed disinclined to inter-
fere. Rather, there was an avid glint in her eye. Eriand
wondered if this was some sort of test, to determine
what sort of ruler of Isles Kesh would face in years to
come. If that were so, thought Eriand, they find a
staunch opponent if needs be.

When the young man was inches from the Prince he
said, "What, sah-dareen?"

A few voices could be heard muttering. In this court,
to be a nonhunter was to be less than noble, and to be
called such was a deadly insult.

Eriand glanced at Prince Awari, to see if he would
interfere. The Prince looked on, interest in his eyes, and
a slight smile upon his lips. Eriand then knew the young
man had insulted him at Prince Awari's bidding. Eriand
took a breath, then as quickly as he could, he brought

210 Prince of the Blood

his hand across his chest, and delivered a punishing
back-handed blow to the young man's face.

The youth staggered as his knees buckled. He col-
lapsed to the floor, but before he could complete the
fall, Eriand grabbed the ornamental torque around his
throat and lifted him by it.

"He who insults me in Kesh's court insults the King-
dom of the Isles. I cannot let that pass." He released the
young man's torque, pushing him away. The youth stag-
gered but regained his feet. Eriand said, "You have the
choice of weapons."

James gripped Eriand's arm. He whispered. "You
cannot fight this duel. It is what they want."

But the young man only said, "I do not understand
what you mean."

Eriand said, "I've struck you. You have the right to
name the weapons we shall use when we duel."'

The young man's face knotted in an expression of
unfeigned perplexity. "Duel? Why would I fight you?
You would surely kill me."

Eriand did not know what to say. He was spared the
need of saying anything by the Empress. "Lord Ki-
lawa."

A man of middle years stood up, at a table located
near the back of the room. "My Empress's command?"

"Your son is a buffoon, Kilawa. He insults a guest in
my house. What is to be done with him?"

The man's face went pale. But he stood erect as he
spoke. "Your wish. Majesty?"

The Empress hesitated, then said, "I should have his
head presented to Prince Eriand in a jar of honey and
wine, as a trophy, but as our ways are not His High-
ness's, I think this would only serve to cause him more
discomfort." She paused, then said, "Young Rasajani."

Instantly, the youth who had insulted Eriand bowed
his head toward the Empress. "Your Majesty?"

"The sight of you causes me discomfort. You are ban-
ished from the upper city. Never set foot upon the
plateau so long as the light shines from my eyes. When I
have gone to the Hall of Eternal Beauty, then the one
who rules after me may prove merciful and allow your

Hunting               211

return. That is as much forbearance as you'll get from
g_and only because your father is dear to me—I
don't have much mercy left in my bitter old bones.

Now, begone!"

When he reached the table set aside for his party,
Eriand turned to Kafi and said, "What was that about?"

The desertman seemed uncertain of the question.

"My Prince?"

"Why did he insult me if he didn't wish to fight?"
Eriand said as he sat down.

Sitting, Kafi said, "It is a trueblood thing. Highness.
You must understand: they are not a warrior people.
They are hunters. Warriors are little more than dogs to
be turned loose upon an opponent. Oh, they'll fight if
necessary and with ferocity, but they count no honor in
it. No, honor is in the ability to track down your prey, to
bring it to bay, and kill it with a single blow. That is
honor to a trueblood. For young Rasajani to fight you
would be unreasonable. You are a warrior of undoubted
talents. You would quickly kill him. He knew that, so to
fight you would be sheer folly."

Eriand shook his head as he said, "This is a difficult
thing to understand."

Kafi shrugged. "To them it is difficult to understand
how a man would allow circumstances to force him into
fighting someone he knew was a finer warrior over a
matter of honor. It is, from their point of view, tanta-
mount to suicide."

The party of Princess Sharana entered, and walking a
step back was Miya. Eriand drank in the sight of the
golden-skinned Princess, then said to Kafi, "Why is my
serving maid with the Princess tonight?"

Kafi smiled. "Because your 'serving maid' is Lady
Miya, Sharana's cousin."

Eriand's eyes widened. "Cousin? To the Princess?
You're joking?"

Kafi said, "Of course not, Highness. The Empress
would not allow slaves nor 'inferiors' such as myself to
attend your personal needs in your own quarters." The
word inferiors snarled with barely hidden bitterness.
"So only young men and women of noble birth—lesser

212 Prince of the Blood

sons and daughters—may serve the Empress and her
guests."

Now Eriand's eyes grew round. "All of them!"

Kafi said, "Yes, every servant in your chamber is a
daughter of nobility." He waved absently at the others
around the table, who were watching Eriand's discom-
fort. "Of course all in yonr apartment, Your Highness,
are related to the Empress and of royal blood."

Eriand said, "Gods and demons. I've bedded half the
royal daughters in the Empire, I fear."

Kafi laughed. "Not by a tenth, Highness. Many are
related, albeit distantly, to Her Majesty. And what if you
did? The trueblood look upon questions of the body
differently than you or I. Their women are as free to
take lovers as the men. It comes from having as many
Empresses as Emperors." Again there was a hint of
bitterness in the last observation.

As protocol dictated, the Princess Sojiana and her
retinue were the last to enter, and she made formal
enquiry as to her mother's health. The forms were met
as required, and the meal commenced.

Servants appeared when the Princess's party was
seated and the dinner began. Little talking occurred
around Eriand's table, as both the Prince and Locklear
seemed content to stare across the room, Eriand at
Princess Sharana and Lady Miya, and Locklear at their
mother.

Later that evening, James requested Eriand accom-
pany Gamina and himself upon a stroll through one of
the many palace gardens. Assuming there was a reason
for the odd request, the Prince agreed.

As they were entering the garden, Gamina's voice
entered Eriand's mind. James asks that you speak
through me, as he is certain that even in the center of
this garden we are likely to be overheard. Aloud she
said, "Not like home, but lovely, don't you think?"

Eriand said, "I agree, completely."

James's voice came into Eriand's mind, with
Gamina's aide. / have finally been contacted by our
agent in the palace.

Hunting                213

Finally? Has there been a problem?

A problem? There was a feeling of humor with
lames's answer. Only that we're under constant super-
vision. Half the "servants" in our quarters are most
likely Keshian spies—which is a faint differentiation,
as anything we do would be reported as a matter of
course by those who are not spies. I think something
very important is happening.

Eriand asked Gamina how her day passed, and they
chatted about inconsequential things, as they found a
magnificent marble water fountain: three demons of
comic aspect seemed to be trapped in motion, and
above them beautiful nude women hunted them from
chariots. Water poured out of the rear of the three
chariots as the demons were herded toward the center
of the pool. Somehow a light shone from below, by what
means Eriand couldn't guess, and the effect was truly
wonderful.

Aloud he said, "I must ask how this light effect is
done. I must have one like it built in Krondor." Men-
tally, he said. What do you think is going on?

I'm not sure yet, answered James. I've pieced together
this much. The Empress's health fails. She is more ill
than is apparent. That is common gossip in the palace
and the city below. What isn't known is that she is
expected to name Prince Awari her heir, but every sign
points to her naming Sojiana, or even Sharana, before
her own son. The Empress and her son have had differ-
ences for years and at times have barely spoken.

So there's a question of inheritance of the throne?

Apparently, answered James. The throne usually
passes to the eldest child.

"Lovely night," said Eriand aloud. But that's Sojiana.

True, but there is a major faction of nobles who would
see Awari upon the throne. First because the last two
rulers have been women, and many of the subject na-
tions ofKesh are fiercely patriarchal and fear that three
women rulers in a row might turn Kesh into a matriar-
chy. In ancient times, the people ofKesh went through
such a period. But the major reason for wanting Awari
named heir is he's seen by many as simply being more

214 Prince of the Blood

able. Sojiana is . . . seen as weak by many. Her late
husband was a powerful voice in the Gallery of Lords
and Masters, their equivalent to our own Congress of
Lords. But others fear her as being . . . dangerous. She
is able to manipulate Awari and other lords . .
enough so that if Awari is named the next Emperor, she
could still cause difficulties in the Gallery.

Does this have anything to do with the attempt^. . .
the killing of my brother? "Let's see what other mar-
vels this garden offers."

"Yes," said Gamina. "It is so lovely here."

James said, "For a while. I fear we have a terribly busy
day tomorrow. It is the official welcome and beginning
of the-Jubilee. All the rulers of the Empire will be here
and gathered together for the first time. We must look
our best."

James's thoughts then came to Eriand. It possibly has
something to do with the attack in the desert. Awari's
faction is very strong in the heart of the Empire, while
Sojiana's strength lies primarily upon this plateau
Should war erupt in the north and the usual companies
of Dog Soldiers be sent against us, it weakens Awari's
presence here. Also, he is the likely choice to oversee the
army sent against us. Aber Bukar, Lord of Armies, is
getting too old. LordJaka would make a logical choice,
but the Brothers of the Horse and a few other factions
already count the Imperial Charioteers too influential,
so it's unlikely the Empress would risk an open breach
by giving him command. No, the Prince would be the
only binding figure they would all follow without ques-
tion. Also, another lord wishes preeminence in the Gal-
lery.

Who? asked the Prince.

Lord Ravi, Master of the Brothers of the Horse. But he
is not trueblood, and while his cavalry units are critical
for the success of any move against us the Empire might
make, they lack the prestige of the charioteers.

You paint a picture of a court in shambles.

Perhaps, but remember, as long as the Empress rules,
all obey her. It is possible that when she does die, chaos,
even civil war, may come. But whoever is trying to start

Hunting               215

a war is obviously not waiting for her death. Parts of
this puzzle are still unclear.

Aloud Eriand said, "Well, if we are to be fresh tomor-
row, we should be getting back." Turning back toward
the hallway that led to his apartments, he seemed to
lapse into silence. Most of this puzzle is unclear. Let us
hope we can solve it before we come to any conflict.

There was silent agreement.

Chapter Twelve

Evasion

Borric pointed.

"What in the world is that?" asked Ghuda.

The caravan was traveling the well-used Imperial
highway from Farafra to Kesh, passing through miles of
farm land. The journey had proven uneventful, until
now.

To the north of the road, three men on horseback
were attempting to capture another man on foot, a
strange-looking fellow wearing an unadorned knee-
length yellow robe. His head was shaved in the fashion
of monks, but his garment was unlike any of those worn
by any order in the Kingdom Borric had ever seen. And
he appeared to be having too much fun for, and making
a great deal more noise than any monk Borric had ever
observed. For as the horsemen attempted to grab hold
of the man's robe, he would dodge away, occasionally
ducking under the horse's necks, keeping up a terrific
whooping and laughing the entire time.

All this was accomplished despite the fact he carried a
wooden staff and a rucksack of some size slung over one
shoulder, its cloth broadband across his chest. He ran,
laughing and chittering nonsense to torment his would-
be captors. The insane caper had Ghuda and Borric
laughing. One of the riders turned at the sound and the
humor seemed to enrage him more.

The rider pulled a club of exotic fashion and rode at
the dancing man, attempting to strike him, but the man
ducked under the blow, rolling on the ground, and be-
fore the first rider could turn the horse, he was up and
dancing again. He turned his backside to all three and
wiggled it, making a flatulent noise to show his con-
tempt for the three.

Evasion                 217

"Who are they?" asked Borric, laughing at the com-
edy.
Ghuda said, "That cavorting character is an Isalani by

his dress. They're a people from Shing Lai, south of the
Girdle of Kesh. Strange bunch.

"The others are plainsmen from Ashunta. You can tell
by the way they wear their hair and the ceremonial war
club that one there is trying to brain the Isalani with."
Borric then saw all three men wore their hair in similar
fashion, despite a wide variation in dress; one wore
buckskin breeches, no shirt, and a leather vest, while
another was dressed in leather armor, and the third
favored cavalier boots, an ornate shirt, and a hat with a
plume. Each man had his hair bound back, tied off with
a ring set with a feather and allowed to fall in a long tail,
down to mid-back, but with two long ear locks left free.

"What do you think this is about?"

Ghuda shrugged. "With an Isalani, who can tell?
They're mystics—seers, shamans, fortune-tellers, and
visionaries; they are also the biggest bunch of thieves
and swindlers in Kesh. He probably bilked those three."
, With a shout of frustration, one of the men drew a
sword and swung in earnest at the Isalani. Borric
jumped off the wagon, which was moving slowly as the
road was gently rising into the foothills of the Spires of
Light, and Janos Saber, the caravan master, was keep-
ing his horses to a slow walk to preserve them. Saber
shouted, "Madman, get back to your wagon! Leave this

alone."

Borric gave a vague, reassuring wave and hurried
toward the odd game of tag, crying out, "What passes

here?"

The odd-looking man on foot didn't halt his dodging
and ducking for an instant, but one of the horsemen—
the one with the plumed hat—turned and shouted,
"Stay out of this, stranger."

"I know your temper grows short, friend, but using a
sword against an unarmed man seems excessive."

The rider ignored him and spurred his horse with a
shout, riding directly at the Isalani. Another rider had
begun a similar attack, and instantly the Isalani was

218

Prince of the Blood

moving between the two. The first rider veered, and
realized too late he had made the wrong decision. As
the Isalani danced away, the two horses collided, and as
horses will, one decided it was time to bite the other,
which resulted in the second horse deciding it was time
to kick the first, the net effect of which was the second
rider being thrown. Swearing 'an oath, the first rider
waved the third back, lest the accident be repeated.
Then he turned to discover the butt of the Isalani's staff
in his face and in a moment he, too, was on the ground.

The third rider—the one with the leather vest—
didn't hesitate, but came cantering toward the fray, and
turned sideways at the last instant. He dodged in his
saddle as the Isalani attempted to dislodge him with his
staff. The rider avoided being dumped by the Isalani,
who stood to his left, but suddenly found strong hands
on his tunic, reaching up from the right side. Borric
pulled the rider out of his saddle, and half-tossed, half-
pushed him to where the other two were regaining
their feet.

"That was a mistake," said the first rider, who had a
longsword out and ready. And from his expression as he
advanced, he meant to have blood.

"Well," said Borric, getting ready for the fight as the
other two riders turned their attention to the armed
mercenary, "it wouldn't be the first one I've made."
Under his breath he said, "Let's hope it's not the last
one."

The first warrior raced forward, attempting to over-
whelm Borric by surprise. Borric adroitly stepped aside,
slicing the man across the back of the thigh—one of the
few places unprotected by his leather armor—as he
passed, sending him to the ground with a painful and
incapacitating wound, but one which would eventually
heal.

The second and third riders realized they faced a
very skilled opponent. They split up, the man with the
plumed hat circling to the right, and the man in the
leather vest moving left, forcing Borric to guard two
quarters from attack. Borric began talking to himself, a
habit Eriand had been poking fun at since they were

Evasion                 219

bovs. "If A®^ nave tne brains of a pound of pepper, the
lout on my right will feign an attack while the thug on

the left comes at me."

Suddenly Borric took the fight to them, pulling his
parrying dirk and springing left, moving the off-side
attack back. He was instantly around as the man who
had been on his right attempted to seize the opportu-
nity presented by an exposed back. But at the moment
be sought to strike a blow, Borric spun and took the
blow upon his dirk, counterthrusting a second later,
delivering a serious stomach wound to the man in the
ornate shirt and cavalier boots.

As the man fell away, a gurgling cry of pain on his lips,
Borric whirled and found the last remaining rider ap-
proaching him cautiously. Borric swore to himself.
"Damn. This one knows what he's doing." The Prince
had hoped the man in the leather vest would make the
same mistake as the other two, and rush him.

The rider approached the Prince warily. What he had
seen told him he indeed faced a very skilled warrior.
The two men circled one another, not sparing any at-
tention for anything else. Then the Prince saw a pattern
of steps. Softly to himself, Borric said, "Step, slide, step,
slide, cross over. Come on, you beauty, repeat it. Step,
slide, step, slide, cross over." Borric grinned, and when
the man again cross stepped, Borric leaped to the at-
tack. The slight turning of the body was the opening
Borric needed. He drove the man back with a furious
combination of slashing blows and thrusts with the dirk.

Then the rider countered and took the offensive, and
Borric found himself being driven back. Cursing the
fate that put a longsword in his hand instead of a rapier,
he attempted to parry and regroup. Muttering under
his breath, he said, "This bastard is good!"

For what couldn't have been more than five minutes,
but seemed hours to Borric, the two men evenly traded
blows, answered every thrust with a counterthrust, ev-
ery parry with a riposte. Sweat drenched both men as
they struggled under the hot sun. Borric attempted
every combination he had learned, only to find his op-
ponent equal to the challenge.

220

Prince of the Blood

Then there was a lull, as both men stood in the hot
afternoon sun gasping for breath, the only sound the
buzzing of flies and the rustle of wind in the tall prairie
grass. Borric gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, feel-
ing fatigue begin to nip at him. Now the struggle was
becoming more dangerous, for beyond issues of skill,
both men were weary, and fatigue could cause a fatal
mistake. Seeking to end it, Borric leaped forward with a
high blow to the head, followed by a snap blow toward
the man's legs. But even with the advantage of being
able to parry with his dirk and free himself from the
need of protecting his left with his sword, he still could
not gain enough of an edge to bring the contest to an
end.

Back and forth the advantage swung, first to Borric,
then the plainsman, but each man successfully took the
other's measure. Perspiration ran down the plainsman's
bare chest and drenched Borric's shirt, making fingers
unsure on hilts. Breath came in ragged pants as the sun
continued to be the most merciless opponent of all.
Kicked-up dust clogged noses and made throats raw,
and still neither man could end the fight. Borric tried
every trick he had been taught since boyhood and came
close several times to wounding his opponent. But close
was all he got. And he narrowly avoided being wounded
on as many occasions. Then Borric realized with a chill-
ing clarity that at last he had overstepped himself; he
faced as good a swordsman as he had ever seen, one
perhaps with less native ability than the Prince, but one
with a great deal more experience.

For a moment, they paused, each man facing the
other, both crouched, panting for breath as exhausted
bodies trembled with fatigue and tension. Both men
knew the first to make a mistake would now be the one
to die. Borric drew in gasping breaths of air, trying to
find one last reserve of energy. He stared at his oppo-
nent, knowing the man did the same. Neither man
wasted breath on conversation, as each waited for the
moment when enough strength would return to press
the attack again. Then, with a loud intake of breath, the
plainsman rocked forward on his feet, gave out a cry of

Evasion                 221

anser, and forced himself to a running charge. Borric
sidestepped and brought his sword and dirk up, to block
the cut, then he drove his knee into the man's stomach.
As the plainsman's breath erupted from him, Borric
nushed him away with a boot to his side, disengaging his
sword. The plainsman fell over backward, hitting the
ground with another explosion of breath. Springing af-
ter Borric brought his sword down on the dirt, as his
opponent rolled away. Then he felt something behind
his heel and his balance was lost.

Borric had gotten too close, and the man had hooked
his heel with his foot. Now Borric was on the ground
and rolling, seeking to get clear and regain his feet.
Spinning around, Borric came to his knees, only to find
the point of a sword coming at his face. Then another
sword interposed itself, and the first blade was knocked

away.

Borric looked up into the bright glare of the sky and
saw Ghuda standing with his hand-and-a-half sword in-
terposed between the two combatants. "If you two boys
are finished . . . ?" he said.

The horseman looked up and the fight seemed to
drain away from him. It was obvious that a fresh oppo-
nent stood ready to act if he continued being combat-
ive, and from Ghuda's appearance and the size of the
sword he carried, one willing and able to cause much
damage. Borric relented by simply holding up his hand
and waving it weakly. The rider backed away a few
steps, then simply shook his head. "Enough," he
croaked, through a dust-caked throat.

Suli peeked out from behind the large warrior and
came to give Borric a drink from a waterskin.

To the rider, Ghuda said, "Your two friends are in
need of help. One of them is in some serious danger of
bleeding to death. It would probably be to his benefit if
you got him to a chirurgeon.

"And you," he said, turning to Borric, "had better
look down the road to see where you're supposed to be
instead of larking about with these silly children."

Borric watched the other swordsman turn his atten-
tions to his friends. The man with the leg wound he

222 Prince of the Blood

helped to his feet, and they both examined the man
who was wounded in the stomach.

"Where's that capering lunatic?" asked Borric, taking
another drink of water.

"I don't know," said Ghuda quizzically. "I lost track of
him when I stepped in between you two prodigies "

"Well, he couldn't have vanished, could he?" said
Borric.

"Gods' truth. Madman, I don't know. Nor do I care
Janos Sab6r was less than amused to see you go scam-
pering off like that. What if this lot had been a diversion
for an ambush on the other side of that hill? Could have
been a nasty turn, and that's a fact."

Putting away his large sword, Ghuda motioned for
the younger swordsman to give him his hand, and as he
helped Borric up, one of his big gloved fists struck Bor-
ric in the side of the head, driving him back to the
ground.

Shaking his ringing head, Borric said, "What was that
for?"

Ghuda shook his fist at Borric, "For being a stupid son
of misery! Damn it, boy, it's so you'll learn to act like a
responsible guard and do your job! It could have been
an ambush, couldn't it?"

Borric nodded, and said, "Yes, I suppose it could."

Borric got to his feet unaided and Ghuda motioned
for the Prince and the boy to come along. As they
stepped onto the road, Borric said, "I just wish people
would stop thinking the best way to teach is to beat the
lesson into me."

Ghuda ignored the remark and said, "You spent too
much time with the rapier. Madman."

"Huh?" said the exhausted Prince. "What do you
mean?"

"You kept trying to skewer that fool, and with the
longsword that's a bit of a task. No damn point, and
unless you grab the forte with your off hand and really
drive the thing, all you'll do with the point against an
armored opponent is irritate him. You missed a half-
dozen chances to hand that bloke his head, if you ask
me. If you're going to live a long life, you'd better learn

Evasion                  223

to use a sword with an edge on it, as well as one of those
Krondorian pig-stickers."

Borric smiled. The rapier had never been a popular
weapon until his father, as fine a swordsman as ever
held a sword, had become Prince. Then it had become
fashionable, but obviously not south of the Vale of
Dreams. "Thanks. I'll practice with it."

"Just don't pick an opponent who's quite so deter-
mined to kill you next time." Looking down the road at
the dust of Janos Saber's wagons, he added, "Now that
they're heading downhill, it'll be half the day catching
up. Let's get a shake on."

"Oh, let's not," answered Borric, expended from the
exertion in the heat. He had gradually been getting
used to the savage Keshian midday sun, but he was still
not as adept at moving about as those born to it. He
drank lots of water and fruit juice, as did Ghuda and
Suli, but still found himself weakening quickly in the
heat. He wondered how much was due to his brush with
death in the Jal-Pur Desert.

Cresting the hill, they saw the caravan of Janos Saber
moving sedately down the road. And sitting on the end
of the last wagon was the Isalani, feet dangling off the
tailgate, as he ate a big, bright orange. Ghuda pointed
and Borric shook his head. "He's the clever one, isn't
he?"

Ghuda started trotting down the road, and Borric
forced himself to do likewise, though his arms and legs
felt like damp cotton. After a few minutes, they over-
took the last wagon and Borric managed to pull himself
up on the tailgate, while Ghuda climbed up next to the
driver, and Suli scampered ahead to the cook wagon.

Borne let out a long sigh, then took a good look at the
man he had rescued from the three plainsmen. The
Isalani was nothing to look at: a bandy-legged, short
fellow, with the features of a vulture. His head was a
thing of squat asymmetry, almost square, and perched
oddly atop a gangly neck, giving him a comic appear-
ance. A fuzz of hair sprouted around the base of his
head and over his ears, showing he needed only aid
nature a little in his depilatory duty. His eyes were

224 Prince of the Blood

narrow slits as he grinned at Borric, and his skin was a
golden hue, a color Borric had only seen a few times on
some citizens of LaMut who were of Tsurani heritage.
With a merry note in his gravely voice, the Isalani said,
"Want an orange?"

Borric nodded and the strange-looking man took one
out of the rucksack he had been so fiercely hanging on
to during the encounter with the three riders. Borric
peeled back the orange and pulled out a wedge and
sucked the sweet juice from it, while the odd man
handed another one up to Ghuda. The old caravan
guard asked, "What was all that about back there?"

The man shrugged, his grin staying in place. "They
think I cheated them at cards. They were very angry."

"Did you?" asked Borric.

"Perhaps, but it was of little matter. They were cheat-
ing me."

Borric nodded as if this all somehow made sense. "I'm
called Madman."

The grin broadened. "So am I^t times. At other times
I am called Nakor the Blue Rider."

Ghuda said, "The Blue Rider?"

An emphatic nod yes was followed by, "At times I
have been known to ride about on a fine black steed of
most impressive conformation, dressed in robes of the
finest weave died vivid blue. I am very famous in some
places."

"But this is not one of those places," said Ghuda.

"Alas, no. Here I am relatively unknown. However, at
those times when I have my blue finery and my fine
steed, then I quickly gain fame wherever I pass, for
there are few who rival my beauty."

Borric regarded the faded orange robe and said, "I
take it this is not one of those times."

"Again I must say alas, for this also is so. My horse
died, which made riding him most difficult, and the
robe was lost to a man who cheated at cards better than
I."

Borric laughed at the last. "Well, at least you're more
forthright a cheat than those I usually encounter."

Nakor shared the laugh. "I only cheat those who at-


Evasion                 225

tempt to cheat me. I deal honestly with those who are
honest with me. The difficulty, usually, is in finding hon-
est men."

Borric nodded, amused by this strange little man.
"And how many honest men have you dealt with

lately."

Nakor shrugged, an exaggerated moving of the shoul-
ders with a slight bobbing of his head. "None, so far. But
I still have high hopes one day of meeting such a one."

Borric shook his head and laughed, as much at himself
for going to the trouble of saving this lunatic as he was at
the lunatic.

When night approached, the wagons were circled
around the campfire, a tradition as old as caravans. Ja-
nos Saber had let Borric know in no uncertain terms
what he thought of any guard that would go looking for
troubles that didn't concern him, and questioned
Ghuda as to his lack of brains in going after him. The
boy he forgave, insofar as he was still a boy and boys
were expected to do witless things.

For some reason, he didn't seem to be in the least bit
troubled by the Isalani's having joined his caravan
unasked. Borric was reasonably certain the strange lit-
tle man had somehow bemused the usually stern cara-
van master, but that suggested the little man had some
magic power or another. Unless he was a confidence
trickster of sufficient guile to run his confidence game
while on the back of a moving wagon five vehicles be-
hind the one upon which his victim rode. Borric
thought that even his uncle Jimmy wouldn't claim be-
ing that good.

At thought of James, he was once again visited with
the frustration of his situation. How to safely reach the
palace of the Empress and get word to James he was still
alive? The facts learned at the Governor of Durbin's
house showed that important men, placed very highly
in the Imperial house, were involved with this plot on
his life. And the closer he got to the palace, he was
certain, the more difficult it would be to reach.

Settling back near the fire, Borric considered that he

226 Prince of the Blood

would dwell on it as they traveled. There was still a
great deal of road between where he was now and the
gates of the palace. In the warmth of the evening, after
a hot meal, he dozed until Ghuda came and kicked him
to alertness. "Your duty. Madman."

Borric rose and assumed his post with another two
guards, each spaced a third of the way around the pe-
rimeter, with the muttering and oaths appropriate to
such men in similar situations throughout history.

"Jeeloge!" called Ghuda.

Borric levered himself up on his arm, peering be-
tween Ghuda and the teamster who drove the wagon,
and looked to where the older guard pointed. As the
extra guard at this end of the caravan, he could get away
with laying atop bales of silk imported from the Free
Cities, dozing in the afternoon sun. A town appeared
upon the horizon as they crested a hill. It looked to be of
good size. In the Kingdom, it might even count as a
small city, but Borric had long since discovered that in
relation to Kesh, the Kingdom was sparsely populated.
The Prince returned to his doze. They would lay over
for the night in Jeeloge before continuing on to Kesh,
and most of the caravan's drivers and guards planned
on a night of celebration and gambling.

A day earlier they had rounded the northern edge of
The Guardians: the mountains bordering the Overn
Deep on the west. They now followed the River Same
toward the city of Kesh. Little towns and farming com-
munities dotted the landscape. Borric could understand
now why caravan duty in the interior of Kesh was con-
sidered a low-risk profession. Things tended toward the
quiet this close to the capital of the Empire.

"I wonder what that's all about?" mused Ghuda.

Borric looked up and saw a company of mounted men
had set up an inspection point near the edge of the
town. Moving to the far right so he could speak in
Ghuda's ear without the driver overhearing, Borric
whispered, "They may be looking for me."

Turning toward the younger guard, Ghuda's eyes al-
most blazed in anger as he said, "Isn't that interesting?

Evasion                 227

Do you have any other wonderful news I should know
about before I'm hauled into an Imperial court?" His
angry tone cut through his whisper. "What did you do?"

"They say I killed the wife of the Governor of
Durbin," whispered Borric.

Ghuda's only reaction was to close his eyes a minute
and press forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his
nose. "Why me? What have I done to displease the gods
so?" Looking Borric directly in the eyes, he said, "Did
you do it. Madman?"

"No, of course not."

Ghuda's narrow eyes searched Borric's for a long mo-
ment, then he said, "Of course you didn't." With a big
sigh, he said, "We could take a band of ragged bandits, if
bump came to push, but if push came to shove, those
Imperials would have us trussed up like a game bird for
the table in less time than it takes to tell about it. Tell
you what: if you're asked, you're my cousin from Odos-
koni."

"Where is Odoskoni?" asked Borric as the wagons
drew near the horsemen.

"A little town in the Peaks of Tranquillity, nearest
city is Kampari. You have to go through a hundred miles
of the Green Reaches to get there, so few do. Very little
chance of any of these boys having been within a year's
march of the place."

The first wagon slowed, then stopped, and by the
time the others followed suit, Borric, along with Ghuda
and the other guards, were off their respective wagons
and coming to stand behind their master, which was
expected in case these guardsmen were false. But from
the manner their officer approached Janos Saber, it was
obvious it was really an Imperial troop; this officer ex-
pected to be obeyed, instantly. Each man in the com-
pany wore a splendid tunic of red silk, a metal helm
with a fur band around the base—this company's being
leopard skin. Each held a lance and had a sword at his
side and a bow slung behind the saddle. Borric agreed
with Ghuda's assessment. The men of the company had
the look of seasoned veterans. Whispering in Ghuda's
ear, Borric said, "Doesn't Kesh have any green troops?"

228 Prince of the Blood

Ghuda whispered back. "Many, Madman. The ceme-
teries are full of them."

The officer spoke to Saber. "We're looking for a pair of
runaway slaves, from Durbin. A young man, perhaps
twenty years of age and a boy of eleven or twelve."

Janos said, "Sir, my men are all caravan guards and
drivers, either known to me or vouched for by those
known to me, and the one boy we have is our cook's
monkey."

The officer nodded, as if anything the caravan master
had to say was of little consequence. Ghuda stroked his
chin, as if thinking, but hiding his face as he whispered
to Borric. "Interesting, they're searching wagons here
Why would a slave escaping from Durbin run into the
heart of the Empire, instead of out of it?"

If Janos connected Borric and Suli to the pair the
guards looked for, he said nothing. A guard came to
where Ghuda and 'Borric stood. The guard looked
Ghuda over quickly, but lingered to inspect Borne
"Where are you from?" he asked Borric. He asked as if
one who felt the need to go through the motions, for not
knowing the truth he would assume he was looking for a
runaway slave. For a slave to be standing before him
calmly, armed and armored, was very improbable to
the guard, but duty required he ask.

Borric said, "Here and there. I was born in Odo^
koni."

Something in Borric's speech or the way he carried
himself sparked an interest in the guard. "You speak
with an odd inflection."

Borric didn't miss a beat when he answered, "You
sound foreign to me, soldier. My people all talk like I
do."

"You have green eyes."

Suddenly the guard snatched the headgear from Bor
ric's head, revealing his black-dyed hair. "Hey!" com-
plained Borric at the treatment. Borric and Suli had
used the last of the dye a few days before, and he hoped
his red roots weren't long enough to give him away.

"Captain!" shouted the soldier. "This one matches
the description."

Evasion                 229

Then Borric thought that while those who were try-
ing to kill him knew he had red hair, the description of
the runaway slave would be altered to fit the descrip-
tion given by the sailors who had pursued him from the
harbor. What a fool I've been, he thought. I should have
found another dye.

The Captain slowly came to inspect Borric and said,
"Your name?"

Borric said, "Everyone calls me the Madman."
One eyebrow lifted as the Captain said, "Odd. Why?"
"Not many leave my village and before I left I was
known for doing—"

"Stupid things," finished Ghuda. "He's my cousin."
"You have green eyes," said the Captain.
"So does his mother," answered Ghuda.
The Captain turned to face Ghuda. "Do you always
answer for him?"

"As often as I can, sir. Like I said, he does stupid
things. The people of Odoskoni don't call him Madman
out of affection." He pantomimed a man with little wits,
crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out of the side
of his mouth.

Another guard approached, pulling Suli along by the
arm. "What have we here?" said the Captain.
"That's the cook's monkey," answered Janos.
"What's your name, boy?" asked the Captain.
Ghuda said, "Suli of Odoskoni."
The Captain turned. "Quiet!"
Borric said, "He's my brother."
The Captain struck out, the back of his gloved hand
smashing into Borric's face. Tears came to Borric's eyes,
but he held himself in check, despite a sudden urge to
skewer the Captain of the Imperial Keshian Guards.

The Captain grabbed Suli by the chin and inspected
him. "You have dark eyes."

Suli stammered, "My . . . mother had dark eyes."
The Captain looked hard at Ghuda. "I thought you
said his mother had green eyes."

Without missing a beat, Ghuda retorted, "No, his
mother had green eyes," he said, pointing at Borric.

230 Prince of the Blood

Pointing at Suli he said, "His mother had dark eyes.
Different mothers; same father."

Another guard approached and said, "No one else
matches the description, sir."

The soldier holding Suli demanded, "Who is your
father?" Suli glanced at Borric but the soldier said, "An-
swer me!"

"Suli of Odoskoni," the boy squeaked. "I was named
for him."

The Captain struck the soldier. "Idiot." He pointed at
Borric. "The other one could hear the name."

Borric said, "Captain, take the boy away and ask him
the name of our other brother."

The Captain motioned for it to be done, while Borric
whispered to Ghuda, "He's going to hold us."

"Then why this nonsense?" asked Ghuda in hushed
tones.

"Because the minute he's certain he has the right
pair, we're dead before another minute follows."

"Kill on sight?" hissed Ghuda.

Borric nodded yes, while the Captain came to stand
before them. "Now, who is this mythical brother of your
two liars?"

"We have a brother Rasta, who is a drunkard," an-
swered Borric, silently praying the boy remembered
the impromptu dialogue he had engaged in just before
they encountered Salaya in Durbin.

A moment later the soldier returned and said, "The
boy says they have an older brother named Rasta who is
a drunkard."

Borric could have kissed the boy but held his smile in
check. The Captain said, "There is something about you
two I don't like." He glanced over to where Janos Saber
waited. "You and the rest of your men can go, but I'm
taking these two into custody." He then looked at
Ghuda and said, "Bring this one along, too."

Ghuda said, "Wonderful," as guards disarmed him
and bound his wrists. Borric and Suli were likewise
bound, after all weapons were taken from them, and
soon the three captives were being led along on lead
ropes, trotting after the horses as best they could.

Evasion                 231

The town ofJeeloge had a constable's office, which in
turn had a poor excuse for a cell, used mostly to hold
troublesome farmers and herdsmen when arrested for
brawling. Now it was the Imperial Captain and his com-
pany who used it, to the acute discomfort of the local
constable. A retired soldier, with grey in his beard and a
belly that hung over his belt, he was just the sort to keep
rowdy farm boys in line, but unlikely to be up to any
serious fighting. He had quickly agreed to the Captain's
demand that he absent himself from the premises.

Borric had overheard him instructing his sergeant to
send a post dispatch rider as quickly as possible to the
city of Kesh, a request asking what to do with the three
prisoners. Borric only made out part of the conversa-
tion, but it was obvious the orders came from one high
up in the army, and certain precautions were being
taken to prevent any undue attention being turned to
this massive search. One thing about Kesh, Borric
thought, it was a nation of so many people doing so
many things, that this sort of operation could continue
for a long while with perhaps only one citizen in a
hundred even hearing about it. The day had gone and
now the night was dragging out. An hour earlier, Suli
had fallen asleep, any hope for an evening meal van-
ished with the constable. The Imperial Guard seemed
to have little concern over something as trivial as the
prisoners' hunger.

"Hello!" came the cheery voice from the window.
Suli awoke with a jump.

They all looked up and saw a grinning face at the
small window above in the cell they were occupying.
"Nakor!" Borric whispered.

Motioning Ghuda to give him a leg up, Borric pulled
himself up by the bars of the window, standing upon
Ghuda's shoulders. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might want another orange," said the
grinning little man. "Jail food is never very good."

Borric could only nod dumbly as the little man
handed an orange through the bars. Borric tossed it to
Suli who hungrily took a bite and spit the peel out.

232 Prince of the Blood

"We'll have to take your word for that," said the Prince
"They haven't bothered to feed us."

Then suddenly Borric said, "How did you get up
here?" The window was a good eight feet up in the wall,
and the little man didn't seem to be hanging by the
bars.

"Never mind that. Do you want to get out?"

Ghuda, who was beginning to wobble a bit under
Borric's weight, said, "There's one of the all-time stupid
questions asked by mortal man in the last thousand
years. Of course we want out!"

Grinning widely, the Isalani said, "Then stand over in
that corner and cover your eyes."

Borric jumped down from Ghuda's shoulders. Mov-
ing to the corner, they covered their eyes. There was a
silent moment when nothing happened, then suddenly
a shock hit Borric, as if a large hand slammed him
against the wall and a loud boom deafened him. He
winced at it, then opened his eyes. The wall was now
breached. The constable's jail was full of fine dust and
the reek of sulphur. Several guards stood holding on to
whatever gave them support, while others lay upon the
floor, obviously blinded by whatever had opened the
wall.                                  ,

Nakor stood next to four horses, all with saddles bear-
ing the Imperial Army's crest. "They won't need these,
I'm certain," he said, handing over the reins to Borric.

Suli stood fearfully, saying, "Master, I don't know how
to ride."

Ghuda picked the boy and lifted him up into the
saddle of the nearest animal. "Then you'd better learn
quickly. If you start to fall, just grab the horse's mane
and don't!"

Borric was in the saddle and said, "They'll be after us
in a moment. Let's—"

"No," said Nakor. "I cut all their saddle girths and
bridles." Seemingly from nowhere he produced a
wicked-looking knife, as if to illustrate the point. "But it
still might be wise to move along, lest those alerted by
the sound come investigate."

To that no one had any argument, and they rode out,

Evasion                 233

Suli barely able to hang on for his life. A little way down
the road, Borric dismounted and fixed Suli's stirrup
leathers for him. Suli's horse, sensing an inexperienced
rider, was full of nasty tricks, so Borric could only hope
the boy would survive any falls that were certain to
come as they hurried away.

As they left the now-awake town of Jeeloge, Borric
said to Nakor, "What was that?"

"Oh, a little magic trick I learned along the way," said
the grinning man.

Ghuda made a sign of protection, and said, "Are you a
magician?"

Nakor laughed. "Of course. Don't you know that all
Isalanis are capable of magic feats!"

Borric said, "Is that how you were able to get to the
window? You floated up using magic?"

Nakor's laughter increased. "No, Madman. I stood on
the back of the horse!"

Feeling relief and exhilaration at this escape, Borric
put heels to his horse, and the animal broke into a
canter. A moment later, the others could be heard be-
hind him, until a yell and unpleasant thud told them
Suli had been tossed.

Turning around to see if the boy was seriously hurt,
Borric said, "This may be the slowest escape in history."

Chapter Thirteen

Jubilee

Eriand stood silently.

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't accept
the scope of what he saw: the site of the first day's
ceremonies for the Empress's Seventy-Fifth Jubilee.
For centuries Kesh's finest engineers/had refurbished,
expanded, added to it, until it stood WiTas the single
most impressive feat of construction Eriana had wit-
nessed. It was a gigantic amphitheater carved into the
side of the plateau upon which the upper city—the
Imperial palace—rested, built by the skill of artisans,
the sweat of builders, and the blood of slaves, vast
enough to comfortably seat fifty thousand people, more
than the populations of Rillanon and Krondor com-
bined.

Eriand motioned his companions to walk with him,
for it was still almost an hour before his own part in the
formal drama of court was to commence. Kafi Abu
Harez, his ever-present guide, was at his elbow, to an-
swer questions.

Finally Eriand said, "Kafi, how long did it take to
build this?"

"Centuries, Highness," answered the desertman. He
pointed to a place in the distance, near the base of the
gigantic wedge that had been cut from the plateau.
"There, near the edge of the lower city, in ages past, an
Emperor of Kesh, Sujinrani Kanafi—called the Benevo-
lent—decided that the prohibition against those who
were not of true blood remaining upon the plateau at
night prevented his citizens from observing some nec-
essary Imperial functions, most notably those ceremo-
nies to affirm Sujinrani's benevolence, as well as public
executions of traitors. He felt the object lesson was lost
on many who would benefit from observing it firsthand.

Jubilee                  235

"So he decreed that all that was of this plateau, in-
cluding the lowest part of it, was, in effect, part of the
upper city. He then had a small amphitheater created
down there, about a dozen feet higher than it is today."
With a small sweep of his hand, Kafi illustrated his next
remark. "A wedge of rock was then carved out, so that a
court could be held in view of those not permitted to
ascend to the upper city."

"And it's been enlarged several times since," said

Locklear.

"Yes," said Kafi. "The entrance alone has been en-
larged on five occasions. The Imperial box has been
repositioned three times." He pointed to the large area
overhung by a giant canopy of fine silk, at the middle
point of the large stone crescent upon which Eriand
and his party walked. Kafi halted the Prince with a
gentle touch to the arm and pointed to the Empress's
private viewing area. "There She Who Is Kesh, bless-
ings be ever upon her, will oversee the festival. Her
throne of gold sits upon a small dais, around which her
family and servants, and those of royal blood will rest in
comfort. Only those of the highest nobility within the
Empire are permitted in that area. To enter without
Imperial writ is to die, for Her Majesty's Izmali guards
will stand at every entrance."

Pointing out a row of boxes, each slightly lower than
the one preceding as they moved away from the Impe-
rial box, he said, "Those closest to Her Majesty are the
highest born in the Empire, those who make up the
Gallery of Lords and Masters." He indicated the entire
level they walked upon.

Eriand said, "Five, six thousand people could stand
upon this level alone, Kafi."

The desertman nodded. "Perhaps more. This level
reaches down and embraces the floor below, like arms
surrounding a body. At the distant end we will be a full
hundred feet below the Empress's throne. Come, let
me show you more."

The desertman, wearing robes of the darkest blue
and starkest white for the formal ceremonies, led them
to a railing looking down upon another level. As they

236 Prince of the Blood

walked, nobles who would proceed Eriand's party in
being presented to the Empress hurried past, a very
few taking a moment to offer the Prince of the King-
dom of the Isles a slight bow. Eriand noted the half-
dozen tunnels that opened onto the broad walkway
behind the boxes. "All of these can^t originate in the
palace alone, can they?"          '      \

Kafi nodded. "Ah, but they do."        1

Eriand said, "I would think the safety of the Empress
would supercede the convenience of those nobles need-
ing to come down here once or twice a year. Those
tunnels are an invitation to any invader seeking to enter
the palace."

Kafi shrugged. "It is academic, my young friend. For
you must understand, that for an invader to threaten
the tunnels, they must hold to the lower city, and should
any invader hold the lower city, the Empire is already
lost. For if they hold the lower city, the might of Kesh is
already dust. This is the heart of the Empire, and a
hundred thousand Keshian soldiers would lie dead be
fore an invader came within sight of the city. Do you
see?"

Eriand considered this, then nodded. "I guess you're
right. Being a nation born upon an island, in a sea sailed
by a dozen other nations . . . we look at things differ-
ently."

"I understand," said Kafi. He pointed to the area be
tween the down-sweeping boxes and the floor of the
amphitheater. The stone had been cut in descending,
concentric crescents, so that a grandstand had been
chiseled from the rock of the plateau. A dozen stairways
from the floor upward to the level just below the boxes
were already filled to capacity with colorfully dressed
citizens. "There is where the lesser nobles, masters of
guilds, and influential merchants of the city will sit,
upon cushions or the bare stone, all around. The center
is kept clear for those being presented to the Empress."

Kafi said, "You and your party will enter there, High-
ness, after the nobles of Kesh and before the common-
ers, as Ambassadors of all nations will. The Empress has
favored you by placing your delegation before all oth-


Jubilee                  237

ers an admission that the Kingdom of the Isles stands
second only to the Empire of Great Kesh in majesty

upon Midkemia."

Eriand cast James a wry look at the offhanded com-
plement, but only said, "We thank Her Majesty for the

courtesy."

If Kafi shared the sarcasm, he kept that fact well
hidden. Moving on as if nothing impolitic had been said,
he continued, "The common people of Kesh are per-
mitted to view the festivities from across the entrance,
atop roofs, and many other vantage points."

Eriand looked out over the lower city, where thou-
sands of commoners were held back by a line of soldiers.
Beyond the street that crossed before the amphitheater
people crowded upon the rooftops of buildings and into
every window providing a vantage point. Eriand found
the sheer number of people in one place breathtaking.

Gamina, who had been silently walking beside her
husband, said, "I doubt they can see much."

Kafi shook his head. "Perhaps, but then, before the
rule of Sujinrani Kanafi, they saw nothing of court cere-
mony."

"My lord Abu Harez," said Locklear, "before we con-
tinue, could you and I discuss the speech my Prince has
prepared for this day, so that we might not inadver-
tently give offense?"

Kafi saw the transparent request for his absence, but
given there was no reason not to agree, he let Locklear
lead him away, leaving James, Gamina, and Eriand rela-
tively alone. Several Keshian servants hovered nearby,
taking care of the many details of preparation. A few of
them were agents of the Imperial Court, no doubt,
thought Eriand as he regarded James. "What?"

James turned and leaned upon the marble railing of
the gallery, as if looking out over the vast amphitheater.
"Gamina?" he said softly.

Gamina closed her eyes, then her voice came into
Eriand's head. We are being watched.

Eriand had to force himself not to look around. We
expected that, he replied.

No, by magic arts.

238 Prince of the Blood

Eriand forced himself not to swear. Can they hear us
speaking this way?

I don't know, she replied. My father could, but there
are few with his power. I don't think so.

James's voice said, "Spectacular, isn't it?" while his
mental message was, I'm going to assume they can't or
you 'd sense it. And I don't think we're going to be under
any less scrutiny any time soon, so we might as well
hope that we're right.

Yes, agreed Gamina. 7 wasn 't aware of the \nagic until
I went looking for it. It's very subtle. And good. I think
whoever is using it can hear what we say, perhaps even
see how we act. But if they could hear our thoughts, I
think I would know.

Gamina closed her eyes a moment, as if dizzy from
the heat. James steadied her for a moment. I don't think
it's a mind, or I would have sensed purpose behind it.

What do you mean? asked Eriand.

/ think we are under the focus of a device. Perhaps a
crystal or mirror. My father has used several in his
studies over the year. If that is so, then we can be seen
for certain, and either our lip movement is being read
by one so trained or we are being heard aloud. Our
thoughts are safe, I'm certain.

Good, said James. I've finally gotten word from our
agents down here. It was a demon's own time getting
word to me.

"I wonder how long we'll be expected to stand during
this ceremony?" said Gamina absently.

"Hours, no doubt," commented James. To Eriand he
said, We've walked into a stew and it's rapidly coming
to a boil. There's a plot to overthrow the Empress's rule,
that's our agents best guess.

Feigning a yawn of boredom, the Prince said, "I hope
I can be alert throughout." Mentally, he said, What does
that have to do with plunging Kesh and the Kingdom
into warp

If we knew that, we'd have a better idea who's trying
to start this revolt. I have a bad feeling about this,
Eriand.

Why?

Jubilee                  239

Besides the obvious dangers, there are going to be a
lot of soldiers in this city this afternoon. Each subject
ruler will be bringing companies of honor guards.
There will be thousands of soldiers not under the Em-
nress's direct command within the walls of Kesh for the

next two months.

Charming, was Eriand's response. "Well, perhaps we

should rest before this ordeal begins."
James said, "Yes, that would be best, I think."
Gamina spoke in both men's minds. What should we

do, James?
Wait. That's all we can do, was his reply. And remain

alert.

Kafi returns, observed Gamina.

The desertman said, "Highness, your remarks will be
doubly appreciated for their sincerity and brevity. Af-
ter the ceremonies of this day, I fear you shall see that
economy of speech is not an Imperial trait."

Eriand was about to answer, when Kafi said, "Look! It

begins."

A tall man, old but still muscular, entered the Impe-
rial box, and came to the very edge. He was dressed as
all trueblood, in kilt and sandals, but he also wore a solid
gold torque, which Eriand estimated had to weigh as
much as a suit of leather armor. He carried what looked
to be a wooden staff covered in gold leaf, with an odd-
looking golden design at the top. A falcon perched upon
a golden disc.

Kafi whispered, though it seemed impossible to Er-
iand anyone would overhear them, "The Falcon of
Kesh, the royal insignia. It is only seen publicly at the
highest festivals. The falcon gripping the sun's orb is
holy to the trueblood."

The old man lifted the staff and brought it down upon
the stones, and Eriand was astonished at how loud the
sound was. Then he spoke. "0 Kesh, Greatest of Na-
tions, harken to me!"

The acoustics were perfect in the amphitheater.
Even those across the boulevard, sitting atop the build-
ings, could hear the man perfectly as the sounds of the
crowd died away to a hush.

240 Prince of the Blood

"She is come! She is come! She Who Is Keshhas come,
and she graces your lives by her presence! | At this a
procession of hundreds of the trueblood began slowly
entering the Imperial box. "She walks and the stars
yield to her splendor, for she is the heart of glory! She
speaks and the birds cease their singing, for her words
are knowledge! She considers and scholars weep, for
her wisdom is certain. She judges and the guilty despair,
for her gazes see into the hearts of men!" The enumera-
tions of the Empress's wondrous attributes continued in
similar vein as more and more truebloods, of all ages
and ranks, entered the Imperial box.

Eriand thought he had met a great many of those who
were important to the Empire, but just the Imperial
party alone numbered dozens of strangers. And the
only one he had spoken to on more than one occasion
was Lord Nirome, the stout and inadvertently comic
noble who had greeted them at the boundary of the
upper city as aide-de-camp to Prince Awari. Eriand was
surprised to discover Nirome was related to the royal
family. Then, upon reflection, it seemed a reasonable
explanation for why a man so obviously maladroit
would have a high post in the government. The men
and women of the royal blood continued to enter the
box and take their places as the Master of Ceremonies
continued to intone the Empress's virtues. Impressive,
Eriand thought, trying to establish contact with
Gamina.

James's wife lightly touched him on the arm, as she
answered. Yes. James thinks so, as well.

"Kafi," said Eriand.

"Your Highness?"

"Would it be permitted for us to remain here a
while?"

"As long as you make a timely entrance, there is no
reason why not, Highness."

"Good," said Eriand, smiling for the desertman's ben-
efit. "Would you answer a few questions?"

"If I am able," he answered.

And if you could chime in with what you know,
James, he added.

Jubilee                  241

Gamina relayed the message, for James nodded

"How is it there are so many in the Imperial box, yet I
have not seen any of the great lords and masters yet?"

Kafi said, "Only those related to the Empress by
blood may join her in the Imperial box, servants and
guards notwithstanding, of course."

"Of course," replied Eriand.

Which means that there are at least a hundred people
with a recognized, legitimate claim to the throne, added

James.

Providing enough people die in the proper order, Er-
iand added drily.

There is that, answered James.

When the relatives had entered, the first discordant
note intruded: suddenly black-clad warriors appeared.
Each wore turbans of black, with face coverings that
left only the eyes exposed. Long flowing robes were
designed for easy, quick movement, and each had a
black scabbard scimitar at his belt. Eriand had heard
tell of these: Izmalis, the nearly legendary Shadow War-
riors of Kesh. Tales had grown in the telling until they
were regarded as almost supernatural. Only those most
highly placed in the Empire could afford such as body-
guards. They were counted superior warriors, as well as
spies of superior ability—and assassins if needs be, it was
whispered.

James attempted to sound casual as he said, "My lord
Kafi, wouldn't it be usual for the Empress to be sur-
rounded by her own Imperial Guards?"

The desertman's eyes narrowed slightly, but without
any change in inflection he said, "It is considered more
prudent to use Izmalis. They are without peer."

Which means, thought James to Eriand through
Gamina, the Empress can no longer trust even her own
Imperial Guards.

When the Izmalis were in place, a dozen husky slaves,
bodies oiled, entered carrying a litter, upon which sat
the Empress. Throughout the entrance of the Imperial
party, the old man with the golden staff had been inton-
ing a long ritual introduction, citing great feats accom-

242 Prince of the Blood

plished under Lakeisha, the Empress. Suddenly Eriand
caught a shift in tension and began listening to the
introduction.

". . . crushed the rebellion of Lesser Kesh," intoned
the old man. Eriand remembered from his study of
Keshian history that about the time of his birth all of the
nations south of the two mountain ranges that trans-
verse the continent—the Girdle of Kesh—had been
brought to heel after twenty years of successful revolt.
The self-proclaimed Keshian Confederacy had been
made to pay dearly for their rebellion. Thousands had
been put to death and from the few reports that had
made their way to the Kingdom, the devastation had
been unequaled by anything in Kingdom history—en-
tire cities were put to the torch and their populations
sold into slavery. Entire peoples, races, languages, and
cultures had ceased to exist, except among the slaves
And from the angry muttering that could be heard from
the crowd—not just the commoners in the street, but
from many of the lesser nobles in the amphitheater
below—bad blood still existed between those subject
peoples and their ruler.

Gamina went pale, and Kafi noticed. "Is my lady feel-
ing ill?"

Gamina gripped James's arm and stood on wobbly
legs a moment. She shook her head, and said, "The heat,
my lord. If I could please have some water."

Kafi merely motioned and instantly a servant was at
their side. Kafi instructed him, and a moment later the
servant offered a cool cup of water to Gamina. She
sipped it, while speaking silently to James, Locklear,
and Eriand. / was caught unprepared for that. The sud
den flow of anger and hatred. Many of those here would
happily murder the Empress. And many, many of the
angry minds are in the Imperial box.

James made comforting sounds as he patted his wife
on the arm, and Locklear said, "If you think it would b^
too much for you to stand here for the rest of the da),
Gamina . . ."

"No, Locky. I'm fine. I just need to drink a bit more
water, I think."

Jubilee                  243

Kafi said, "That is wise."

Eriand returned his attention to the next group to
enter. The Prince and both Princesses of Kesh had en-
tered after their mother, and now the most powerful
lords and masters in the Empire were being an-
nounced.

Lord Jaka, Commander of the Imperial Charioteers,
entered. "How important are the charioteers, Kafi?"
asked Eriand.

"I'm not certain I understand, Highness."

"I mean, is their position only tradition, or do they
really stand as the heart of the army? On those occa-
sions in the past where our two nations have . . . had
differences, we've always faced your dreaded Dog
Soldiers."

Kafi shrugged. "The Charioteers were the vanguard
of those who crushed the Confederacy, Highness. But
your borders lie far to the north and the Charioteers
would be dispatched that far from the capital upon only
the greatest need."

Jaka's the man who can make or break any attempt to
overthrow the Empress, offered James.

Eriand nodded, as if considering Kafi's words. To
Gamina, Locklear, and James he thought. He seems
pretty solid, from outward appearances.

He's an important man, Eriand, answered James. No
coups d'etat would succeed without him either partici-
pating or neutralized.

Kafi touched Eriand upon the arm. "Speaking of the
Dog Soldiers, here is their master. Sula Jafi Butar,
Prince Regent of the Armies, and hereditary ruler of
Kistan, Isan, Paji, and the other states where our armies
are recruited."

The man who entered was fairly nondescript, save
that he looked a black-skinned version of the trueblood.
His dress was identical, white kilt, sandals, and shaved
head, but his skin shown like ebony in the sun. Most of
his followers were equally dark, though a few could pass
as trueblood to Eriand's inexperienced eye.

Eriand looked at James, who answered, He's an un-
known player, Eriand. He seems openly loyal. His peo-

244 Prince of the Blood

pies were the first to be conquered by their neighbors, so
they are among the oldest lines in the nation, second
only to the trueblood. Aber Bukar, Lord of the Armies
is the true commander, but this man has a lot ofinflu
ence with the army.

Kafi said, "Perhaps we should begin moving down
ward, Prince Eriand. That way we shall not have any
risk of a breach of courtesy."

Eriand said, "Please. Lead on."

A group of guards fell in around Eriand and his corn
panions, and the Prince was momentarily startled. He
did not notice them approaching in the crowd. Thev
made no cry nor did they need to. People on the ramp
behind the boxes seemed to sense their approach in-
stinctively and give way. James observed, "At this social
strata, people seem to be alert to the possible approach
of someone of greater rank."

Kafi gave a shrug with a gesture of his hands down
and outward, and said "Ma 'lish," which Eriand knew
was Beni—Kafi's native language—for, "I'm sorry," but
actually meant, "Disasters happen." It was what thp
Beni-speaking people called kismet or fate, the will oi
the gods.

The name Lord Ravi intruded upon Eriand's aware-
ness and he glanced back to see another colorful group
of men entering. Each man in front had a shaved head,
save for a scalplock down the center, combed high and
kept erect by a pomade or wax. A fall of horsehair wai
died to match the wearer's natural color and tied by a
leather thong woven into the scalplock. The men wore
only a loincloth and their bodies were oiled to a gloss
Their skin was sunburned, but seemed lighter than
most Keshians, with a reddish cast. Most of the men
were dark haired. Then behind came younger men.
who wore their hair long, tied behind in imitation of the
horsehair fall, but with ringlets loose at the ears. These
wore brightly colored leather armor, with wide flarin"
at the top, giving them an exaggerated breadth of
shoulders. They also wore only loincloths, rather than
trousers. All wore soft leather boots tied at mid-calf.

Jubilee                  245

Eriand stopped his party a moment. "Kafi, who are

1'hpV

Kafi could barely conceal his contempt. "Ashuntai
horsemen, my Prince. Lord Ravi is Master of the Broth-
ers of the Horse. They are an order of cavalry who are
descended from the finest warriors the nation of
Ashunta could field. They are among the most difficult
people_" Kafi realized he almost let an opinion slip
and said, "They were conquered with great difficulty,
lord and still hold strongly to their own national iden-
tity.'It is only because they have been allowed to rise
highly in the court they remain loyal to the Empire."

And because their city-state is on the wrong side of
the Girdle ofKesh, added James, with a humorous feel-
ing to his thoughts. Aber Bukar, the Empress's General,
had to threaten them to get them to put cavalry in the
field against the rebellious Confederacy, according to
our reports.

As the group resumed their travel to the bottom of
the amphitheater, Eriand said, "I don't see any women.
Is there a reason for that?"

Kafi said, "The Ashuntai are a strange people. Their
women"—he glanced at Gamina, as if not wishing to
give ofiense—"their women are considered property.
They are bartered and bought and sold. The Ashuntai
do not count them human." If Kafi found this distaste-
ful, he hid it well.

Eriand couldn't resist the opportunity. "Isn't it true
that your own people give women little freedom?"

Kafi's dark skin colored as the blood rose in his cheek.
"It does appear so. Highness, as we have been taught by
our forefathers. But we are also a people who have
learned from our neighbors, and we no longer trade our
daughters for camels." He glanced over his shoulder to
the box where Lord Ravi's company sat.

"But those sell their female children, and if a woman
troubles a man, he is free to do with her as he wishes,
including killing her. They are taught to despise warm
feelings, and to love a woman is to be weak. Desire and
lust they count necessary for breeding sons, but love
is . . ." Kafi shrugged. "Among my own people we

246 Prince of the Blood

have a saying, 'Even the most high born man is but a
servant in his own bedchamber.' Many of our best rul-
ers took counsel in the arms of their wives, to the bene-
fit of their nation.

"But those—" Kafi glanced down. "Forgive me. I do
not mean to lecture."

"No," said Gamina. "By all means. I find this fascinat-
ing." To the others, she said, He has a personal dislike
for the Ashuntai that goes beyond any objection to their
social customs. He hates them.

Kafi said, "A long time ago, when I was a boy, my
father served She Who Is Kesh, honors upon her line,
before me. Here, I came to know one who was Lord
Ravi's son. We were boys in the palace, that is all we
knew. Ravi's son, Ranavi, was a fine boy and we used to
ride together. It is an open question who are the best
horsemen in the Empire, the Ashuntai or we of the Jal-
Pur. We would often race our horses on the grasslands
beyond the city gate, his Ashuntai pony, my desert
horse. We became friends after a fashion.

"There was a girl. An Ashuntai girl who I came to
know." Keeping his face a mask, Kafi said, "I attempted
to barter for her, in their fashion, but Ravi made her a
prize for one of their festivals. She was won by one of
their warriors and he took her to his home. It was this
warrior's third or fourth wife, I believe." He waved his
hand, as if this were a long ago, nearly forgotten inci-
dent. "They bind their women with collars of leathel
and lead them on chains in public. They do not let them
wear clothing, save a loincloth, even in cold weather
The fact of their being without clothing is of little im-
portance to the trueblood, but the Empress, as her
mother before, finds their treatment at the hands oi
their husbands, sons, and fathers personally distasteful
Lord Ravi and the others have enough political acumer
not to bring down the Empress's disapproval, so theu
women are never brought to the palace. It has not al
ways been so. The Empress's grandfather, it is said, hac'
a decided preference for very young Ashuntai girls. It is
said that it is for the Ashuntai's willingness to provide
him with as many as he required for his . . . amuse-


Jubilee                  247

ment, that the Brotherhood of the Horse was allowed to
rise so high in the court of the Empire."

"Upon such things are the strengths of nations
founded," Locky remarked drily.

"It is so," replied Kafi.

They reached the bottom of the long ramp and a line
of guards stood upon either side, keeping the crowds
away from the staging area for those who would enter
and be presented to the court. Eriand's guards-were
waiting for him below, wearing the full dress uniform of
the Kingdom, and the badge of the Royal Krondorian
Palace Guard upon their chest. Eriand noted with some
amusement the Quegan delegate stood behind his men,
fuming at the Kingdom of the Isles being given prece-
dence over his own nation.

Eriand returned his attention to Kafi's story. "Ranavi
sought to steal the girl for me, as a gift. It is also part of
their culture that if you can successfully steal a woman
from a rival—carrying her away to your own home—
you may keep her. Ranavi was not quite seventeen
years of age when he attempted to steal his own sister
from the man who had won her at the festival. He died
in the attempt."

Without a note of bitterness or emotion as he spoke,
Kafi said, "This, you can see, is why I have some diffi-
culty appreciating the better qualities of the Ashuntai."
Softly, he added, "Whatever they may be."

Gamina looked at the desertman with sympathy, but
said nothing.

They had been standing in place for ten minutes,
waiting to move up to the entrance to the amphithe-
ater. No one had spoken since Kafi had related the story
of his friend. Locklear decided it was a good time to
change the subject. "My lord Kafi, where are the dele-
gates from the Free Cities?"

"Absent, my lord," answered Kafi. "They would not
send anyone to the Jubilee. Those people who once
were Imperial Bosania still have no official dealings with
the Empire."

"Old grudges die hard," said James.

248 Prince of the Blood

Eriand said, "I don't understand. Queg and the Em-
pire have had three wars in my lifetime, and there have
been several border skirmishes between Isles and Kesh.
Why is it different with the Free Cities?"

As they moved into place in the procession, Kafi said,
"Those who live in what you call the Free Cities were
once our loyal subjects. When the first revolt of the
Confederacy occurred, ages past, Kesh stripped all her
garrisons north of the Jal-Pur, leaving those colonists to
fend for themselves. Queg, on the other hand, had suc-
cessfully revolted a decade before. Queg is a successful
revolutionary nation. Your own Kingdom were always
foreign, but the Free Cities are a people who were
betrayed by their own rulers. They were farmers and
tavernkeepers, left to defend themselves."

Eriand thought about this as they moved forward a
few steps in anticipation of being announced. He
glanced at the upper gallery, and saw it was quickly
filling up as the last of the lords and masters were ente"
ing. What was Bosania, part of which was now the King
dom's own duchy of Crydee, conquered by Eriand's
own great, great grandfather, was a terribly harsh land,
inhabited by goblins, trolls, and the Brotherhood of the
Dark Path. Without soldiers, it must have been years of
constant struggle just to survive. Eriand could under-
stand why those of the Free Cities could still hold a
grudge against the Empire.

Then he heard his name announced and Kafi said,
"Highness. It is time."

As one, the entire company set off, only Gamina not
walking in military lockstep, as they trod the flat stone
floor of the amphitheater. It took a full five minutes to
cross the vast base of the bowl, but at last, under the
scorching sun of Kesh, the Prince of the Isles was for-
mally presented to the Empress of Great Kesh. And not
until this moment did Eriand really understand what
had been true since Borric's disappearance. He, not his
brother, now stood before the mightiest ruler in the
world, and he someday might find her successor his
deadliest enemy, for he, not Borric, would someday be

Jubilee                  249

King of the Isles. And not since he had been a little boy
held in his mother's arms had Eriand felt so frightened.

The presentation went by in a blur. Eriand hardly
recalled being introduced to the formal court, and
could hardly remember speaking the words he had
been forced to memorize. As no one remarked or
laughed, he assumed he said them properly, and he
couldn't remember what the delegations behind him
had said. He now sat at the lowest level of the amphithe-
ater, on the bench of stone set aside for the delegates
who came to offer wishes of health and prosperity to the
Empress on her Seventy-Fifth Jubilee. Trying to focus
himself, despite his unexpected attack of fear, he said,
"Kafi, why has the festival been held off this long past
Banapis?"

Kafi said, "Unlike your people, we of Kesh do not
count the Festival of Midsummer as the date of our
birth. Here, each man who knows it, celebrates the
event of his birth on the day he was born. So, as She
Who Is Kesh was given to the world by the gods on the
fifteenth day of Dzanin, so her birth is celebrated upon
that day. It will be the last day of Jubilee."

Eriand said, "How odd. To celebrate your birthday on
the actual day you were born. Why there must be doz-
ens of little celebrations each day. I would feel cheated
if I were to miss the great festival at Banapis."

"Different customs," Locklear remarked.

A servant, wearing the garb of the trueblood, ap-
peared before the Prince and bowed low. He held out a
scroll, sealed with a golden ribbon. Kafi, acting as the
official guide and protocol officer, took the scroll. He
glanced at the wax seal and said, "I suspect this is per-
sonal."

Eriand said, "Why?"

"It bears the chop of the Princess Sharana."
He passed it to Eriand, who pulled on the ribbon,
breaking the seal. He read the immaculate script
slowly, as he had never been gifted with the written
high language of Imperial Kesh. As he read, Gamina
began to laugh.

250 Prince of the Blood

James turned suddenly, fearful for an instant that his
wife was inadvertently revealing her ability to hear
thoughts, but as he did, Gamina said, "Why, Eriand, I
swear you're blushing."

Eriand smiled, putting the scroll into his belt. "Ah
. . . just the sun, I suspect," he said, but he couldn't
hide the embarrassed smile that refused to leave his
mouth alone.

"What is it?" said Locklear playfully.

"An invitation," said Eriand.

"For what?" asked Locklear. "We dine in formal re
ception with the Empress tonight."

Unable to keep from grinning, Eriand said, "It's foi
. . . after dinner."

James and Locklear exchanged knowing glances
Then Locklear said, "KaB, is that how the trueblooc'
make . . . arrangements? To . . . call on each other,
mean."

Kafi shrugged. "It is not unheard of, though the Prin
cess, being so highly born, can stretch the boundaries o
. . . decorum more than others, if you follow."

"What about the Princess Sojiana?" asked Locklear

James grinned. "I was wondering when you'd ge
around to that one."

Gamina narrowed her eyes a bit. " 'That one?' "

"A figure of speech, my love. Locky is known in cour*
for trying . . . er, to get to know every pretty wornai
that comes into view."

Kafi said, "If you send a note requesting a meeting o
the Princess, be prepared for it to be but one of many
Besides, it is said that these days she is ... spendin;

time with Lord Ravi, so I expect your note would bi
politely . . . ignored."

Locklear sat back, attempting to find a comfbrtabL
position upon the stone, hard and unyielding despitf
the ornate cushion placed atop it. "Well, I'll just have ti
find a way to get to meet her, I expect. Once I have
chance to speak with her ..."

Kafi made the gesture for "things happen" again
"Ma'lish "

James glanced at Eriand, who was off in a world of his

Jubilee

251

own. To Gamina, James silently said, Kafi isn 't saying
something about the Princess Sojiana. Can you tell
what it is?

No, she answered. But I have an impression at the
mention of her name.

What is it?

Extreme danger.

Chapter Fourteen

Bargain

Borric rubbed his jaw.
"I wish people would stop hitting me to make a

point," he grumbled.

Ghuda, who stood over him, said, "That's for costing
me my pay. I can't go looking for Saber now with half
the Imperial Army looking for me, and even if I found
him, I doubt he'd pay me what he owes me. And it's
your fault, Madman."

Borric could only agree, though sitting on damp
straw in an abandoned barn in the middle of a nation of
people seemingly bent on killing him at every opportu-
nity, he felt he deserved at least a little sympathy.
"Look, Ghuda, I'll make it up to you."

The mercenary turned to remove a saddle from one
of the horses they stole and, over his shoulder, said,
"Oh, really? And how, pray tell, do you plan on doing
that? Are you going to send a polite note to the Office of
Aber Bukar, Lord of the Armies, saying, 'Please, kind
lord, let my friend off with a stern talking to. He didn't
know I had the kill-on-sight order on my head when he
met me'? Right!"

Borric stood, wiggling his jaw to make sure it wasn't
broken. It hurt and popped in and out of the socket on
one side, but he was fairly certain it was intact. He
glanced around the old barn. The farmhouse that had
stood nearby was burned out, either by bandits or
guardsmen for whatever reasons the Empire judged
sufficient, but in either case, it gave Borric's little band a
chance to rest up the horses. Like most good cavalry
provided, there was grain in the saddlebags, so Borric
set about giving a handful to his horse. Suli sat tenderly
upon a half-rotten pile of straw, a study in misery. Nakor
had already unsaddled his horse and was wiping it down

Bargain                 253

with the cleanest handful of straw he could find. He was
absently humming a nameless tune as he went about his
work. And his grin had not vanished even for an instant.

Ghuda said, "When the horse is rested, Madman, you
and I are quits. I mean to get myself back to Farafra
somehow and take ship down to Lesser Kesh. Things
are a little less Imperial down there, if you catch my
meaning. Just maybe I'll live through this."

Borric said, "Ghuda, wait."

The large mercenary dumped the saddle on the
ground and said, "What?"

Borric motioned him away from the others and qui-
etly said, "Please. I'm sorry to have gotten you into ^11 of
this, but I need you."

"You need me, Madman? For what? So you'll not die
alone? Thanks, but I'd rather die in the arms of a whore
many years from now."

"No, I mean I can't get to Kesh without you."

Ghuda glanced heavenward. "Why me?"

Borric said, "Look at the boy. He's terrified and so
sore he can't think. He might know the back allies of
Durbin, but he knows nothing else. And the Isalani . . .
well, he's not exactly what I'd call reliable." Borric put a
finger to his head and made a circular motion.

Ghuda glanced at the sorry-looking pair and was
forced to agree. "So, that's your lookout. Why should I
care?"

Borric thought and couldn't come up with a single
reason. Circumstances had thrown them together, but
there was no real friendship. The older mercenary was
likable in his own fashion, but not what Borric would
call a comrade. "Look, I really will make it worth your
while."

"How?"

"Get me to Kesh, and see me to the people I must
reach to clear this mess up, and I'll pay you more gold
than you'll see in a lifetime of caravan duty."

Ghuda's eyes narrowed as he considered Borric's
words. "You're not just saying this?"

Borric shook his head. "I give you my word."

254

Prince of the Blood

"Where are you going to get your hands on that kind
of gold?" asked Ghuda.

^Borric considered telling him the entire story but
couldn't bring himself to trust Ghuda that much. A
nameless man blamed for a crime he didn't commit was
one thing; a prince being hunted was another. Even
though Borric knew anyone whe guessed his identity
was as good as dead should the guards find him in Bor-
ric's company, Ghuda might be tempted enough by
thoughts of reward to push his luck. Borric's experience
with mercenaries in the past didn't argue for their sense

of personal loyalty.

Finally Borric said, "I was accused of the murder of
the wife of the Governor of Durbin for political rea-
sons." Ghuda didn't blink an eye at that, so Borric felt
he was on the right track; political murders in Kesh
didn't seem improbable. "There are people in Kesh
who can clear me of that, and more, they have re-
sources—substantial resources—and can provide you
with"—he quickly calculated a sufficiently impressive
figure by Kingdom standards into Keshian currency—
"two thousand golden ecu."

Ghuda's eyes widened a second, then he shook his
head. "Sounds good. Madman, but then so do a whore's

promises."

Borric said, "All right, three thousand."
Looking to call Borric's bluff, he said, "Five thou-
sand!"

"Done!" replied the Prince. He spit in his hand and

held it out.

Ghuda looked at the outstretched hand, offered in
the old trader's fashion, and knew he was obliged to
either take it or be known as oathbreaker. Reluctantly,
he spit in his own hand and shook. "Damn your eyes,
Madman! If this is a lie, I'll have your guts on my sword,
I swear! If I'm to die for stupidity, at least I'll have the
pleasure of seeing you dead the instant before I meet
the Death Goddess!"

Borric said, "If we make it, you'll die a rich man,

Ghuda Bule."
Ghuda threw himself down upon the damp straw to

Bargain                 255

rest as well as he could. "I would have preferred it had
you chosen to put that a different way, Madman."

Borric left the mercenary muttering to himself and
sat down next to Suli. "Are you going to make it?" he

The boy said, "Yes. I only hurt a little. But this beast
has a back like a sword blade. I am split in two."

Borric laughed. "It's hard at first. We'll try a little
instruction, here in the barn, before we leave tonight."

Ghuda said, "Not that it will do him much good, Mad-
man. We're going to have to lose those saddles. The
boy's going to have to ride bareback."

Nakor nodded his head vigorously. "Yes, that is true.
If we are to sell these horses, we must not have anyone
suspect they are Imperial property."

"Sell them?" said Ghuda. "Why?"

"With the Jubilee," replied Nakor, "it is easier for us
to reach the city by river travel up the Same, on a boat
for hire. We will be but four among multitudes. But to
travel so requires payment. So we must have funds."

Borric considered the little money he had remaining
after buying his clothing and armor in Farafra, and
knew Nakor was right. They didn't have enough funds
among them to buy a first-class meal for one at a decent
inn.

"Who would buy them?" asked Ghuda. "They are
branded."

"True," said the Isalani, "but that can be dealt with.
The saddles, alas, cannot be altered without damaging
them to the point of worthlessness."

Ghuda levered himself up on one arm. "How can you
change that brand? Do you have a running iron in your
rucksack?"

"Better," said the little man, reaching into his sack
and pulling out a small, stoppered jar. He rummaged
around in the sack and came up with a small brush.
"Observe." He pulled the cork from the jar and dipped
the brush into the solution in the jar. "A running iron
leaves a crude, easily detected alteration of the brand.
This, however, is for an artist." He approached the
nearest horse. "The army brands all livestock with the

256 Prince of the Blood

Imperial Army glyph." Dabbing at it with the brush, he
began to apply fluid to the horse's flank. A faint sizzling
sound could be heard, and the hair where he touched
with the brush began to blacken, as if being touched by
flame. "Hold the horse, please," he said to Borric. "This
does not harm them, but the heat can alarm the ani-
mal."

Borric went and grabbed at the animal's bridle, hold-
ing it while the animal's ears turned this way and that,
as it tried to decide whether or not to get upset with the
proceedings.

After a moment, Nakor said, "There. It is now the
glyph of Jung Sut, horse trader of Shing Lai."

Borric came around and looked. The brand had
changed, and Nakor was right. It looked as if the brand
had been made with a single iron. "Will anyone in Kesh
know this Jung Sut?"

"Unlikely, my friend, as he does not exist. However,
there are, perhaps, a thousand horse traders in Shing
Lai, so who can claim to know them all?"

Ghuda said, "Well, then, when you're done with that,
and we're ready to leave, wake me, will you?" So saying,
he lay back on the damp straw and tried to make him-
self comfortable.

Borric looked at Nakor and said, "When we reach the
river, it would probably be better if you left us."

"I don't think so," he said with a grin. "I intend to
travel to Kesh in any event, as the occasion of the Jubi-
lee will make it easy to earn money. There will be many
games of chance and many opportunities for my small
magics to serve me. Besides, if we move together, with
Ghuda and the boy traveling a few hours behind or
ahead, we will not be those the guards are seeking.'

"Perhaps," said Borric, "but they have a pretty good
description of the three of us by now."

"But not me," grinned the Isalani. "No guard caught
sight of me when they stopped the wagon."

Borric thought back and remembered that somehow
when the Imperial Guards were looking over everyone,
Nakor had been absent. "Yes, now that you mention it,
how did you do that?"

Bargain                 257

"It is a secret," he said with an affable grin. "But it is
no matter. What does matter is that we must do some-
thing about your appearance." He cast a knowing eye
upon Borric's uncovered head. "Your dark hair grows
suspiciously red at the roots. So we must devise another
look for you, my friend." ^

Borric shook his head. "Another surprise from that
bag of yours?"

Bending over the bag, Nakor's grin widened more
than usual. "Of course, my friend."

Borric awoke to Suli's pushing his shoulders emphati-
cally. He came instantly awake and could see that it was
growing dark outside. Ghuda was alert by the door, his
sword drawn, so Borric was at his side with his own
weapon at the ready an instant later.

"What is it?" hissed Borric.

Ghuda held up his hand for silence, listening. "Horse-
men," he whispered. He waited, then put up his sword.
"They ride west. This barn is far enough back from the
road that they're likely to miss it, but once they meet up
with the bunch we left on foot back atJeeloge, they'll be
over this place like flies on dung. We better get mov-
ing."

Borric had decided which of the four horses was
likely to be the most agreeable for Suli and gave the boy
a boost up. Giving him the reins, he said, "Hold on to
her mane with your left hand if we have to go anywhere
in a hurry. And keep your legs as long as you can; it's
balance, not gripping with your knees. Understand?"

The boy nodded, but it was clear from his expression
the idea of going anywhere on a horse in a hurry was a
notion only slightly less terrifying than running into
more guards. Borric turned and found Nakor carrying
the saddles out of the barn. "Where are you taking
them?"

The grinning Isalani said, "There is an old compost
pile in back. They'll not look under it, I'm thinking."

Borne had to laugh, and in a minute the chronically
happy little man was back in the barn, nimbly leaping
to his horse's back, despite his ever-present rucksack

258 Prince of the Blood

and staff. Borric caught the aroma of decomposing com-
post and said, "Whew. If you're an example of that pile
you're right. They'll not be poking around in there

soon."

Ghuda said, "Come on. Let's get as far up the road as
possible by dawn."

Borric motioned and the mercenary pushed open the
barn door, then jumped to his horse's back. He kicked it
firmly and set off at a trot, with Borric, Suli, and Nakor
coming behind. Borric put aside a terrible feeling that
every turn in the road hid another ambush, and focused
on one fact: every passing minute brought him that
much closer to Kesh, and to Eriand and the others.

The town of Panes was busy, as it squatted upon the
bridge across the River Same, where the road begin-
ning at Farafra and ending at Khattara, in the northeast,
joined. Just east of the bridge, on the south bank, a huge
warehouse and riverfront district had grown over the
years, as teamsters pulled heavy wagons up close to
barges and riverboats, which carried goods into the
heart of the Empire. A few shallow-draft sailing boats
could be seen, as the prevailing winds were from the
west, so that it was possible to sail upriver most times of
years, save when there was flooding, from Kesh to
Jamila and the other towns that dotted the shore. And
shipping upon the vast lake, the Overn Deep, was as
plentiful as upon any sea of Midkemia.

Borric glanced around, still feeling foolish in his pres-
ent costume. He was wearing the dahd, traditional cos-
tume of a Bendrifi, hillpeople of the Rainshadow
Mountains. The garment consisted of a colorfully died
piece of cloth tied around his waist, then drawn over
the shoulder, like a toga. His sword arm was bare, as
were his legs. Instead of boots, he now wore cross-garter
sandals. Borric felt both ridiculous and vulnerable with-
out armor. But it was a good choice as far as the Bendrifi
being one of the few fair-skinned races native to Kesh.
Borric's hair had been cut close to his scalp and dyed
with a foul-smelling concoction that Nakor had ob-
tained the night before, and now he was a startlingly

Bargain                 259

near-white blond color; the hair was standing straight
no—held in place by a sweet-smelling pomade—while
shaved over the ears. The Bendrifi were also a stand-
offish aloof tribe, so it was unlikely anyone would won-
der at his reticent manner; Borric prayed he never ran
into one this far from home, for their language was also
unrelated to that of the other peoples of Kesh and Bor-
ric couldn't speak a single word. Though while Borric
had been undergoing the transformation, Suli revealed
he could curse a little in Ghendrifi, their language, so
Borric had the boy teach him a few phrases.

Where Nakor had found the outlandish costume, Bor-
ric had no idea, but like anything else the Isalani tried, it
usually meant astonishing results. The little man had
gotten at least double what Borric thought the horses
were worth and had managed to find the Prince a new
rapier in this modest town, when Borric had failed to
obtain one in one of Kesh's largest cities. Against any
reasonable expectation, Nakor had produced exactly
what Borric needed to change his appearance to a star-
tling degree.

Suli was now garbed as a boy of the Beni-Sherin, a
large tribe of desertmen in the Jal-Pur, with a sword at
his side. He wore a robe and head covering, with only
his eyes visible, and if he remembered to walk erect,
could pass for a short adult. The boy had resisted giving
up his old familiar rags until Ghuda threatened to cut
him out of them with his sword. Given Ghuda's lack of
patience since their arrest, Borric wasn't sure if he was
only jesting.

Ghuda had sold his armor and purchased a finer rig,
an almost new leather harness and a matching pair of
bracers. His old dented helm was gone, replaced by one
similar to that worn by the Dog Soldiers, a metal pot
with a pointed spike at the crown, rimmed in black fur,
with a chain neck guard down to the shoulders. It could
be hooked across the face, revealing only the eyes, and
this is how Ghuda wore it for the moment.

Nakor had somehow managed to lose his faded yel-
low robe and now wore one that was almost as disrepu-
table, but of a blotchy peach color. And he didn't look

260 Prince of the Blood

one whit less ridiculous to Borric. But the Isalani felt
this was a sufficient change in costume, and given his
resourcefulness, Borric was unwilling to argue.

Nakor had secured passage for them on a barge head-
ing downriver to the city of Kesh. They would be four
among about a hundred passengers.

As Borric expected, there were guards everywhere.
They attempted to look unobtrusive, but there were too
many, spending too much time peering into every pass-
ing face, for them not to be there for a purpose.

Turning a corner, Borric and Suli walked a few yards
ahead of Nakor and Ghuda, toward a tavern only a few
yards from the dockside. The boat would be leaving in
two hours' time. They would act the part of travelers
forced to idle their time away in the company of strang-
ers.

They passed an open door and Suli faltered' a step.
Hissing to Borric, he said, "Master, I recognize that
voice."

Borric shoved the boy into the next doorway and
motioned to Ghuda and Nakor to continue past as they
approached. "What do you mean?" Borric asked.

Suli pointed back to the next door. "I heard only a few
words, but I know the voice."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. Let me return and perhaps I can re-
member." The boy turned back and walked past the
door, halting a moment on the other side, then turned
the corner and looked down it as if expecting to see
something. He then made a display of waiting a mo-
ment, turned, and shrugged to Borric, then walked
back. As soon as he was past the door, he hurried to
Borric and said, "That was one I heard in the Governor
of Durbin's house that night I overheard the plot to kill
you!"

Borric hesitated. If they passed by again and glanced
in the doorway, they would call unwanted attention to
themselves, but he wanted to know who this blood-
hound on his trail was. "Wait here," Borric said, "and
see who comes out. Then make for the inn and tell us."

Borric left the boy and hurried to where his compan-


Bargain                 261

ions waited, already drinking ale. He paused at their
table for a moment, saying, "Someone who knows me
may be in town," then turned and sat at the table next

to them.

A short time later, Suli came and sat next to Borric.
"It was the man in the black cloak. He wears it still,
master. It was his voice," whispered the boy.

"Did you get a look at him?"

The boy said, "Enough that I might know him again."

"Good," whispered Borric, knowing Ghuda and
Nakor were listening. "If you see him again, let us
know."

"Master, there is something else."

"What?"

"I saw enough of him to know he is of the trueblood."

Borric nodded. "That is not surprising."

"But that is not all. He gathered the front of his cloak
before him, and as it shifted, I saw around his neck the
glint of gold."

Borric said, "What does that mean?"

It was Ghuda who answered, hissing angrily over his
shoulder. "It means, you mush-brained maniac, that
that trueblood is not just a trueblood, but he's also a
member of the Royal House of Kesh! They're the only
ones allowed to wear the golden torque! He's maybe
only a very distant cousin to the Empress, but she still
sends him a gift on his birthday! Just what the hell kind
of mess have you gotten us into?"

Borric fell silent as a large, sullen serving woman
approached. In a raspy voice he ordered two mugs of
ale and when she left, he half-turned to Ghuda. "It's a
very deep and twisted mess, my friend. As I said, it is
politics."

When the serving woman brought ale to them and
left, Ghuda said, "My dear dead mother wanted me to
go into an honorable trade, like grave robbing. Would I
listen? No. Be an assassin, like your uncle Gustav, she
said. Would I pay heed? No. Apprentice to the Necro-
mancer—"

Borric tried to appreciate the gallows humor, but
round himself chewing over the implication. Who was

262           Prince of the Blood

trying to kill him and Eriand? And why? It was ob\ ions
that this plot came down from the very highest levels in
the Empire, but from the royal family? He sighed and
drank his bitter ale, and tried to relax his mind as he
waited for the call that the boat was ready to leave

The call to board rang across the dockside, and Borric
and his companions, as well as a half-dozen others in the
inn, rose, gathering together bundles and packages, and
crowded through the door. Outside, Borric saw a com-
pany of Imperial Guards waiting at the boarding ramp,
watching everyone who climbed onto the boat. These
were the Guards of the Inner Legion, the command
given dominion over the heart of Kesh. Each man wore
a metal helm and breastplate enameled in black. Short
black kilts and black greaves and bracers gave them an
intimidating appearance. The officer in charge of the
company wore a helm topped with a red horsehair
crest, with another long red tail falling down his back.
Borric said, "Quietly now, and act like you have nothing
to hide." He gave Suli a slight push, indicating the boy
should move on alone, and then waved Ghuda and
Nakor ahead. Borric hung back, watching.

The guards consulted a parchment from time to time,
probably a detailed description of the three of them.
They let Suli aboard without a second look. Ghuda was
halted and asked a question. Whatever answer he gave
seemed to satisfy them, for they waved him aboard.

Then Borric's heart seemed to go cold as he saw
Nakor turn and speak to a guard, pointing at him across
the crowd. The guard said something and nodded, and
then spoke to a second guard. Borric felt his mouth go
dry as three guards left the ramp and started walking
purposefully toward him. Deciding he might need
room to break free, Borric moved toward the ramp as if
nothing unusual was occurring.

As he attempted to move out of the guards' way, one
put a restraining hand upon his arm. "Hold a moment,
Bendrifi." It was not a request.

Borric did his best to look irritated and disdainful. He
then glanced to where the officer stood on the ramp,

Bargain                 263

observing the exchange. "What?" he said, sounding as
surly as he could manage.

"We heard about the fight you almost started on the
road from Khattara. Maybe the caravan guards couldn't
keep you in line, but you'll have six legionaries on the
boat with you. Any more trouble of that sort and we'll
pitch you into the river."

Borric stared the man in the eye, made a slight
snarling sound as he curved his lip, then said one of the
phrases Suli taught him. He yanked his arm out of the
legionary's grip, but when three hands went to the hilts
of their swords, he held up his own, palm outward,
showing he intended no trouble.

Turning his back on them, he attempted to maintain
the pose of being a touchy, rude hillman, and hoped his
knees weren't looking as wobbly as they felt. He
boarded the boat among the last to climb the ramp, and
found himself a seat on the opposite side of the wide
craft from where his three companions sat. The six
guardsmen were the last to board and they stationed
themselves at the stern, in a group, talking among
themselves. Silently, Borric vowed that when they
reached the city of Kesh he would happily throttle the
little Isalani.

A day and a half later, stopping three times along the
way, they saw the skyline of the city of Kesh in view.
Borric had recovered from the shock the Isalani had
handed him, and had fallen into sullen brooding, a pose
which took almost no effort on his part. The situation
looked hopeless and yet he must somehow force himself
to continue. As his father had taught him and Eriand
when they were still young that the only thing they
could guarantee in life was failure; to achieve success
you had to take risks. He had not truly understood what
his father had been talking about—Eriand and he were
both Princes of the Blood Royal, and there was really
nothing they couldn't do, but that wa& because of what
they were.

Now Borric understood much of what his father had
tried to explain before, and now the stakes were his own

264 Prince of the Blood

life, his brother's, and perhaps the life of the Kingdom,
as well.

As they approached the upper docks of Kesh, Borric
saw companies of soldiers upon the boat landing. They
might be taking passage across the Overn Deep or
upriver, or they might be the normal guard for this city,
but they also might be screening-passengers into the
city, one more barrier between himself and his brother.

As the boat began nosing in to the dockside, Borric
made his way back toward the legionaries. The guards-
men were making ready to exit, and as the boat was tied
off to the dockside, Borric moved to stand beside the
man he had spoken with before boarding. The guards-
man gave him a quick glance then turned away.

While the first passengers disembarked, Borric did
nothing, but when he saw they were being halted and
inspected as they left, he knew he couldn't chance be-
ing singled out again. So as it came time to leave, he
turned to the guardsman and said, again in his gruff
voice, "I said a rude thing to you at Pahes, guardsman."

The legionary's eyes narrowed as he said, "I assumed
that, though I don't speak your babble."

Borric mounted the gangplank in step with him and
said, "I come to celebrate the Jubilee, and to 'make
devotions at the temple ofTith-Onaka." Borric had no-
ticed the man wore the good-luck charm common to
those soldiers who worship the War God with Two
Faces. "At such a holy time, I wish no bad blood with
any soldier. The Isalani cheated me at cards. That is why
I was vexed. Will you take my hand and give pardon for
the offense I gave."

The guardsman said, "No man should enter the Plan-
ner of Battle's Temple with an affront to a warrior on
them." At the foot of the ramp, before the guards who
were questioning the other passengers, the legionary
and Borric gripped each other's right forearm, and
shook. "May your enemy never see your back."

Borric said, "May you sing victory songs for many
years, legionary."

As if they were old friends saying good-bye, they
shook again, and Borric turned and shouldered past two

Bargain                 265

soldiers on the dock. One had observed the farewell and
started to say something to Borric, but thought better of
it and turned his attention to another man trying to
push past, a strange little Isalani from Shing Lai.

Borric crossed the street, then paused, waiting to see
what was occurring. Nakor and the guard seemed to be
in some sort of an argument, and several other guards-
men turned to see what the problem was. Ghuda mate-
rialized beside Borric, seemingly having come to that
spot by chance. A few moments later, Suli came to stand
next to Borric. Nakor now had a circle of guards and one
pointed at the rucksack he always carried.

Finally, as if relenting on some point, the Isalani
handed the rucksack over to the first guard, who stuck
his hand in the bag. After a moment, the guard turned
the bag upside down and then pulled it inside out. It
was now empty.

Ghuda gave a low whistle. "How in the world did he
do that?"

Borric said, "Maybe all his magic isn't just sleight of
hand."

Ghuda said, "Well, Madman, we are in the city of
Kesh. Where to now?"

Glancing about, Borric said, "Turn right and walk
along the dockside. At the third street, turn right again
and keep going until you find an inn. We'll meet at the
first inn we encounter." Ghuda nodded and headed off.
"Suli," Borric whispered, "wait for Nakor and tell him."

The boy said, "Yes, master," and Borric left him, and
made his way leisurely after Ghuda.

The inn was a seedy riverfront establishment with
the grandiose name the Emperor's Standard and Jew-
eled Crown. Borric had no idea what event in Keshian
history had prompted this odd name, but there was
nothing in the least bit Imperial nor jewel-like about
this establishment. It was like a hundred other dark and
smoky establishments in a hundred cities on Midkemia.
Languages and customs might differ, but the patrons
were all cut from the same cloth, bandits, thieves, cut-
tnroats of all stripe, gamblers, whores, and drunkards.

266 Prince of the Blood

Borric felt at home for the first time since entering
Kesh.

Glancing around, he saw that the usual respect for
privacy prevailed here as in the other like inns he and
Eriand used to frequent in the Kingdom. Casually, look-
ing down at his mug, he said, "We can assume that at
least one of these customers is either an Imperial agent
or an informer."

Ghuda removed his helm, scratched his scalp, itching
from perspiration, and said, "That's a safe bet."

"We won't stay here," said Borric.

"That's a relief," said Ghuda, "though I would like a
drink before we seek lodgings."

Borric agreed and the big man caught the attention
of a serving boy, who returned with four chilled ales.
Borric sipped his and said, "I'm surprised it's chilled."

Ghuda stretched. "If you bother to glance north the
next time you're outside. Madman, you'll notice a tiny
range of mountains called the Spires of Light. They are
called such because their highest peaks are constantly
coated with ice, which when conditions are right, re-
flect the sunlight with an impressive effect. There is a
thriving business in ice in this city. The Guild of Ice
Cutters is among the richest guilds in Kesh."

"You learn something new every day," said Borric.

Nakor said, "I don't like it. Ale should be warm. This
makes my head hurt."

Borric laughed. Ghuda said, "Well, then, we're in
Kesh. How do we reach these friends of yours?"

Borric lowered his voice. "I . . ."

Ghuda's eyes narrowed. "What now?"

"I know where they are. I'm just not sure how to get
there."

Ghuda's eyes became angry slits. "Where?"

"They are in the palace."

"Gods' teeth!" Ghuda exploded, and several of the
inn's patrons turned for a moment to see what caused
the outburst. Lowering his voice to a whisper, but not
losing his angry tone, he said, "You are joking, aren't
you? Please say that you are joking."

Borric shook his head. Ghuda stood up and put his

Bargain                 267

lone dirk in his belt, and picked up his helm. "Where
are you going?" asked Borric.

"Anywhere but where you are going. Madman.

Borric said, "You gave your word!"

Looking down, Ghuda said, "I said I'd get you to
Kesh. You're in Kesh. You didn't say a thing about the
palace." Pointing an accusatory finger at Borric he said,
"You owe me five thousand golden ecu, and I'll never
see a tenth of one coin of it."

Borric said, "You'll get it. You have my word. But I
have to find my friends."

"In the palace," hissed Ghuda.

"Sit down, people are watching."

Ghuda sat. "Let them watch. I'm going to be on the
first boat for Kimri I can find. I'll get to Hansule and
take ship for the Eastern Kingdoms. I will be sitting
caravan watch in some foreign land for the rest of my
life, but I'll be alive, which is more than I can say for you
if you try to get into the palace."

Borric smiled. "I know a trick or two. What will it take
to keep you with us?"

Ghuda couldn't believe Borric was serious. After a
moment, he said, "Double what you promised. Ten
thousand ecu."

Borric said, "Done."

"Ha!" snapped Ghuda. "Easy enough to promise any-
thing when we're all going to be dead in a day or two."

Turning to Suli, Borric said, "We need to get in touch
with certain people."

Suli blinked uncomprehendingly. "Master?"

Whispering, Borric said, "The Guild of Thieves. The
Mockers. The Ragged Brotherhood, or whatever
they're called in this city."

Suli nodded as if he understood, but his expression
showed he didn't have a hint as to what Borric wanted.
"Master?"

Borric said, "What sort of a street beggar are you?"
Suli shrugged. "One from a city without such a group,
master."

Borric shook his head. "Look, get out of here and find
the nearest market. Find a beggar—you'll be able to do

268 Prince of the Blood

that, won't you?" Suli nodded. "Just drop a coin in his
hand and say there's a traveler who needs to speak to
someone on a matter of urgency and that it is a matter
worth the time of people who can get things done in
this city. Understand?"

"I think so, master."

"If the beggar asks any mo're questions, just say
this . . ." Borric sought to remember some of the sto-
ries James had told him about his own boyhood with the
thieves of Krondor and after a long moment he added,
". . . one is in town who wishes not to cause difficulty
by being here, but who wishes to make arrangements so
that all may benefit. Can you do that?"

Suli repeated his instructions and when Borric was
satisfied he had them correctly, he sent the boy off.
They drank in relative silence, until Borric saw Nakor
reach into his rucksack and pull out some cheese and
bread. Looking pointedly at the Isalani, Borric said,
"Hey, wait a minute. When the guard examined that
bag it was empty?"

"That's right," said Nakor, his white teeth looking as
if they didn't quite fit his face.

"How'd you do that?" asked Ghuda.

"It's a trick," answered the laughing little man, as if
that explained everything.

At sundown, Suli returned. He sat down next to Bor-
ric and said, "Master, it took a while, but at last did I find
such a one as you required. I gave him a coin and said as
I was instructed. That one asked many questions, but I
only repeated what you said, and refused more. He bid
me wait for him and vanished. With much fear I waited,
but when he returned all was well. He said those you
wish to speak with will meet us and named the time and

place."

"Where and when?" asked Ghuda.

To Borric, Suli said, "The time is the second ringing of
the watchbell after sundown. The place is but a short
walk from here. I know it because he made me repeat
the directions several times. But we must go to the

Bargain                 269

market and find it from there, for I would not tell this
beggar where we were staying."

Good," said Borric. "We've been here too long as it

They rose and left, following Suli to the nearest mar-
ket square. Borric was again astonished at the press of
humanity around him, and the diversity of it. If he felt
foolish, no one took note of his impersonation of a Ben-
drift. The array of costumes, and lack thereof, he saw in
Farafra was even more varied in the Empire's capital.
The blackest skin Borric had ever seen gleamed in the
late afternoon sun as lion hunters of the grassy plains
walked by, and yet there were enough fair-skinned peo-
ple to show that those who once lived in the Kingdom
had come to Kesh over the years. Many had the narrow
eyes and yellowish skin that Nakor possessed, but their
dress was in different fashion than the Isalani—some
wearing silk jackets and knee breeches, others wearing
armor, and still others in simple monk's robes. Women
in all states of dress, from the most modest to almost
naked passed by, and few took notice, unless the
wornai) was unusually striking.

A pair ofAshuntai plainsmen sauntered by, each lead-
ing a pair of women on chains—the women were nude
and walked with eyes downcast. A company of brawny-
looking men with red and blond hair, wearing furs and
armor despite the heat, passed them by, and insults
were exchanged.

Borric turned to Ghuda and said, "What was that?"

"Brijaners—seamen from Brijane, and the towns
along the shore below the Grimstone Mountains.
They're raiders and traders who ply the Great Sea from
Kesh to the Eastern Kingdoms in their long ships—and
even across the Endless Sea, the stories claim. They are
proud, violent men, and they worship the spirits of then-
dead mothers. All Brijaner women are seers and priest-
esses, and the men believe their ghosts come to guide
their ships and therefore hold all women sacred. The
Ashuntai treat women worse than dogs. If it wasn't for
the Empress's peace seal being on the city, they'd be
trying to kill one another on sight."

270 Prince of the Blood

Borric said, "Wonderful. Are their many such feuds in
Kesh?"

Ghuda said, "No more than usual. About a hundred
such, give or take a few, on any given festival. That's
why the Palace Guards and the Inner Legion,are here
in strength. The Legion has dominion over the Inner
Empire, all that surrounds the Overn, inside the ring of
mountains formed by the Mother of Waters, Spires of
Light, Guardians, and Grimstones. Outside of that, local
lords run things. Only on the Imperial highways and at
these sort of festivals is peace enforced. At other times"
—he made a "wipe clean" motion with his hand—"one
side or the other is dogmeat."

Kesh was a wonder to Borric. The throng in the
streets was both familiar and alien. So much of what a
city was was familiar to him, but this city was overlaid
with ages of an alien culture.

When they entered the market, Borric said, "This is
pretty impressive."

Ghuda snorted. "This is a local market. Madman. The
big one is across from the amphitheater. That's where
most travelers will go."

Borric shook his head. Glancing around, he said to
Suli, "When should we leave?"

"We have a while, master." As he spoke, a dozen
chimes and gongs around the city rang, as the sun van-
ished over the horizon. "The second bell, so it will be an
hour."

"Well, then, let's find something to eat."

They agreed on that, and set off in search of a street
vendor whose wares weren't too costly.

As the second bell of night sounded, they entered the
alley. "This way, master," said Suli, keeping his voice
low.

Despite the early hour of the night, the alley was
deserted. The narrow corridor was cluttered with trash
and garbage, and the stench was overwhelming. Trying
to keep the greasy meat and flatbread he had eaten
down, Borric said, "A friend once told me that thieves
will often put garbage and"—stepping on what ap-

Bargain                 271

oeared to be a dead dog, Borric continued—"other
things along their private escape routes to discourage
casual inspection."

At the end of the alley was a door, wooden with a
metal lockplate. Borric tried it and found it locked.
Then from behind, a voice said, "Good evening."

Borric and Ghuda turned, and pushed Suli and Nakor
behind them. A half-dozen armed men were approach-
ing them down the alley. Ghuda hissed. "I have a very
bad feeling, Madman!"

Borric said, "Good evening. Are you the one I ar-
ranged to meet?"

"That depends," answered the leader, a thin man
with a grin too big for his face. His cheeks were heavily
pockmarked, to the point of the disfigurement being
apparent in the dim light in the alley. The others be-
hind him were shadowy silhouettes. "What is your pro-
posal?"

"I need entrance into the palace."

Several men laughed. "That is easy," said the leader.
"Get arrested and they will take you before the High
Tribune, assuming you break an Imperial law. Murder a
guard—that always works."

"I need to get in unseen."

"Impossible. Besides, why should we help? You may
be Imperial agents for all we know. You do not speak
like a Bendrifi, despite your dress. The city has been
crawling with agents looking for someone—who we
don't know, so you may be him. In any event," he said,
drawing a longsword, "you have about ten seconds to
explain why we shouldn't just kill you and take your
gold now."

As he and Ghuda drew their own swords, Borric said,
"For one thing, I can promise you a thousand golden
ecu if you tell us of an entrance, twice that if you take us
there."

The leader motioned with his blade, and his compan-
ions spread out, forming a wall of swords across the
alley. "And?"

"And I bring greetings from the Upright Man of
Krondor."

272

Prince of the Blood

The leader paused a moment, then said, "Impres-


sive.

Borric let out a breath of tension, then the leader of
the thieves said, "Very impressive. For the Upright Man
has been seven years dead in Krondor and the Mockers
are now ruled by the Virtuous Man. Your introduction is
less than timely, spy." To his men, he said, "Kill them."

The alley was too narrow to allow Ghuda to draw his
bastard sword, so he pulled both dirks as Borric un-
sheathed his rapier and Suli his shortsword. Forming a
three-man front, Borric took a second to say to Nakor,
"Can you open that lock?"

The Isalani said, "It will take but a moment," and the
attackers were full upon them.

Borric's sword took the first man in the throat, as
Ghuda was forced to use his two dirks to parry his at-
tacker's longer sword. Suli had never used a sword be-
fore, but he flailed about with enough conviction that
the man opposite him was reluctant to try to get past
the blurring weapon.

The attackers fell back a step at the death of one of
their number. They were reluctant to rush Borric's
sword point again. The cluttered alley gave no one an
advantage, save time. The attackers could hang back
and let Borric's party tire then take them, for they had
no place else to go, so the thieves were content to feint
and withdraw, feint and withdraw.

Nakor rummaged through his rucksack and found
what he was looking for. Borric glanced over his shoul-
der for an instant, to see the Isalani pry the lid off a flat
jar. "What . . . ?" he began, then he was forced to pay
the price of his inattention as a broadsword almost took
his left arm off. He dodged and thrust, and a second
attacker was out of the fight, this one with a ragged cut
lo his own right arm.

Nakor poured a small pile of white powder in his left
hand, then put the lid back on the jar. Kneeling before
the lock plate, the diminutive man blew on the powder.
Rather than scattering randomly, the powder left his
hand in a thin line, straight to the keyhole on the lock
plate. As the powder passed through the lock, a series of

Bargain                 273

audible clicks could be heard. Nakor stood up with a
satisfied smile, put away his jar, and opened the door.
"We can go now," he calmly announced.

Instantly, Ghuda shoved him unceremoniously
through the door and followed after, as Borric launched
a flurry of blows that drove back the thieves, allowing
Suli to bolt through the door after the mercenary. Then
Borric was through and Ghuda slammed the door be-
hind him. Nakor held out a large, ornate chair, which
Borric jammed against the door handle, barring the
door for a moment.

Borric turned and was suddenly aware of two facts:

the first was a nearly nude girl regarded him with eyes
years older than the rest of her, from where she sat
outside a door, waiting the bidding of whoever was
inside that door. The second was the sweet smoke that
hung in the air, unmistakable once smelled. It was
opium, cut with other smells, jule weed, hashish, and
sweet-smelling oils. They had broken into the back of a
joy house.

As Borric expected, the moment after they had bro-
ken in, three large men—the establishment's resident
bruisers—each armed with clubs in hand, knives, and
swords at their belts, materialized in the hall. "What
passes here, scum?" shouted the first, his eyes wide in
anticipation of a little free bloodletting. Borric was in-
stantly convinced that whatever he said, the man's in-
tent was bloody.

Borric pushed himself past Ghuda, shoving the
mercenary's dirk point down in clear message not to
start trouble. Glancing over his shoulder, Borric said,
"City watch! Trying to break in that door."

He slid past the first man, just as the thieves outside
obliged by hitting the door, causing the chair to move a
foot.

^ "Those thieving bastards!" said the first bruiser.
"We're paid up this month."

Borric gave the man a friendly shove toward the door
saying, "The greedy scum are trying to shake you down
ror more." As the second bruiser sought to hold onto
Borne, the Prince grabbed that man's elbow and

274 Prince of the Blood

turned him after the first. "There's ten of them out
there, armed! They claim there's a Jubilee surcharge
you haven't paid."

By now several clients of the establishment were
opening doors and peeking into the halls to see what
was happening. At sight of armed men, several doors
were slammed, then one girl screamed, and the panic
was on.

The third bruiser said, "Wait a minute, you," to Borric
and took a swipe with his club.

Borric barely got his left arm up in time, and took the
blow on his left bracer, but the shock still numbed his
arm to the elbow. Thinking of nothing else to do, the
Prince shouted, "Raid!" at the top of his lungs, and
every door in the hall flew open. The third bruiser tried
to take another swipe at Borric, but Ghuda struck him
behind the ear with the hilt of his dirk, stunning the
man.

Borric shoved the third bruiser hard into a fat mer-
chant attempting to leave with his clothing in his hands,
shouting at the merchant, "It's the girl's father! He's
come to kill you, man!"

The merchant's eyes widened in horror, and he
dashed through the outside door, still nude and holding
his robes in a bundle. A sleepy-looking woman easily in
her forties stood in the door, saying, "My father?"

At that moment, Suli shouted, "City watch!" as loud
as he could.

Then the rear door flew open and the thieves barged
in, collided with naked girls and boys, drugged men,
and two very angry bruisers. The commotion in the hall
was redoubled with another pair of large men appear d
at the top of the hall, demanding to know what v. ci»
going on. Borric shouted, "Religious fanatics! Trying to
free your slave girls and boys. Your men are being <U
tacked, back there. Help them!"

Somehow, Ghuda, Suli, and Nakor extricated them-
selves from the confusion in the hall and bolted for t^e
entry of the building. The nude merchant running
down the street had piqued the curiosity of the city
watch, and two armed guardians of the peace were

Bargain                 275

standing before the door as Borric pulled it open. With-
out hesitation he said, "Oh, sirs! It's horrible! The house
slaves have revolted and are killing the customers.
They're crazed on drugs and their strength is superhu-
man. Please, you must send for help!"

One guardsman pulled his sword and dashed inside,
while another took a whistle from his belt and blew it.
Within seconds of the shrill whistle sounding, ten more
city guardsmen were hurrying to the riot and dashing
through the door.

Two blocks away, in a dark inn, Borric and his com-
panions sat at a table. Ghuda took off his helm and
almost bounced it off the table, so hard did he put it
down. Pointing his finger at Borric, he said, "The only
reason I don't knock your head off now is that we'd
certainly get arrested."

"Why do you keep wanting to hit me?" said Borric.

"Because you keep doing stupid things which
threaten to get me killed, Madman!"

Nakor said, "That was fun."

Ghuda and Borric both stared at him in astonishment.
"Fun?" said Ghuda.

"Most excitement I've had in years," said the grin-
ning man.

Suli looked as if he was close to exhaustion. "Master,
what do we do now?"

Borric thought a moment, shook his head, and said, "I
don't know."

Chapter Fifteen

Snares

Eriand approached the door.

A dozen guards stood without, but none sought to
question him about his approach to the Princess
Sharana's private quarters. At the entrance to the re-
ception area, Eriand discovered Lord Nirome, the no-
ble who had acted as Master of Ceremonies when
Prince Awari had greeted him at the entrance to the
upper city.

The stout man smiled affably as he bowed, and said,
"Good evening. Your Highness. Is all here to your lik-
ing?"

Eriand smiled and returned the bow with a defer-
ence beyond what Nirome's rank entitled him to, say-
ing, "Your generosity is at times overwhelming, my
lord."

Glancing backwards over his shoulder, the pudgy
trueblood took Eriand by the arm and said, "If I might
have but a brief moment with you, sire."

Eriand allowed himself to be steered to an alcove out
of view of the guards and servants, saying, "Only a
moment. I would not like to keep the Princess waiting."

"Understood, Highness, understood." He smiled and
something in Eriand said to beware of this friendly bun-
gler, that no one could be this highly placed and not
have some guile. "What I wished to say, Highness, is
that it would be a kind and generous act, a kingly act, if
you would communicate to Her Imperial Majesty your
desire to see young Rasajani, Lord Kilawa's son,
pardoned for his offense against you." Eriand said noth-
ing, and when it was obvious he wasn't going to speak,
Nirome continued. "The boy is stupid; on that point we
agree. However, the fault lies not with him but with
certain provocateurs in Prince Awari's camp." Glancing

Snares                  277

around as if wary of being overheard, Nirome said, "If I
mav elaborate a brief instant." Eriand nodded. Nirome
whispered, "Awari is second born to Sojiana, so by rights
the Princess should inherit. But it is known that many
fear three generations of sitting Empresses—a patriar-
chal bias exists in many of the nations which make up
the Empire. To that end, some misguided souls have
sought to exacerbate the differences between Awari
and his sister. Young Rasajani thought—or rather with-
out thought was only trying to show his Empress that
Awari is not some weakling, fearful of Isles simply be-
cause he is foremost in insisting peace be kept between
our two nations. It was a rash and foolish act, one which
really was unforgivable, but I am certain others put him
up to it, thinking Awari would approve. If you could
somehow find it in your heart to forgive. ..."

Eriand said nothing for a few moments, then at last
spoke. "I shall consider the matter. I will discuss it with
my advisors, and if we are certain no loss of prestige for
my nation is involved, I will speak to your Empress."

Nirome grabbed Eriand's hand, and kissed his royal
signet. "Your Highness is most gracious. Perhaps some-
day I may be privileged to visit Rillanon. When I do, I
shall gladly tell all there that a gracious and wise ruler is
destined to govern them."

Eriand had about all the fawning he could stand, so he
nodded and left the portly court noble, moving pur-
posefully toward the entrance to the Princess Sharana's
suites. Presenting himself to the servant who waited, he
was ushered into the receiving area, a private chamber
equal in size to his father's own audience hall in
Krondor.

A young woman with a strong reddish cast to her hair
—unusual for a trueblood—bowed low to Eriand and
said, "Her Highness requests that you join her in her
private garden, m'lord."

Eriand indicated she should lead him and as she did,
he found himself admiring the graceful sway of hips
barely covered by the short kilt. Feeling himself becom-
ing aroused at thoughts of this evening's encounter,
fcrland focused on James's parting words to him, just

278 Prince of the Blood

after dinner. The Earl of his father's court had said
"Remember, like yourself, she's destined to rule her
nation, so don't take anything for granted. She may
look like a twenty-two-year-old girl, and even act like
one, but she may be Empress of Kesh in your lifetime
and I suspect her education is as extensive, or more so,
than yours." James had revealed an unusual level of
concern, even for one as cautious by nature as he was.
And he had taken the moment to tell Eriand, "Be wary.
Don't be led astray by pretty promises in soft arms, my
friend. There's murder in these people as much as in
the soul of any street thug in the Poor Quarter of
Krondor."

Reaching Sharana's pavilion, Eriand admitted he
would have to work hard to keep that idea foremost in
his thoughts. The Princess lay upon a pile of cushions
under a silken panoply, with four serving women
nearby to answer any call she made. Rather than the
short kilt and vest he had seen her wear on public occa-
sions, Sharana wore only a simple robe, clasped just
above her breasts by a golden falcon in the same design
he had seen upon the Royal Keshian standard. The robe
was almost transparent and fell open in front as she rose
to greet him, giving Eriand a tantalizing view of the
young woman's body. The effect was considerably more
powerful than the commonplace nudity in the palace.
Eriand bowed slightly, the deference given a host by a
guest, rather than the bow of a subject to a ruler.
Sharana extended her hand and he took it as she simply
said, "Come, walk with me."

Eriand found his reaction upon first seeing the Prin-
cess returning. In a flower garden of exotic blossoms,
she was both the most lovely and exotic. Unlike most of
the trueblood women he had encountered so far, she
was not lithe and long-legged, but more voluptuous.
Her legs were thicker than Miya's, but not unpleasantly
so, and she was easily the most large-breasted woman
he had met so far. There was an odd tilt to her nose
which, combined with her full lips, gave her a pouty
expression. Her large sable eyes had a slightly alien cast
to them, almost like the yellow-skinned people from

Snares                  279

fh'ns Lai he had seen at court. Her shoulders and hips

pre broad, her waist narrow, and her stomach
rounded in a pleasing way. Eriand was finding himself
totally captivated by the young woman.

When the silence became oppressive to the nervous
Prince, he said, "Your Highness, are there any ...
unattractive women at court?"

Sharana laughed. "Of course." Her voice was sweet
and feminine and her smile brought her face alive and
made Eriand's pulse beat faster. "But my grandmother
has a terror of old age and death, so at her command all
those not young and beautiful are relegated to the
lower levels of the palace. They are there, to be sure."
Sharana sighed. "If I come to rule, I will abolish that silly
order. Many fine and capable people work in obscurity,
while those less gifted but fairer to look upon achieve
high office."

Eriand didn't really understand what the girl was
saying. His mind was fixed upon the lovely scent of her
mixing with the exotic aroma of the garden's flowers.
He said, "Uh ... I noticed Lord Nirome somehow
managed to stay aboveground."

Again she laughed. "He's wonderful. He just manages
to somehow stay on everyone's good side. He's such a
dear. Of all my uncles—"

"Uncle?"

"He's my mother's cousin, actually, but I call him my
uncle. He's the only one who could get me to stop
crying when I was left alone as a baby. Grandmother
has constantly had to scold him to do something about
his love of eating and look more like a trueblood hunter,
but she puts up with him anyway. I often think he's the
only one who keeps this Empire together—he really
does his best to disarm potential conflicts. He's tried to
be a good influence upon my uncle Awari. . . ." She
left it unsaid that most would have considered that un-
dertaking a failure.

Eriand nodded. "Why are your uncle and grand-
mother estranged?"

1 'T™ not sure> realb/>" answered the girl, taking Er-
iand s hand in hers, a natural and unself-conscious act.

280 Prince of the Blood

With fingers interlaced, they walked along, the gn.i
speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. "I think it's because
Awari thinks he should rule instead of my mother
which is silly. He's too young—he's only three years
older than me. Grandmother's fifth or sixth husband
fathered him, I think. Mother is eldest and she should
be unquestioned heir, but there are some who fear the
Empire becoming a matriarchy."

Eriand felt his blood pounding but he forced himself
to concentrate on matters of politics, which was difficult
with the scantily clad Princess constantly brushing
against him. "So, ah, some of your people wish a male
ruler?"

"Silly, isn't it?" Sharana halted and said, "What do you
think of my garden?"

"It's impressive," Eriand admitted, without any flat-
tery. "Nothing like this in Isles."

"Many of these blooms are cultivated here, for the
Imperial gardens, and do not exist anywhere else upon
Midkemia. I'm not sure how that's done, but I've been
told it's so." She reached across her own body with her
left hand and squeezed his forearm, holding onto his
left hand with her right. It was a familiar gesture, of
lovers, and Eriand was both aroused and discomforted
by it.

As they continued to walk through the garden,
Sharana said, "Eriand, tell me of your home, of this
legendary Kingdom of the Isles."

"Legendary?" laughed the Prince. "To me it's com-
monplace, while Kesh is the legendary land."

Sharana giggled. "But you have so many wonders I
have been told that you have spoken to elves, and that
you have fought the Dark Brotherhood. Is this true^"

Eriand himself had never spoken to elves or fought
the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, as most people re-
ferred to the moredhel—the dark elves—but he de-
cided it wouldn't help to embellish the truth a bit He
had fought goblins at Highcastle and they were the next
best thing.

He spoke a bit and found Sharana to be fascinated by
his stories, or at least give a convincing performance as

Snares                  281

one fascinated. After a while, they had circled the gar-
den and returned to Sharana's pavilion. Sharana indi-
cated the large bed outside her sleeping quarters. "I

prefer sleeping under the stars most nights during the
summer Palace holds the heat."

Eriand agreed. "It takes some getting used to. Having
the pool close by helps. I've grown quite accustomed to
taking long baths before retiring."

Sharana giggled as a servant pulled aside the gossa-
mer hangings which protected the sleeping pavilion
from flying Mg"1 insects. "So Miya told me." Eriand felt
himself blush as Sharana said, "She said that you are
auite . • gifted in some respects. And quite a lot of
fun." Motioning for Eriand to recline at her side, she
ran a finger around the collar of his tunic. "You wear so
many clothes, you men of the North. You're almost as
bad as our fierce Brijaner sea rovers. They refuse to
remove their fur cloaks, even to growing faint in the
heat. And they think their lives are ruled by the ghosts
of their dead mothers, and only take one wife in their
lifetime. They are very strange. You would be more
comfortable if you took some clothing off, don't you
think?"

Eriand found himself actually blushing. He had as-
sumed from the timing of the meeting and his previous
experience with Keshian trueblood girls that the Prin-
cess might have something more personal than an infor-
mal state visit in mind when she asked him to visit her
quarters, but now he felt suddenly awkward.

Sensing his reluctance, Sharana unfixed the clasp that
held her scant robe in place and let it fall open. "See, it's
easy."

Eriand leaned forward and offered a kiss, ready to
retreat if he mistook the girl's intentions. She answered
with a strong kiss, and suddenly two pair of hands were
removing his clothing. When Eriand removed his last
garment, Sharana rolled over on her back. As he took
position over her, he realized the four serving women
were still stationed around the pavilion, and the gauzy
hangings offered only an illusion of privacy. Borric felt a
momentary hesitation as he saw one of the servants

282 Prince of the Blood

standing only a few inches away, but as the Princess
pulled him to her, he gave no more thought to her
presence. I must be getting used to these people, he
thought, before he lost himself in a warm and sensuous
world. Their lovemaking was intense and hurried, as if
neither could wait to reach satisfaction.

When they were both spent, Eriand moved to
Sharana's side and the girl playfully ran her hand over
his chest and stomach. "Miya said you start quickly."

Eriand felt himself blush again and said, "Do . . .
did you and Miya discuss me ... in great detail?"

Sharana laughed, her ample breasts bouncing with
the movement. She put her head upon Eriand's chest.
"Of course. I ordered her to tell me everything, every-
thing about you after you took her that first night."

Not sure he wanted to hear the answer, Eriand said,
"Ah . . . what did she say?"

Sharana began doing interesting things with her left
hand while lying next to Eriand, her right arm forming
a triangle as she rested her head on her right hand. "Oh,
she said that you were . . . enthusiastic . . . and a lit-
tle impatient . . . the first time . . . but that the sec-
ond time was well worth the effort."

Eriand laughed as he reached out and grabbed
Sharana, pulling her to him. "Let's see if she was right."

The heralds blew their long horns, and the drums
began beating. Eriand and his company sat in one of the
boxes used by the Keshian nobility the previous night,
the guests of Prince Awari and Lord Nirome. As the
second day of the Empress's Jubilee got underway, con-
tests and exhibitions were scheduled. The Empress
might or might not appear in her private box, overlook-
ing the amphitheater, but the games continued as if she
were there. Short, muscular men were dressed in the
costumes of their warrior ancestors. Each man wore a
white breechcloth, leaving buttocks bare. Some wore
carved and painted demon masks, while others had
painted their faces with blue patterns. Many had
shaved heads or their hair pulled back into a warrior's
queue. Ancient instruments, skin-covered drums, rat-


Snares                 283

tles made from animal skulls, and horn trumpets were
played with enthusiasm as the warriors began their an-
cient contest.

A stone of seven feet in height was pulled out to the
center of the amphitheater by a dozen men, singing a
strange repetitive chant. Others urged them on with
cries, grunts, and exaggerated gestures.

Eriand turned to his host and said, "I am pleased for
the opportunity to spend some time with Your High-
ness."

Awari smiled graciously and said, "The pleasure is
mine, Your Highness."

Lord Nirome, sitting behind Eriand, and next to
James and Gamina, said, "Anything to build bridges
between our two nations. Your Highnesses."

Awari glanced at Nirome for a moment then said to
Eriand, "It is as my lord Nirome says, Eriand. Your
Kingdom has been growing steadily in power since the
time of your grandfather and with those Quegan pirates
properly chastised—"

"Quegan pirates?" interrupted Eriand.

Awari said, "I guess news has not been swift in reach-
ing you. A fleet of Quegan galleys had been raiding the
Free Cities and even being so bold as to raid some of
your coastal towns near Questor's View. Your father
ordered Admiral Bruhall's fleet to find and sink them.
He did."

Nirome chimed in. "A squadron of the raiders was
blown by squall past their own island and were inter-
cepted by a squadron of Imperial ships out of Durbin
and were also crushed."

At this, James and Eriand exchanged glances, and
Eriand heard Gamina's voice in his mind./owes is fasci-
nated by that.

Why? Aloud the Prince said, "Then the Bitter Sea
should be safe to travel for some time to come. Barring a
Uurbin pirate or two."

Awari smiled indulgently. "Some of our more distant
cities are difficult to control on that level, Eriand. If a
ships captain raids outside of Imperial waters . . ."He
snrugged, as if saying, what can we do? "It's easier to

284 Prince of the Blood

send the Inner Legion or an army of Dog Soldiers to
crush Durbin and hang the Governor than it is to re-
place a corrupt judge there, do you see?" The tone of
the question showed clearly it was rhetorical.

Then James's voice came to Eriand. This is intrigu-
ing. What was an "Imperial squadron" doing in
Durbin? Those pirates usually can't agree on anything,
let alone how to organize ten or more ships into a squad-
ron.

Gamina spoke to Nirome. "My lord, what are these
men doing?"

"These are men from Shing Lai, Dong Tai, and Tao
Zi, many villages and towns in the region, who in an-
cient times were known as the P6-Tao. They are no
longer warriors, but they still practice the ancient arts
and craft of war. These men are wall jumping."

As he spoke, the first man in line raced for the large
stone, then as he came within a stride of it, he sprung as
high as he could, placing his foot on the face and flip-
ping backwards, and landing on his feet. The crowd
cheered.

"Impressive," said James.

Awari said, "The object is to clear the stone. He was
just warming himself to the task."

James said, "That stone is how tall? Seven feet?"

"Yes," said Awari. "An adequate warrior will leap to
the top, touching the stone, then land on the other side.
A true warrior will clear the height without touching
the stone. In ancient days, this was training for their
soldiers, so they might jump.the protective walls of rival
villages."

"That is impressive," said Eriand.

Awari smiled. "They used to plant spears on both
sides of the wall stone, giving the contestants a bit more
motivation in making the jump clean. Anyway, as I was
saying, now that that nest of pirates up in Queg has
been slapped down, I'm hoping things will stay calm
along the northern borders. I don't mean to bother you
with the details of our domestic difficulties, but with my
mother's age . . ." He watched a moment as a strong-
looking man in a wooden demon's mask, with a spear in

Snares                  285

his left hand, leaped high over the stone to the roar of
the crowd. "... well, the situation in the heart of Kesh
is such that it would be to no one's advantage for there
to be any conflict between our two people. You are now
clearly our strongest neighbor, and from this time for-
ward, I hope our good friend."

Eriand said, "As long as I live, I hope that is so."

Awari said, "Good. Let's hope you live a long, full
span of years."

A flourish of trumpets announced the arrival of a
member of the royal family, and Eriand turned, hoping
it was Sharana. Instead, the Princess Sojiana entered
with her retinue, and Eriand could barely contain his
laugh of astonishment. Escorting the beautiful woman
to her place in the box next to the one he occupied with
Awari was Baron Locklear.

James's amusement came behind his thoughts, too.
Well, it seems that no barrier is insurmountable/or our
friend, doesn 't it?

It does appear that way, replied Eriand.

The Princess was the first to enter the box, and be-
hind her came Locklear, who couldn't resist tossing a
grin Eriand's way. Gamina's only reaction was to raise
one eyebrow and fix him with a look of disapproval.
Then her eyes widened a bit and she spoke to both
Eriand and James. Locky is putting on a charade.

What? asked Eriand.

He's trying to keep up appearances, but he's deeply
disturbed about something.

What is that? asked James.

He said he'll speak to us later, that right now he's
having difficulty concentrating. But he's saying one
thing now. He thinks Sojiana may have been behind the
attempt on Borric in Krondor.

Eriand nodded absently to some observation Lord
Nirome was making. To Gamina, and through her
James and Locklear, he said. Then that makes her a
prime candidate behind the raid that killed Borric.

As if she somehow overheard, the Princess turned
and regarded Eriand with a frankly appraising look, as if
trying to measure him against whatever reports her

286 Prince of the Blood

spies brought her from her daughter's garden, or as if
speculating as to his suitability for her own amusement.
But when she smiled at him, her beautiful face looked
nothing more to the Prince than mocking.

The festivities wore on, and while Keshian nobles
came and went at their leisure, Eriand remained. He
found himself concerned with things that a few months
before he hadn't dreamed of, and he wished he could
speak with his father.

The various exhibitions had followed a martial theme,
with warriors from distant corners of the Empire show-
ing their Empress and her court their finest young men.
The last exhibition was less a demonstration of martial
arts as much as it was a ritual. Two companies of war-
riors were competing in a contest, the origins of which
were lost in time. Two villages had been selected by the
Governor ofJandowae to present the Battle of Dragons.
Two large dragons, marvelously fashioned from rope,
tied in coils and knots to the actual size of the creature,
were carried upon the backs of hundreds of warriors.
The rival villagers were wearing cane and bone armor,
centuries old in design and nothing that would with-
stand modern iron weapons. Each man's helm was be-
decked in bright ribbons, one side red, the other blue,
and each rope dragon had a brightly carved mask on
the front of the same color. Upon the back of each of the
two dragons riders in ornate and brightly painted ar-
mor directed their companies. The two competing
groups would pick up the massive creatures, easily ten
feet in circumference at the widest part of the body,
behind the head, and run. They would run until they
reached the speed they felt was sufficient for their pur-
poses, then charge, bringing the dragons together in a
clash. The two rope monsters would then be furiously
pushed upward, the tension between them forcing
them higher and higher, until the riders were easily
fifty feet in the air. Then the large figures would fall to
the ground. Eventually, Eriand had been told, one of
the two riders would gain a height advantage over the

Snares                  287

other and seize the plume from his opponent's helm,
ending the contest.

Eriand found it strangely compelling. The two forces
had closed a half-dozen times, with one side or the other
feigning and dodging away before the first clash. They
had actually come in contact three times now, without
either rider getting the other's plume before being
forced to jump away and try again. Eriand was also
impressed on how the riders could make the jump,
from a height of twenty-five or so feet, in armor, and not
be hurt.

At last the contest ended, with the red side prevail-
ing, and the festivities were over for the afternoon.
After a recess for a long nap and refreshments, the
dinner festivities would commence. Eriand was think-
ing about sending a runner to the Princess, requesting a
repeat of the previous night's encounter, when
Gamina's voice came to him. James would like you to
dine with us this evening.

Eriand had gotten so used to the mind speech that he
almost answered aloud. He covered by feigning a
cough, then said, "Perhaps we should have a quiet meal
tonight, my lord Earl?"

James shrugged as if it was nothing important. "Well,
we've another fifty-eight days of festivities, so we should
marshal our resources. Perhaps that would be best, af-
ter all."

Kafi, who had been at his usual post, said, "Then,
Highness, I shall bid you good evening and return to my
quarters in the lower city. I shall return at dawn for
your pleasure."

"Thank you. Lord Abu Harez," said Eriand, with a
slight bow.

As Eriand's party returned to its quarters, nothing of
consequence was said, either aloud or by mind-speech.
Reaching the entrance to the wing they were housed
within, Eriand said, "I guess the Empress felt her time
was spent better elsewhere."

James shrugged and Gamina said, "It's a long festival
and she is elderly, Eriand. It may be wise for her only to

288 Prince of the Blood

attend those functions which are absolutely vital. Today
was not much different than a harvest festival, really."

"True—"

Further conversation was cut off by the appearance
of a soldier, dressed in trueblood fashion, but without
the colorful headdress. This one wore a very functional-
looking helm, and his sandals were -replaced with boots
and greaves. Upon his chest he wore a leather vest, and
a very well-tended sword hung from his belt. "My
lords," he said, without waiting for permission to speak.
"She Who Is Kesh commands your presence at once."

Eriand felt himself flush in surprise and irritation.
"Commands—?"

James put a restraining hand upon Eriand's shoulder,
preventing him from making any rash statement to the
guard. "We shall accompany you now," he said.

From Gamina Eriand heard, James said something
important must have occurred. He urges you to remain
quiet until we know what is happening.

Eriand remained silent as they left the guest wing
and made their way back past the amphitheater tunnel
entrance they had used, then on to the center palace. In
a few minutes they were joined by many armed nobles,
most looking grim and concerned.

When they entered the Empress's audience hall, the
vast central chamber of the palace, the full roster of
Lords and Masters was present in the upper gallery,
which surrounded the Empress's dais. Court officials
mobbed the floor below, leaving only a straight path to
the dais. It was down this path Eriand and his compan-
ions marched.

When they reached the foot of the dais, Eriand and
James bowed, while Gamina curtsied. Without pream-
ble, the Empress said, "Would His Highness care to tell
us why we just received word that your father is mar-
shalling his Armies of the West in the Vale of Dreams!"

Eriand felt his mouth open, then he shut it. He
glanced at James, whose expression of astonishment
matched his own. At last Eriand said, "Majesty, I have
no notion of what you are saying."

Throwing down a crumpled parchment, the woman

Snares                  289

who controlled the most important Empire in the
world nearly screamed in frustration. She said, "For
reasons beyond my wisdom to understand, your father
is holding this court personally responsible in the mat-
ter of your brother's death. Not content to assume the
role of monarch, and to negotiate some sort of indem-
nity, he instead takes the role of bereaved father, and
orders his vassals into the field. Your uncle Martin and
his garrisons from Crydee, Tulan, and Carse have just
landed on the shores southeast of Shamata. Five thou-
sand Royal Krondorian Lancers join them, and our re-
ports tell us another ten thousand foot from the
garrisons of Sarth, Questor's View, Ylith, and Yabon
march south, and full three thousand Tsurani from
LaMut march with them. Elements of the garrisons at
Darkmoor and Malac's Cross also are on the march. Will
you please tell me what. thirty thousand Isles soldiers
are doing massing on our borders if this is not a prelude
to invasion!"

Eriand could not believe what he was hearing. James
stepped forward and said, "If Your Imperial Majesty will
permit—"

"I will permit nothing!" shouted the old woman. Her
rage was fully unleashed. "The fool is mourning one
son, yet apparently forgets that I hold another here as a
guarantee against Arutha's good behavior."

Gaining control over her rage, the Empress said,
"Get to your quarters, sirs and madam. See to those
messages you need write tonight. Send them with all
haste to the border and pray your father and Prince has
learned to control himself. Or by the gods, he'll mourn
another son should one Isleman cross into Kesh with
violence toward my people in his heart. Is that clear?"

"Very clear, Your Majesty," answered Jimmy.

Half-pulling Eriand along, he led him out of the
court. Along the entire route from the dais to the front
door, the glare of eyes upon them was near palpable,
and there was nothing of kindness in anyone's stare.
They were as isolated and alone as was imaginable.

At the entrance to the royal court, a company of
Household Guards waited to escort them back to their

290 Prince of the Blood

own quarters. As they moved back through the gigantic
palace, Eriand sent his words to James via Gamina.
What are we now? Prisoners or guests?

From James came. We are both. We are hostages.

As the party from Isles was escorted back to their
quarters, Kafi Abu Harez and Lord Nirome joined
them. Kafi said, "Highness, lord and lady, I have been
given an apartment for the evening at th&base of the
upper city, just a few yards from one of the many en-
trances. I will be awaiting your call should you have any
need of me."

Eriand nodded absently as he tried to imagine what
could possibly bring his father to this incredible deci-
sion. Even if Arutha didn't have some personal experi-
ence with Kesh, as Eriand had, he read the intelligence
personally, rather than simply leaving it to Gardan and
James to advise him. He knew the scope of Kesh's
power should she bring it to bear upon the Kingdom.
The Kingdom's independence from Kesh had always
rested upon one point: Kesh couldn't afford the losses
she would endure to invade a nation a third her own
size. And the mauling the Kingdom would inflict upon
Kesh to enjoy whatever brief victory she might enjoy
would make her vulnerable in turn to revolt by the
Confederacy, or attack from the Eastern Kingdoms.

But never for a moment did Kesh live in fear of mili-
tary adventure from the Kingdom. An occasional bor-
der clash over the lands in the rich Vale of Dreams had
certainly become commonplace in the history of the
two nations, but only once did Kesh seek to annex King-
dom lands, when Imperial forces attempted to occupy
the narrow strip of land north of the Peaks of Tranquil-
lity between Deep Taunton and the eastern point
where the mountains met the sea. Then an army under
the command of Guy du Bas-Tyra had crushed the Im-
perial forces at Deep Taunton, ending all Kesh's at-
tempts to capture a port on the Kingdom Sea.

Since that time, no confrontation of major proportion
had occurred. But the specter of the Kingdom invading
the Empire was never imagined, for if the consequences
of invading the Kingdom would be ruinous to Kesh, the

Snares                  291

Kingdom's consequences for invading the Empire
would be even more disastrous.

Drawing his attention to the present, Eriand became
aware of Nirome's having said something. "Forgive me,
my lord, my mind was elsewhere. What did you say?"

"I said. Highness, that you will certainly wish to send
messages to your father at once. I shall have dispatch
riders ready to leave at your convenience."

"Thank you," said Eriand.

James said, "My lord, if you could provide me with a
copy of your latest reports upon this feared invasion, I
would be thankful."

"I'll see what I may do, m'lord. But Aber Bukar might
consider this a sore issue. You are, after all, hostile aliens
now."

James controlled his urge to say something nasty and
merely smiled. "Thank you."

From Gamina Eriand heard, James says there is some-
thing terribly wrong here.

Of course there is, replied Eriand.

They reached the wing of the palace where their own
quarters were and saw that the passages between the
rooms given over to the Prince and his party were at
least without guards between the entrances. "At least
we can visit one another," observed Eriand.

"Yes," answered James. "Now, the question of the
moment is where is Locklear?"

With bitter humor, Eriand spoke, as he accompanied
James and Gamina into their own quarters. "Even
money says he is once again entertaining the Princess
Sojiana."

Not willing to risk speaking, James sent, I'm con-
cerned about him. He has never reacted to a woman like
he showed us today. Something in this has him worried,
and he doesn 't worry easily. I think we should wait
until he joins us to decide what to do next.

Eriand nodded agreement, without speaking. To
Gamma he sent, Are we being watched again?

Gamina glanced around, then said. The magic device
is upon us once again.

They sat in the receiving room and James signaled for

292 Prince of the Blood

the servants to place some refreshments upon a nearby
table and leave them in privacy. When they were gone,
James poured all three of them wine.

See if you can determine who is controlling it, said
James, and Eriand knew that Gamina had established
the odd three-way mind-link. It was something she did
only when she could sit and not speak, as the strain was
too great otherwise. Most of the time in public she sim-
ply relayed messages.

Gamina closed her eyes as if she had a headache,
fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, then after a
moment she said. It's no one I know by thought pat-
terns. It's difficult to say without risking being detected.
I can only eavesdrop a few moments without being
sensed by whoever is there.

Where are they?

Nearby, she answered. In a complex of rooms on the
other side of the garden that opens on to your rooms is
the most likely place, Eriand.

Eriand nodded. "I think after a bit I'll retire. This has
been a most distressing day."

"Yes," agreed James. So what do you think of this
invasion?

Aloud, so that any eavesdroppers might hear him, he
said, "This invasion is clearly nonsense."

James raised one eyebrow, but followed Eriand's
lead. "I think so, too, but what is your reasoning?"

"Father would never let anything, especially per-
sonal grief or anger, lead him to make so rash and de-
structive a decision."

That's my thinking, too, sent James. Aloud he said,
"Then what are the alternatives?"

"Two possibilities—one, that the Empress's intelli-
gence is false, that someone is sending fabricated re-
ports of a massive Kingdom buildup along the border to
cause just this sort of disruption. Or that father is not
massing the Armies of the West to invade, but to
counter a feared invasion from Kesh."

James glanced at Eriand with a momentary pride in
the youngster's reason, then said, "Those are the two
obvious choices." Silently he said, You realize, of course,

Snares                  293

the significance of the second choice, if that is the cor-
rect one?

What? asked Eriand.

It means our courier system, and more, our intelli-
gence system here in Kesh, has been compromised.

Of course, said Eriand, his knuckles whitening as he
gripped the arm of his chair. If the system has been
compromised, then any intelligence we've gotten from
any of our sources here is suspect. Nothing we have been
told since before we left on this journey is trustworthy.

James sighed aloud at that. Then to cover for those
listening, he said, "Sorry, Highness. That was rude. I'm

tired."

Eriand said, "Think nothing of it."

But that means we are completely on our own, said
James. We can't even see if the alleged staging of
soldiers is true or false.

Gamina stretched theatrically, saying, "Perhaps we'll
be a little more intelligent if we turn in."

Time to do some work on our own, said James.

Eriand's look was questioning. What do you have in
mind?

It's been years since I've had to run the roofs of the
palace looking for murderers, but I've not forgotten
how to climb.

Eriand grinned, the first genuinely amused expres-
sion out of him for days. Jimmy the Hand is coming out
of retirement.

Something like that. I want to see who is listening in
on us, and I can best do that alone.

Standing, Eriand said, "I think I shall send a note to
Sharana. Perhaps she can intercede with her grand-
mother. She must know that we harbor no ill will to-
ward her nation."

James nodded. "Good. I'm going to set pen to parch-
ment and send dispatches to Shamata, to ascertain just
what is occurring up there."

Eriand bowed to Gamina. "My lady, I trust your
headache is passed by morning."

"I'm certain it will be. Highness."

Eriand quickly made his way to his own quarters and

294 Prince of the Blood

discovered he had no need to send a message for
Sharana, as the Princess lay waiting upon his bed. Her
court garments, the white kilt and vest, and her jewelry
were piled neatly upon an ottoman at the foot of the
bed. Smiling at Eriand, she patted the cushion next to
her, saying, "I was certain you were going to be in
council with your people all night long."

Eriand tried to smile, but it was a weak effort. "I
appreciate your desire to spend time with me, Sharana,
but can we speak about this mess?"

"As soon as you get in here," she said with a pout

Eriand motioned for the servants to wait outside and
disrobed. He parted the hangings around the bed and
lay down next to the Princess. She said, "I was hoping
we might have this night to ourselves."

"Of course, but—"

She put her fingers upon his lips, then kissed him,
long and lingeringly. "We can talk later. I don't want to
be deprived of you one moment longer."

Eriand knew there were important issues to be dis-
cussed, but quickly he found himself agreeing with the
Princess. . . . They could be discussed more calmly
later.

Chapter Sixteen

Stalking

Borric watched the fireworks.

From the open front of the inn, he, Ghuda, and Nakor
had a fairly good field of view, as most of the crowd was
on the other side of the plaza, which opened on the vast
Imperial amphitheater. Colorful displays of fireworks
filled the night sky, to the astonishment of the crowd.
Ghuda was lost in his own dark thoughts and Nakor
watched the show with the rapt attention and open
delight of a child. Borric had to admit it was far and
away the most impressive he had seen, far surpassing
even the best the King's Master of Ceremonies had to
offer in Rillanon.

Suli appeared and slid onto the bench next to Borric,
picking up the cup of ale waiting for him. One thing the
boy could do better than any of them was get informa-
tion; he might be a poor thief, but Suli was an excep-
tional beggar, which meant he was halfway to being a
rumormonger.

"There is something strange happening, master," he
whispered.

At this Ghuda's attention was caught. The mercenary
had been in a foul mood since the abortive attempt to
gain the help of the local thieves. He was now con-
vinced that two groups, the Imperial Guards and the
thieves, were actively searching for them, and their
lives would be measured in minutes, hours at best. He
had resigned himself to dying without seeing a single
copper of the money Borric had promised him, let
alone having the opportunity to enjoy spending it.

^What's happening?" he asked.
There are many important people coming and go-
ing in the palace tonight, beyond what is normal for
even festival times. And men on horseback, wearing the

296 Prince of the Blood

badges of post riders, hasten to and from the upper city.
Many guards race from one place to another, while
others do nothing. It's as if something big is happening,
like a war or revolt or sudden disease. But there's no
hint of what it might be from the places you would hear
of such a thing, the caravan drivers and boatmen, there
is no talk of trouble in the inns and whorehouses. And
there are the very odd comings and goings of servants
in the palace."

Something struck Borric. "What do you mean by 'odd
comings and goings of servants in the palace'?"

Suli shrugged. "As best as I can understand it, master,
the servants who are not trueblood are gone from the
palace after the evening meal, usually before midnight.
But for some reason many are heading back into the
palace from the Lower City. And fires can be seen in
the cook-buildings, as if a great deal of food is being
prepared for many hundreds of people. Those who
would be cooking the morning meal would not usually
undertake to do so for another seven hours."

Borric considered this in light of what he had been
taught about Keshian politics, which while not exten-
sive still contained one fact which fit in. "There are
several hundred members of the Gallery of Lords and
Masters in the city. Those not trueblood are being
called to an emergency council. The food is to keep
them from getting hungry during deliberations. With
their retinue, many thousands of people are upon the
plateau who normally wouldn't be there at this hour."
He thought about what this might mean. "How do they
enter this upper city? Up that long road?"

Suli shrugged. "I can find out." He slipped out of his
seat and headed back into the plaza, which was filling
up with citizens now that the festivities were over. Usu-
ally, most shops would be closed by this hour, just two
hours before midnight, but the presence of the throng
of celebrants had caused many of the businesses besides
ale shops, wine sellers, inns, and brothels to remain
open. Borric found it a little odd. The crowd was the
match of anything he had ever seen in Krondor at high
noon, yet it was four hours after sundown.

Stalking                  297

Ghuda said, "What insanity are you thinking of now,
Madman?"

Borric said, "It depends on what Suli discovers. I'll
tell you when he returns. Just keep an eye open for any
of those thugs we lost in the alley last night."

Ghuda said, "Knowing the Imperial Guards, any of
the people in that brothel who survived the raid are
probably in cells right now while the city watch com-
mander decides what to charge them with so he can sell
them on the slave block. Imperial justice is fair: it pun-
ishes everyone equally, regardless of guilt or inno-
cence."

Time seemed to drag for the twenty minutes Suli was
gone. When he at last returned, Suli looked puzzled.
"It's odd, master, but it seems every entrance to the
upper city is open, so that those who need to return may
do so by the quickest route."

Borric's eyes narrowed. "That many entrances? What
about guards?"

Suli shrugged. "There weren't any at the four or five
entrances I saw, master."

Borric rose and put on the black leather gloves that
were part of his disguise. Overnight he had undergone
his third metamorphosis in the last week, thanks to
Nakor's bag and what was left of the money made from
selling Imperial horses. Now his short white hair was
once again dark, a brown with hints of red, and he wore
black armor and a black cloak. At casual glance he
looked like an Imperial Guard of the Inner Legion.
Upon closer examination, he would be another name-
less mercenary, in the city for the celebration. Suli wore
the same desertman's garb and Nakor had put on a blue
robe, which was slightly less faded and stained than the
two he had worn before.

Ghuda had resisted any attempt to get him to change
his armor and clothing, counting it as useless in the face
of certain destruction. He had bought a new red tunic
more to halt Borric's nagging than out of any real belief
it would help them avoid eventual capture by either the
thieves or the Imperial Guards looking for Borric.

When they were all standing, Borric turned and

298 Prince of the Blood

made his way across the plaza. Wending their way
through the crowd, they reached the boulevard, which
was still roped off and guarded to prevent the denizens
of the lower city from entering the street, which would
again be used the next day for the morning procession.
Borric peered across the now empty boulevard and saw
dozens of buildings with lights burning'. Many had their
doors open wide. A man hurried across the street, and a
guardsman moved to intercept him. They spoke briefly
and then he waved the man on. The man continued
toward a door which he entered.

Suli said, "Those buildings built into the face of the
plateau are actually part of the palace itself, housing the
lowest of the trueblood, but still trueblood. And many of
those apartments have tunnels up to the higher levels."

Borric glanced around, seeing several more guards
stopping those attempting to cross the street. "There's a
little too much activity around this street. Let's find
another way."

As Ghuda followed the Prince he said, "Another way
what?"

"You'll see," answered Borric.

"That's what I was afraid you would say," Ghuda an-
swered.

Borric followed the edge of the boulevard as it bor-
dered the gigantic plateau that put this quarter of the
city into dusk a few hours after noon. Where another
large street intersected, Borric saw what he was looking
for. "There!" he said, indicating with a motion of his
head.

"What?" said Ghuda.

"Over in the far corner, warrior," answered Nakor.
"Can you not see?"

In the far corner, a large open passageway into the
plateau could be seen, with no guards in sight but with
several servants hurrying through. Borric glanced in
both directions, and ducked under the rope. He hurried
across the street, expecting someone to shout, but his
dark armor must have convinced the other soldiers a
half-block away that he was one of them. His compan-


Stalking                  299

ions were only a step behind, so it looked as if he es-
corted them;

Entering the large doorway, they saw a ramp leading
upward into the dark, with torches spaced along the
walls every hundred feet or so. Ghuda said, "Now what

are we doing?"
"We are walking into the palace, answered the

P'rinc*6

"And how do we do that?" asked Ghuda.

"I feel like an idiot for not thinking of this sooner. Just
follow me and whatever else you do, look as if you know
exactly where we're going. One thing I know about is
palaces and their servants. Servants don't want to know
anything. That includes those guards put on duty
throughout."

He glanced in a side passage about a story above
where they entered and saw nothing. "When you are
where you don't belong, you gawk about, looking this
way and that, and you stand with shoulders round, and
to anyone who does belong, you look out of place. If you
walk with eyes forward, erect, and purposefully, ser-
vants and guards assume you know where you are go-
ing. They are not about to stop you and interrogate you,
for fear of their instinct about you being correct; they
don't want to be punished for interfering with someone
who is where he is supposed to be.

"It's officers and lower-level officials you have to be
cautious of. The officers are likely to halt anyone they
don't recognize—though with the influx of several
thousand strangers, that's unlikely. What could get us
caught would be a minor official, full of himself, who is
anxious to prove he's somebody important."

Ghuda said, "Sounds good. Madman. But then so did
your idea about contacting the thieves."

Borric halted. "Look, I'm here, and if you're so fearful
of your life, now, after all we've been through, why
don't you head back?"

Ghuda seemed to think upon it for only an instant.
"I've got both the Imperial Inner Legion and the
thieves of Kesh looking to put me in a very deep hole,
thanks to you. Madman. I'm as good as a walking corpse.

300 Prince of the Blood

So, I can go back and wait for someone to recognize me,
or get caught here. But there's always the chance the
impossible is happening and you're finally doing some-
thing right, in which case I might survive and get my
money. That's why I'm still here."

Borric glanced back along the tunnel as the echo of
distant footfalls came toward them; "Suli? Do you want
to leave now?"

The boy was frightened, but shook his head no. "You
are my master and I am your servant. I will go with
you."

Borric put his hand upon the boy's shoulder a mo-
ment, then looked at Nakor. "And what about you, wiz-
ard?"

Nakor's grin widened. "Fun."

Ghuda looked heavenward and mouthed the word
"fun," but said nothing aloud as Borric signaled they
should continue up the passage.

Borric had never seen anything to compare with the
palace of the Empress. As big as a large town, the traffic
in the broad corridors was not that much less than a
busy city boulevard on trading day. The hurrying
stream of people down nearly every corridor they
passed helped them avoid detection. So far, Borric's
assertion that if they but looked the part of people who
belonged there no one would challenge them had
proven correct.

The problem proved to be that none of them had a
hint as to where they were going. To ask directions was
to risk discovery, for anyone who was there by rights
would certainly know where he was bound.

They had been in the palace over an hour now. It was
getting close to midnight and while the Keshian busi-
ness day had ended only a couple of hours earlier, it was
well past the time when most honest citizens were in
bed.

Borric led them toward an area which seemed less
congested, then down a side passage toward what ap-
peared to be private quarters. Expecting any moment
to be challenged, he was relieved when they turned

Stalking                  301

into a small garden, presently deserted. Ghuda knelt at
the edge of a large fountain and drank. Sighing, he
looked up and said, "What now?"

Borric sat down on the edge of the fountain and said,
"I think I need to scout around, but not until things
have quieted down a little." He removed his cloak and
his leather armor, saying, "And if I'm going to move
around the way I want, this is going to have to stay
here." He glanced around the garden, noting a stand of
deep shrubs and ferns which bordered one wall. "If you
hide over there, you'll only be noticed if someone
comes looking for you."

Ghuda was about to reply when a gong reverberated
in the distance. "What was that?"

Within a few seconds, another sounded, then an-
other. Suddenly gongs were ringing close by and the
sound of people running down the hall could be heard.
Grabbing his armor, Borric raced for the hedge and
half-dove into it. Hunkering down with his companions,
he said, "Damn! I wonder if they're looking for us?"

Peering through the sheltering hedge, Ghuda said, "I
don't know, but if they start combing this little patch,
we're found. There's only that one exit."

Borric nodded. "We'll wait."

Eriand and Sharana both came awake instantly when
the gongs began to ring. They hadn't really been asleep,
but rather were lost in a soft, warm doze that came
quickly after their lovemaking. Despite her soft appear-
ance, the girl was young, healthy, and fit, and chal-
lenged Eriand, leaving him exhausted when they were
done. But it was a wonderful exhaustion and he could
not imagine anything he would wish for more than to
have it last for a very long time.

But her reaction to the sound of the gongs banished
that mood in an instant. "What is it?" he asked.

Sharana leaped out of the bed, the servants drawing
aside the curtains for her, and said, "Court dress!"

As Eriand fumbled to recover his own clothing, the
servants had the Princess's kilt and vest for her in mo-
ments. As she fastened the clasp which bound her kilt,

302 Prince of the Blood

she said, "It's an alarm. It's a command to seal the uppci
city. It means that something is very wrong."

Eriand hurriedly finished dressing, and when he was
done, they both left the garden and entered his quar-
ters. A mixed company of trueblood court guards and
men in the black of the Inner Legions waited for her
They bowed and the officer in command-said, "Your
Highness. Your servants informed us you were here
when we called at your quarters. The Empress com-
mands us to bring you to her."

Sharana nodded, and as Eriand moved to come with
her, one of the black-armored legionaries said, "We
have no orders regarding this one, Highness."

Sharana spun and almost spat as she said, "This one'"
Pointing at Eriand she said, "He is the Heir to the
throne of Isles! He is royalty!" Her voice was powerful,
commanding, and her face flushed with rage. She al-
most screamed at the man when she shouted, "You will
address him as you would my uncle, for he is Awari'h
equal in rank! That is -my command!"

Eriand was astonished at the anger in the girl's reac-
tion to the slight, and the ferocity with which she ex-
pressed it. He half-expected her to order the man to
abase himself, but instead she simply motioned for the
company to depart.

Eriand noticed the officer was pale and perspiring
and felt no envy for him this night. But as they rounded
the corner, Sharana's voice was once again honey and
wine as she said, "I suppose it may be something to do
with this unfortunate business of your father's army. I
doubt it could be anything really dangerous. Not in the
upper city."

Eriand tried to reconcile the sweet and smiling girl
who walked beside him now to the shouting one who
had dressed down an officer only a moment before, and
he couldn't.

They entered the wing of the palace that contained
the Court of Light, the formal hall of governing. Eriand
had not been inside it before, even when called before
the Empress. Always before, they had met in the Em-
press's audience hall.

Stalking                  303

But now he entered the seat of Kesh's government,
,u place where darkness never intruded, for the hall
was constructed with a thousand chandeliers, each with
a score of large candles. Light bathed the room. As
bright as day, the hall was almost devoid of shadows, for
where sunlight came from only one direction, here
light came from twenty thousand sources. Even as the
business of the court continued, teams of workers low-
ered chandeliers and replaced guttering candles almost
spent, for never was darkness allowed in the Court of

Light

Down the long entranceway they hurried, past as-
sembled court officials and Imperial Legion officers. At
the foremost of the crowd stood the general staff officers
of Aber Bukar's Dog Legions. Upon a throne leafed
over in gold sat the Empress, resting on cushions made
from material of woven gold thread.

Around her on rising seats, tier after tier climbing
upward in a semicircle, sat the assembled rulers of Kesh
in their Gallery of Lords and Masters. And even as Er-
iand approached the throne, more were entering the
hall, hurrying to their places.

The room was humming with quiet conversation and
it took no seer to sense the tone of the meeting was
fearful. Something terrible had occurred and the room
echoed with the most apprehensive speculation.

When Sharana and Eriand reached the foot of the
dais, the Empress's Master of Ceremonies struck the
ground with the iron-clad butt of his giant staff.
The falcon that adorned the top of the staff seemed
ready to launch itself from the disc of the sun it held in
its claws.

"Attend, all ye! She is come! She is come! She Who Is
Kesh now sits in judgment!"

Instantly a hush fell over the room. The Empress
motioned for Sharana to come up the twelve steps to
the top of the dais and the girl did so, a clear look of
uncertainty upon her face. This was an unprecedented
act, for in the tradition of the Empire, none mounts the
Imperial dais save the Empress's Master of Ceremonies,
and then he remains a step below, ready to pass up to

304 Prince of the Blood

She Who Is Kesh any documents she might need to
peruse. But now she hesitated at the last step, and again
her grandmother beckoned Sharana to come to her.
When the girl reached her grandmother, she fell to
her knees. Lakeisha, Empress of Great Kesh, gathered
her granddaughter into her arms and began to cry. The
chamber fell to utter silence at the spectacle, as nothing
like it had been witnessed by any in attendance.

At last the old woman released her confused and dis-
tressed granddaughter and stood. Breathing deeph to
regain control, the Empress cried out, "Let it be known
that murder has been done in my house!" Tears came to
her weathered face again, but her voice remained
strong. "My daughter is dead."

There was a collective gasp from the audience. Sev-
eral members of the Gallery of Lords and Masters
looked at one another, seeking some sign that they had
not heard this. "Yes," cried the Empress, "Sojiana has
been taken from me. She who was to follow after me is
now taken from the light." Then Lakeisha's voice
turned angry. "We have been betrayed! We have wel-
comed into this house one who has betrayed us, who is
serving those who would seek to bring us low!"

Eriand watched from the floor of the hall, and seeing
the Empress's eyes fall upon him, glanced about looking
for his companions. James and Gamina were standing
well to the rear of the vast hall, obviously under guard.
Gamma's voice came to him. James says to remain silent
no matter what. He thinks we have been made—

Before she could finish the Empress screamed, "Po-
land! Prince of the House of conDoin, have you come
into this nation to do naught but evil?"

Eriand took a breath before speaking, and in a clear,
calm voice said, "Make your meaning clear, Lakeisha."

The familiar use of her name was not lost on the
Keshian nobles. Eriand was asserting his rank as Heir to
the Throne of Isles. He knew that whatever happened,
he was assured some protection by his rank and the
tradition of diplomatic immunity.

Glaring down at Eriand, the Empress said, "You know
my meaning clearly enough, child of woe. My daughter

Stalking                  305

Soiiana she who would have followed me in ruling
Kesh lies dead in her chamber, as you well know. Dead
at the hands of your countryman."

Eriand again glanced around the room, but even as
he failed to find the face he looked for, he heard the
Empress's voice say, "My daughter was murdered by
the man you brought to our house, and if it can be
shown he did so at your order, your rank and position
will mean nothing."

Almost a whisper, Eriand said, "Locklear."

"Yes," shouted the Empress. "Baron Locklear has fled
into the night after doing his bloody work. The palace is
sealed and the search begins. And when he has been
brought before us, we will at last know the truth of this.
Now, get you from my sight; I've had enough of the
men of Isles for this life."

Eriand stiffly turned and walked out of the chamber,
and as he crossed the portal, James and Gamina fell into
step behind him, surrounded by guards. Not a word was
said until they reached the apartments given over for
James and Gamina's use. Eriand turned and com-
manded the guard Captain, "Leave us." When the man
hesitated, Eriand stepped forward and shouted, "Leave
us, now!"

The Captain bowed and said, "M'lord," and ordered
his men outside.

Eriand turned to Gamina and silently said. Can you
find Locky?

Gamina answered, I can try. She closed her eyes and
was motionless for a while, then her eyes opened wide
in astonishment and she said aloud, "Borric!"

Eriand said, "What!"

Forcing herself to mind-speech, she said. For a mo-
ment . . . just a moment, I thought . . . There was a
silence, then she continued, / don't know what that
was. For an instant I detected a pattern that was famil-
iar, then just as I recognized it . . . as I thought I rec-
ognized it . . . it vanished.

Vanished? asked James.

It must have been a magician. Only a magician could
have shielded his thoughts from me that quickly and

306 Prince of the Blood

absolutely. With a note of sadness, she said. It could,i 'f
have been Borric, not here in the palace. I'm tired and
worried. I must have just sensed something familiar in
the pattern and jumped to the wrong conclusion before
I was certain. I'll keep seeking for Locklear.

The two men went to a divan and sat, watching as
Gamina stood motionless, eyes closed as she sent her
mind questing through the vast palace, looking for the
familiar mental pattern that was Locklear's. Eriand
moved close to James so he could speak in confidence
while leaving Gamina undisturbed. "Did you find any-
thing earlier?" he asked, referring to James's intention
to sneak out and scout around the palace.

"Nothing. There's too much ground to cover," James
whispered. "It took me the better part of a month to
discover most of the secret passages in your father's
palace and that's one tenth the size of this one."

Eriand sighed. "I thought you might . . . find some-
thing."

James shared his disappointment. "So did I."

They hardly spoke as they waited for Gamina to finish
her search. After nearly a half hour, she opened her
eyes. "Nothing," she said quietly.

"No sign of him," said Eriand aloud.

No, she answered. He's not in the palace. Anywhere.

Sitting back against heavy cushions, Eriand said, "I
think there's nothing more we can do tonight but wait."
He rose and without another word left James and
Gamina.

Borric almost jumped from behind the bushes. "What
—" he began, but Ghuda yanked him back down before
the guards in the entrance noticed. About five minutes
after the alarm bell rang, guards began passing the
doorway, all hurrying in one direction. There were both
the white-kilted truebloods of the Palace Guards and
the black-armored members of the Inner Legion. Bor-
ric's only thought was that someone had at last grown
suspicious about the odd-looking group wandering
through the palace unescorted.

Ghuda said, "What are you trying to do?"

Stalking                  307

Borric whispered back, "I thought I heard someone

speaking behind me for a moment."
Nakor grinned. "There was some magic."
"What?" asked Ghuda and Borric simultaneously.
"Some magic. Someone was searching the area. They

reacted for a brief instant when they touched your

Borric blinked in confusion. "How do you know this?"

Nakor ignored the question. "But I fixed it. They can't
find you now."

Borric was about to pursue the issue when another
group of guards in the black of the Inner Legion en-
tered the garden and began methodically searching
among the hedges and bushes. Ghuda slowly and me-
thodically pulled his sword from over his shoulder,
ready to leap at the first guard who parted the brush
behind which they crouched. When the guards were
nearly upon them, Nakor leaped up and shouted, "Ye-
ah!"

The closest guard nearly fell over backwards in shock
at the sight of this strange, scrawny madman leaping
out at him. Then Nakor did a little dance and suddenly a
dozen guards were rushing him.

Borric's eyes widened in disbelief as a repeat of the
scene he had witnessed the first time he had seen the
diminutive wizard was repeated, for no matter how
close it seemed someone was to Nakor, the wily little
man eluded his grasp. First one guard, then another,
would almost close upon him, only to see the spry
Isalani leap nimbly away, laughing maniacally the en-
tire time. Twice he ducked under the encircling arms of
one man, tripping another, and darting past a third,
before anyone knew what was occurring. As arms
sought to encircle him, he hit the ground rolling, and as
guards dived to tackle him, he leaped into the air.
Whenever a grasping hand sought to close upon him, it
found only emptiness. And the hooting, gibbering
sounds he made only drove the guards to try harder,
taunting them into acting rashly.

Finally a Sergeant of the guard bellowed orders and
the legionaries spread out to surround Nakor. The little

308 Prince of the Blood

man reached into his rucksack and pulled out a small
object, about the size of a walnut. As the guardsmen
rushed him, he threw it at the ground.

When the device struck the ground, a blinding white
light burst forth for an instant, followed by a cloud of
white smoke, accompanied by the same nasty sulphur
smell Borric had experienced in the Jail at Jeeloge
Blinking, confused guardsmen stood around a moment,
then discovered that Nakor wasn't in the center of the
circle anymore. A wicked laugh caused them to turn as
one and there stood the Isalani before the hallway door
Whistling shrilly, he motioned for the guardsmen to
follow and ran off toward the center of the palace.
Ghuda said, "How did he do that?"
Suli whispered, "He must truly be a magician."
Borric stood up. "They'll be back when that Sergeant
remembers there were others and they hadn't finished
searching this garden. We have to find another place to
hide and quickly. Come on."

Ghuda snorted in derision. "One place is much the
same as another to die, Madman."

Borric looked back at the mercenary for a long mo-
ment, then coolly said, "The object of the exercise is nr/
to die, Ghuda."

Ghuda shrugged. "I can't argue that. Where now?'
Borric glanced into the hall door and said, "In the
opposite direction from where all those guards were
heading. If we can circle behind into the area they've
already searched, we can buy some time."

He didn't wait for further comment but simph
walked into the hall calmly, as if he knew exactly what
he was doing. Silently, he wished he did.

Eriand sat alone brooding. Nothing was making
sense. The events of the past two days were so improba-
ble that he couldn't for a moment believe the Empress
actually thought he had come into her palace to cause
this havoc. There was no motive, no reason, and no
explanation, save the obvious one. Whoever had tried
to ferment war between the Kingdom and the Empire
was actively attempting it again and seemed bent on

Stalking                  309

speeding things along. The only suggestion that offered
itself was that whoever the architect of this plot was, he
wished to provoke the confrontation while every possi-
ble suspect in the Empire was in the city for the Jubilee.

Eriand wished he knew more intimately the names of
those who would wish this madness on two nations, for
he would gladly have delivered him—or her, he
amended; the women in court were as dangerous as the
men—trussed like a game bird to the Empress. He con-
sidered trying to get a note to Sharana, reassuring her
that he had absolutely nothing to do with this violence
against her mother.

Then he thought better of it. Even if he had plunged
in the knife or put poison in Sojiana's cup himself, he
would proclaim his innocence. Then a thought struck
him: how was the Princess Sojiana murdered? And if
Locklear was under suspicion, where was he? It was not
as if he was a thief in the night; he was a peer of the
Kingdom, a Baron of the Prince of Krondor's court.
Even should some conflict arise, some argument—even
the most heated—Locklear would not harm a woman.

Eriand knew Locklear was being made the scape-
goat, but how to prove it?

Lady Miya entered the quarters and bowed slightly.
"Eriand," she said softly, "the Empress has ordered that
you be confined to these quarters."

Eriand sat upright, anger suffusing him. "How dare
she! Even she would not jeopardize the tradition of
diplomatic immunity."

Miya came to sit next to the Prince. "She's lost her
daughter. Her advisors are cautioning her that if she
harms you or any of your party without leave of your
King, she risks reprisals, and no Ambassador will dare
enter the borders of Kesh again." The woman sighed
and put her arm around Eriand's shoulders. "She'll
change her mind in a day or two, I'm certain. Until
then, you're free to visit your friends in the other part of
this wing, but you can't leave this area without guards
and then only to return to the Empress's court should
she desire to see you again."

Eriand said, "How was the Princess murdered?"

310 Prince of the Blood

Miya's eyes brimmed but she kept from crying as she
said, "Her neck was broken."

Eriand's eyes narrowed. "Broken? In a fall of some
sort?"

The woman shook her head. "No. There were bruise'
around her throat. Someone snapped her neck."

Eriand said, "Miya, this is important. Lockleal
couldn't have killed your cousin."

Miya studied the Prince's face for a moment, then
said, "How can you be certain?"

"Locklear's not the kind of man who would harm a
woman, even if he had cause, save to defend himself
But look, even if something ..." Eriand fumbled foi
words. "Even if something caused him to act . . . un
like himself ... he wouldn't have throttled Sojiana
He's a bladesman, and he'd have used his sword or
dagger. He's a skilled fighting man but lacks the brute
strength to break a neck. The Princess was not a petite
woman. And if she's like her daughter, there's strength
under that soft skin."

Miya nodded. "Sojiana was stronger than she looked
All ... all of my relatives from the Empress's side of
the family are like that. They look soft, but they're not.'
She was quiet for a moment, then said, "But if Locklea
didn't kill her, who did? And why isn't Locklear here^'

Eriand said, "Those two answers are the same, I fear
And if I'm correct about what has happened, ther
Locklear is in danger ... if he isn't already dead "

Miya said, "I think I know someone who can help '

"Who?"

"Lord Nirome. He's always willing to listen to reason
And with Sojiana dead, the strain in the Gallery of Lord'
and Masters will be even greater, for while most woulc
have accepted Sojiana as the next Empress, many o
those will not accept someone as young as Sharana
Nirome will be anxious to reduce the strain in the court
and finding the Princess's murderer will more than
likely do that faster than anything else."

"I wonder . . ." said Eriand, as he considered some
thing. "Who stands with Awari?"

"Lord Ravi and the others who fear the matriarchy

Stalking                  311

Rut many who were supporters of Sojiana simply be-
cause she was eldest will now flock to Awari's cause. I
can't think of any reason he would not inherit."

Eriand said, "See if you can get Nirome to call. We
must halt this madness before it spills over into more

The girl ran off and Eriand sat back. Closing his eyes,
he tried to picture Gamina's face and he attempted to
send his thoughts to her. After a minute, her voice came
into his mind. Yes, Eriand, what is it?

Would you and James please come to my quarters. I
think I was premature in planning on sleep. There are
some things we need to discuss.

There was a moment of silence, then Gamina said,
We're on our way.

Chapter Seventeen
Traps

Borric glanced around the corner.

Seeing no movement in the shadows, he motioned for
his companions to follow after him. For the better part
of an hour they'd been hiding from various companies
of guards intent on finding the intruders. OfNakor they
had seen nothing since he led the first party of Inner
Legionaries away. A half-dozen times since then they
had barely managed to avoid search parties.

Ghuda put his hand on Borric's shoulder. "We're get-
ting nowhere fast," he whispered. "I think we've got to
grab a servant and find out where these friends of yours
are housed. We can tie the man up—it'll just leave him
uncomfortable for a while—then send someone to turn
him loose when you've cleared up this bloody mess
we're in. What do you think?"

Borric said, "I can't think of a better idea, so we might
as well." He glanced about. "We could all do with a
short rest."

Ghuda said, "I could use a few minutes off my feet,
that's for certain."

"Well, these rooms all seem to be empty." Pointing to
the nearest door, he said, "Let's check inside this one."

Borric opened the door as quietly as he could; it was
an ornate thing of cane and ivory, and creaked loudly as
he pushed on it. After it opened a few inches, he said,
"Maybe we should go back to those doors with only
curtains?"

Suddenly Ghuda pushed hard on the door, so that it
made a single, surprisingly modest creak, then he
shoved the other two through, swinging the door closed
behind him.

Borric almost lost his balance and as he turned, the
old fighter put his finger to his lips, indicating the need

Traps                  313

for silence. Borric had his rapier out and Suli his short-
sword, and Ghuda stepped back, unlimbering his large
hand-and-a-half sword. He stepped clear of the other
two so he would have room to swing. Borric glanced
around the deserted room, making sure there was noth-
ing to trip him up if he had to fight. Not that it mattered:

if he was forced to fight, there would be an unlimited
supply of guards as far as the three of them were con-
cerned. His only hope would be to keep from getting
killed long enough to convince someone that he really
was the other son of Arutha.

Tired, they all sat upon the floor, stretching muscles
sore from tension and being on their feet for hours.
Ghuda said, "You know, Madman, this sneaking around
in the palace gives a man an appetite. I wish I had one of
Nakor's oranges right now."

Borric was about to reply when a mufflled sound
caught his attention. Voices, indistinct but coming
closer, caused him to jump to his feet and move to the
door. Suli crouched down below Borric's chin, so he
might see. Borric was about to shoo the boy away, but
the sound of someone approaching silenced him.

Two men came into view as they moved past the
door. One was stout, with a staff of office clutched in his
hand. The other was dressed in a black cloak, hiding
him from view, but as they passed he turned and Borric
caught a glimpse of his face. Both men were intent in
conversation and Borric overheard the stout one saying,
". . . tonight. We can't wait any longer. If the Em-
press's temper fades, she may seek a more reasonable
solution. I convinced her to send Awari north in prepa-
ration for trouble there, but that ruse will not last long.
And there's this business of some maniac running loose
in the palace that the guards can't seem to catch. I don't
know what that means, but it must be presumed to be
trouble. ..." The voice faded as the men turned an-
other corner.

Suli turned and pulled emphatically on Borric's
sleeve. "Master!"

What?" said Borric, trying to sort out a rush of im-
ages.

314 Prince of the Blood

"That man, the thin one in the black cloak. He's the
same man I saw at the Governor's house in Durbin—the
one who wore the golden torque. The one who worked
for Lord Fire."

Borric leaned back against the door, and nodded.
"That makes evil sense."

Ghuda put up his sword and whispered, "What's this
then?"

"I know why trouble's been nipping at our heels since
Durbin," muttered Borric.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later. I hope you both had a nice rest. It's
over. Right now, we've got to find that servant."

Borric yanked open the door, rendering the squeaky
hinge nearly inaudible. He moved out into the hall be-
fore Ghuda could question him further. Borric hesi-
tated an instant, while the others moved through the
door and closed it. He motioned for Ghuda and Suli to
hug the wall.

At the next corner, the corridor turned, allowing for
only one choice, so Borric followed the turn. No lights
were burning in this wing of the palace and Borric
doubted it was usual for Keshian nobles to stumble
around in the darkness, so there was likely no one
about.

As they reached the far end of that hall, Borric turned
and whispered, "Someone's coming." He motioned for
Ghuda and Suli to move back against the wall, while he
moved to the opposite side of the hall.

A lone woman hurried around the corner and Ghuda
stepped out to block her progress. "What—" she began,
then Borric seized her from behind. The woman was
lithe and athletic, but Borric easily kept her under con-
trol as he dragged her into the first door in the hall.

Light from a room across from a window gave a faint
illumination to the scene. The woman was kept under
control as Borric whispered into her ear, "Make an out-
cry and you'll be hurt. Remain silent and no harm will
come to you. Do you understand?"

The woman gave him a single nod and he released
her. Turning suddenly, she said, "How dare you—"

Traps                  315

Then she saw who had seized her. "Eriand? What has
gotten into_" Her eyes widened as she saw the fashion
of dress and the short-cropped dark hair. "Borric! How

did you get here?"

All Borric's life, James had been telling stories about
his days as a thief in Krondor, and one common charac-
teristic of James's farfetched tales was his reference to
his "bump of trouble." When something was wrong,
Tames somehow sensed it. And for the first time in his
life Borric understood what James had been talking
about. Something inside of him screamed that there
was trouble standing directly before him.

Taking his sword out, he leveled it at the woman.
Ghuda said, "Madman, that's not necessary. The
woman—"

"Quiet, Ghuda. Woman, what's your name?"

"Miya. I'm a friend of your brother's. He will be so
thrilled to discover you still live. What are you doing—"
She laughed, and Borric knew it was as forced as it was
artful, for it sounded genuine and spontaneous. "I prat-
tle. It must be the shock of—"

"Seeing me in the palace," Borric finished.

" 'Alive,' I was about to say," said Miya.

Borric said, "I don't think so. When you first saw me,
you thought I was my brother. Then you quickly under-
stood I wasn't. Anyone who thought I was dead would
not have made that guess so quickly. And you didn't say,
'You're alive,' you said, 'How did you get here?' That's
because you knew I was alive and in the city below."

The woman fell silent, and Borric said to Ghuda and
Suli, "This is one of those who has been involved in
trying to get me killed every step of the way from
Krondor to Kesh. She works for Lord Fire."

Miya's eyes widened an instant at the mention of that
name, but she gave no other sign of recognition. She
said, "If I scream loudly enough, a dozen guards will
come here in a moment."

Borric shook his head no. "This wing has already been
searched. We slipped behind the lines of those going
room to room. Besides, they're looking for one man."

The woman's eyes flashed as she stepped away, her

316 Prince of the Blood

glance measuring the distance to the door. "Don't think
of it," said Borric. "It would be a close thing, but I'm
faster than I look and I have four feet of reach you lack,"
he said, pointing at her with the sword.

"You won't get out of here alive; you know that^
Things are already beyond quick and easy explanations.
Blood has been spilled and soldiers march. Your father
marshals the Armies of the West in the Vale of Dreams,
ready to invade."

"Your father?" said Ghuda. "And just who might he
be when he's to home?"

Borric said, "My father's Prince Arutha of Krondor "

Ghuda blinked like an owl caught in the light. "The
Prince of Krondor?"

Suli said, "And I am his servant, and will be his ser-
vant when he is King of the Isles."

Ghuda stood quietly for a long moment, then said,
"Madman . . . Borric . . . Prince, whatever I'm to
call you, when this is over remind me I need to knock
you down again."

"If we get out of this mess, I'll be happy to stand still
while you do it." To Miya he said, "My father is many
things, but no fool. He'd no sooner march an army into
Kesh than I'd run into a bog of quicksand carrying an
anvil."

Ghuda said, "Well, from what I've seen you just
might."

Borric said, "She's lying. And we need to get to my
brother." To Miya he said, "You're going to guide us
there."

"No."

Borric stepped forward, putting his sword against the
woman's throat. When Miya didn't flinch, he said, "So,
you have no fear of dying?"

"You're no murderer," spat Miya.

Rough hands moved Borric aside. Ghuda said, "He
might not be, bitch." Huge hands gripped the woman's
shoulders as he jerked her toward him, and from the
expression of discomfort on Miya's face in the gloom,
Borric could imagine they were not gentle. Bringing
her face scant inches from his own, he whispered, "But

Traps                  317

I'm a different stripe of cat. I have no use for you
truebloods and your superior ways. I'd just as soon pet a
snake as touch your soft skin. You could be on fire and I
wouldn't cross the street to piss on you. I'll kill you
slowly and painfully, girl, if you don't tell us what we
must know. And I will do it so you can't even scream."

The calm menace of the mercenary must have been
convincing, for Miya could barely speak as she said, "I'll

take you."

Ghuda released her, and Borne saw tears of terror
running down the girl's cheeks. He sheathed his rapier,
then pulled his dagger from his belt. Showing her the
short blade, Borric then gave her a shove toward the
door and said, "Remember, you can't get away. I can
throw my dagger faster than you can run."

Miya opened the door and they followed after. As
they walked along, Ghuda said, "What tumbled you to
her act?"

"My bump of trouble."

"You could have convinced me you didn't have one,
for certain," said the mercenary. "I'm glad it finally
woke up."

"Me, too."

"But you were already tumbled to something," he
said. "What made you alert to her?"

"She was heading in the same direction where I saw
those two men heading, and one of them tipped me
off."

"What about him?"

"He's been stalking me since we left Krondor. And
he's one of the few in Kesh who would recognize me on
sight."

"Who is he?" asked Ghuda, as they rounded a corner
into a better-lighted corridor.

As the first pair of sentries standing before doors
came into view, Borric moved a step closer to the girl in
case she decided to bolt or call for help. To the merce-
nary he said, "The man was Lord Toren Sie, Kesh's
Ambassador to my father's court."

The mercenary shook his head. "He's royal. Some
very important people want you dead. Madman."

318 Prince of the Blood

"And some very important people want the truth,"
answered Borric. "That's what's going to keep us ali\ e a
little longer."

"Gods, I hope you're right," said the mercenary. Miya
led them through the palace, past a series of guards
standing before doors. If they thought it odd a member
of the Empress's household should escort three oddly
dressed men past them, they hid it well. Miya turned
down a large corridor, past another half-dozen un-
guarded doors.

At the far end of the hall, Miya moved to a large
closed door and said, "Your brother is in there."

Borric gave her a shove. "Open it and go through
first."

The woman put her hand on the latch and moved it,
pushing open the door. She entered and moved the
door open wider for Borric. He followed, ahead of
Ghuda and Suli.

She led them through a short reception room to an-
other door, where the opening procedure was re-
peated, but this time, once Suli passed through, she
slammed the door behind him, and yelled, "It's Borric
of Krondor! Kill him!"

Armed men in the trueblood guard uniform sat
around the room and at Miya's words they were on
their feet, weapons slipping from scabbards.

The servant announced Lord Nirome and Eriand bid
him enter. The stout noble hurried in and bowed before
the Prince. "Highness, Lady Miya said you had some-
thing you urgently wished to discuss with me." Then
Nirome noticed James and Gamina, who were sitting
opposite Eriand, just out of sight of Nirome when he
entered. "My lord, my lady. I didn't see you at first. My
apologies."

He's anxious to speak to you alone, Gamina sent to
Eriand. In fact, he's very upset we are here.

"Have you any word regarding Baron Locklear?"

Nirome shrugged. "Had we, you would have been
advised at once. I must make you understand that most
of us who sit in council with Her Majesty are not so

Traps                  319

nersonally outraged. We lost a cousin at most, while She
Who Is Kesh lost a daughter. While mother and daugh-
ter were often at odds over court matters, nevertheless
the feelings they felt were strong. And as you have no
doubt repeated to yourself a hundred times over, there
is no logic in any of this."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say," said Eriand.

"I am a pragmatic man, Highness. My role through-
out my time in the Gallery of Lords and Masters has
often been that of a conciliator, for as you have no doubt
seen, we have many diverse people in our Empire.
Kesh is a pluralistic nation, with a very different history
than your own Kingdom. You were a common people in
ancient days. You have only two major subject people
within your borders, those of Yabon and our former
countrymen in your own Crydee, while Kesh is a nation
of a thousand languages and customs."

He's stalling for time, James sent via Gamina.

Why?

Gamina answered, He wants to speak with you alone
. . . no, he wants to get you alone . . . his mind is
racing . . . he's not focusing the way you do when you
speak to me . . . he's thinking about . . . Suddenly
Gamina's face went white and a second later James
almost leaped to his feet, his sword in hand. The stout
noble sensed something from Eriand's expression or
from the sound of James's standing, but he turned
quickly, his staff of office brought before him in a pro-
tective gesture.

"What is this?" said Eriand.

Gamina said, "Borric is alive. He's somewhere here in
the city. Nirome wants to take you somewhere in the
palace where friends of his can kill you."

Eriand couldn't take it all in for a moment. "What?"

Nirome's face went ashen. "What ... is the lady
saying?"

James said, "My wife has certain talents, my lord. And
among those is sensing falsehood. Now, what part have
you been playing in the murder done this night?"

Nirome edged toward the door and James moved to

320 Prince of the Blood

cut him off. El-land had his sword out and said, "Where
is my brother?"

Nirome sought an exit, and when none was available
to him, seemed to visibly wilt. "Mercy, my lord Prince,
mercy. I will confess, but you must promise to intercede
with the Empress. I did only a minor bit, to further the
ambitions of Awari. It was he who 'plotted his sister's
death and is planning on killing you and marrying
Sharana."

"His own niece?" said Eriand.

James waved his sword a bit. "It's been done before in
the earlier dynasties of the Empire. If a succession was
seen as weak, claimants married a cousin or even a
sister or brother to bolster the claim on the throne. And
with so many related to the Empress, a great many
truebloods are cousins."

Nirome said, "Just so. But if we are to save your
friend, we must hurry. He's imprisoned in a lower level
of the palace and injured."

James glanced at Gamina and she said, I can't tell

What? asked Eriand.

He's very clever and his mind is very agile. He may
not know I can read his surface thoughts, but he sus-
pects some magic is at play and keeps his mind repeat-
ing what he has told us. There are hints of other images
and some feelings .  . he's lying about the scope of his
role, but I can't tell how much. You must be wary of
him.

Eriand said, "Now, what about Borric being alive?"

Nirome said, "It's thought to be true. A slave escaped
within days after being brought to Durbin by deseit
raiders. It is thought he killed the wife of the Governor
of Durbin to mask his escape. He matches the descrip-
tion of your brother."

He's . . . hiding more. But that's more or less true

Eriand said, "We have to find someone whom we can
trust."

A servant arrived at the doorway and Eriand's atten-
tion was drawn away for a moment. Nirome struck out
with his staff of office, and far more quickly than his
weight promised, he dodged James's blow. Shouting

Traps                  321

"Get the guards!" to the girl, Nirome swung widely

with his staff.

The girl hesitated only an instant, then ran screaming
for the guards through the doorway. James grabbed at
Nirome's arm and got struck with the staff on the shoul-
der. Eriand jumped forward and grabbed the staff, forc-
ing the heavy courtier back. As the Prince brought his
sword up to menace the court officer, guards entered
the room.

Instantly swords and spears were leveled at James
and Eriand and a guard Captain, in the white kilt of a
trueblood, cried, "Surrender your weapons or die!"

Eriand thought about resistance for only an instant,
then gave his sword to a guard. "I need send word to the
Empress at once. There's been a vile betrayal."

Guards took James and Eriand by the arms and the
Captain said, "Shall we kill them?"

Nirome said, "Not just yet. Take them to the empty
wing and for the sake of our lives don't let anyone see
you doing it! I have to find Miya and Toren Sie and we'll
join you."

Suddenly Eriand realized that this stout man of obse-
quious manner had stationed men loyal to Prince Awari
around this wing of the palace—which was how he was
able to murder the Princess Sojiana and cast the blame
on Locklear.

"You killed Sojiana," Eriand said. "And Locklear."

Nirome's manner changed and he became, instead of
the fawning sycophant, a grim-faced man of determina-
tion and purpose. Picking up a walnut from the table,
he crushed it with his bare hand before Eriand's face.
"You silly boy. You've blundered into matters so far
beyond your understanding. . . ." He studied the
Prince. "Had your brother the grace to die in Krondor,
and your father to send threatening notes to the Em-
press, none of this would have been necessary. If you
cooperate and don't cause a fuss, I'll happily send you
back to your father in one still-living piece. I have no
wish to deal with an angry Kingdom, and once the

Empress accedes to our plan, we have no further need
or you."

322 Prince of the Blood

To the guard captain he said, "Take them now, and
watch the witch woman. She's from Stardock and has
some sort of power to know what you're thinking if
you're not careful." He glanced at her and said, "We
may have to keep her. That would prove a useful talent.
But if any of them causes you any difficulty, kill them."

The soldiers obeyed without hesitation and in a mo-
ment were taking the three from the apartment, mak-
ing sure there was no chance of escape.

The armed men hesitated a moment, startled by
Miya's unexpected alarm. Borric took no time to think;

he reacted. He threw his dirk at the first man to rise,
taking him in the chest. Another went down from a
vaulting lunge that cleared five feet, and three men
withdrew in haste as they brought up their own weap-
ons.

A coughing scream and a sickening crack told Borric
without looking that Ghuda had silenced the woman
who had lured them here with a quickly crushed neck.
Then the mercenary said, "Make room. Madman."

Borric knew Ghuda was unlimbering his bastard-
sword and needed more room for it than the rapier or
shortsword that Suli carried. Borric was concerned for
the boy, but could not spare any attention for him.
There were three angry guardsmen trying to kill him at
the moment.

Borric parried a thrust from one man with his dirk,
and took another in the throat with his rapier, ducking
under a thrust by the third. A solid crash behind and a
scream cut off suddenly and Borric knew that Ghuda
had taken out another man. Four quickly down and still
no attempt to organize. Borric pressed his attack. He
slashed wickedly at a man's head, taking off an ear. The
man fell, crying in pain and unable to defend himself,
and Borric killed him with his dirk while slashing at the
remaining man.

Borric heard the solid noise of steel cleaving meat
and bone and judged Ghuda had killed or disabled the
fifth. The Prince parried a blow toward his own head by
the last man he faced and ran him through.

Traps                  323

Borric turned quickly to discover Ghuda kicking one
man in the groin while trying to free his hand-and-a-
half sword from the man he had just impaled. Suli was
backed into a corner, frantically waving his shortsword,
keeping two men at bay. But a third was moving to
come at him on his left side, and Borric leaped atop a
table, sprang, and came down in time to kill the man
from behind. He then struck out and wounded one of
the two remaining men attacking Suli. But as that man
went down, the other thrust with his longsword and the
boy screamed.

Borric hacked with the edge of his blade, cutting at
least three inches into the neck of the man who had
wounded Suli. The man made a pitiful noise, much like
a mouse's squeak, and collapsed to the floor. Then it was
quiet.

Borric pulled off one dead man who lay atop Suli and
knelt beside the boy, who was covered in blood and
vainly attempting to hold together a gaping wound in
his stomach. Borric had seen such wounds in the field
before and knew Suli's life would be over in minutes.

Feeling a cold certainty unlike anything he had
known before, Borric took the boy's hand. Suli's breath-
ing came in shallow gulps and his eyes were beginning
to glaze over. His face had a waxy cast to it and he tried
to speak. Finally he said, "Master?"

Gripping Suli's hand, Borric said, "Here, Suli."

"I was your servant?" the boy asked quietly.

Borric gripped Suli's hand hard and said, "You were a
fine servant."

"Then it will be written in the Book of Life that Suli
Abul was the servant of a great man, the servant of a
Prince."

Limp fingers slipped from the Prince's hand. "Yes,
little beggar. You died the servant of a Prince." Borric
had seen death before, but not in one so young. Impo-
tence at being able to protect the boy overwhelmed
him. For fully a minute he knelt, certain that if he could
but think of something, the proper thing to do or say,
somehow Suli wouldn't be dead.

Ghuda's voice said, "We can't linger. There are

324 Prince of the Blood

twelve corpses littering the floor. As soon as someone
walks in here, there'll be hell to pay. Let's go!"

Borric was up and moving. He knew that he had to
reach his brother or the Empress within the next few
minutes. Hostile forces moved within the palace of
Kesh, and no one could be trusted.

They hurried back the way they had come until they
reached the hall with the sentries. Borric motioned
with his head and walked calmly past one pair into
another dark hall. Then, halfway down the length of the
dark hallway, he heard muffled voices approaching. As
one, Borric and Ghuda ducked into the recesses of a
doorway, just as another pair of men hurried past.

The voice of the stout man Borric had seen a few
minutes earlier said, "Damn. This is starting to unravel.
Awari was not supposed to hear of his sister's death this
soon. Find out who sent him word and kill the "man or
woman responsible. He was to be halfway to Arutha's
mythical invading army when he finally found out."
Borric's eyes widened. Princess Sojiana was dead! Per-
haps that was what all the madness in the palace was
about, not a search for four nameless vagabonds who
stumbled into the palace, but a search for the Princess's
murderer. Borric signaled to Ghuda to follow and they
hung back a little, then darted across the intersecting
hallway, getting back within earshot of the two men
once more. The stout one continued his complaint.
"Awari's a stiff-necked idiot. He will certainly return to
the city within the day and if he marches into the Em-
press's chambers and demands any sort of recognition
of his claim while she's this angry over Sojiana's death.
we'll have open rebellion to deal with; he must be made
to lead the army north. The Isleman must be made to
look guilty. Where do you have him?"

A voice, one familiar to Borric, replied, "In a grain
shed, near the servants' lodgings on the lower levels,"
said Toren Sie.

"Move him to one of the empty servant's quarters
and then let the guards find him. Have the Captain
report the man was found and killed resisting arrest and
let it circulate among the Gallery that he was killed to

Traps                  325

keep him silent. Then have the guard Captain who finds
him die mysteriously. I will denounce the plot in the
Gallery. By being the first to raise suspicion, we'll divert
it from ourselves for the time being. By the time anyone
begins to question things, it will be too late."

"But won't thai: exonerate Isles?"

"No," replied the stout Keshian, "but it will again
make everyone wonder who knew, who took a hand,
and how high up the conspiracy went. Every rival in the
Gallery will be convinced his adversary is in league with
Isles. All I need for the next two days is confusion and
uncertainty. I have to have the time to ensure that
those supporting Sharana and Awari are equally vocal
in the Gallery."

The two men reached the door of the room Eriand
and Ghuda had vacated and continued on to a room at
the far end of the hall. "And where is Miya?" asked the
stout man as he turned to open the door. He must have
glimpsed the two figures following after, for he called,
"Who is that?"

Borric walked up, out of the gloom, and saw the two
men before the door. The thinner of the two said,
"You!"

Borric smiled a grim smile as he leveled his sword and
said, "Ghuda, I have the honor of presenting Lord
Toren Sie, Ambassador of Her Majesty, the Empress of
Kesh, to the Prince's court in Krondor."

The second man turned as if to bolt into the room,
and Ghuda moved to cut him off. "And that," said Bor-
ric, "is one who is unknown to me, but his clothing is
unmistakably that of another member of the Royal
House of Kesh."

Toren Sie said, "If I shout, a dozen guards will be here
in seconds."

Borric said, "Shout, and you'll be very dead when
they get here."

Toren Sie glared. "What do you expect to gain?"

Moving so that his sword point was leveled at the
Ambassador's throat, Borric answered, "An audience
with the Empress."

"Impossible."

326 Prince of the Blood

Borric motioned with the point of his blade, making a
dramatic whooshing sound right below Toren Sie's chin
"I don't know everything that is going on here," he said,
"but I do know enough that should we live to reach the
Empress you are most likely a dead man. If you have
any hope for avoiding that fate, you-had best begin b\
telling me what I need to know."

The stout man said, "We will tell you what you wish to
know. But we can do it better inside this door. We can
sit like civilized beings."

Without waiting for a response, the stout man opened
the door and only Ghuda's quick reaction kept it from
being slammed in their faces. The large mercenary
shoved hard against the door, forcing it open, then sud-
denly the resistance ceased and he almost fell through
Borric grabbed Toren Sie by his gold torque, twisting
the woven gold collar so that it constricted the man\
breathing. Dragging him through the door after Ghudd,
Borric entered in time to see the stout man running
with unusual swiftness for the door on the other side of
the reception chamber of the complex. Ghuda was at
the door when the man sprung through shouting, "Kill
them!"

Borric didn't hesitate, but struck the Ambassador
hard in the side of the head with the hilt of his sword
The man slumped to the floor, unconscious, as Borne
sprinted toward the next door.

When he got there, he found Ghuda standing in open
amazement, and the stout man dangling a foot off the
ground. Around the room a full dozen guardsmen in the
uniform of the Inner Legion and a few of the trueblood
lay stunned on the floor. Also unconscious were Earl
James, Lady Gamina, and Eriand.

Sitting atop a large round table was Nakor, grimacing
strangely and making odd noises as he pointed two fin-
gers at the floating man. Seeing Ghuda and Borric, he
stopped his grunting and said, "Borric! Ghuda!" In-
stantly the stout Keshian fell to the floor with a harsh
thud, and Ghuda reached out to grip the man by the
neck.

Traps                  327

Borric crossed to where his friends lay and said,
"Nakor, what have you done?"

"I was having fun with the guards, playing a merry
game of 'catch-me,' and they got lost. So I went looking
for them. I saw you, or so I thought, being led away by
guards and thought to inquire how you managed to find
such splendid clothing, and where you had lost my
friends Ghuda and Suli. Where is Suli?"

Ghuda glanced at Borric, who said, "Suli is dead."

"That is sad," said the little man. "He was a good-
hearted boy and would have been a good man. He most
likely will be when next he travels the Wheel. Is this
your brother?" he asked, indicating Eriand.

"Yes," said Borric. "What did you do to them?"

"Oh, I came into the room and everyone got very
excited. Some of them were not very pleased to see me,
and I was growing tired of the game, so I stunned every-
one. I assumed you would come along, sooner or later.
See? I was right."

Suddenly the tension erupted in Borric and Ghuda
and they laughed. "Yes, you were right." They found
they couldn't stop as the grinning little man seemed to
enjoy the merriment as much as they. At last, with tears
running down their faces, Borric said, "You stunned
everyone? How did you manage that?"

Nakor shrugged. "It's a trick."

Borric laughed again. "What now?"

Nakor reached into his rucksack and said, "Want an
orange?"

"I never thought I'd say this to you," said Eriand, "but
I have missed you."

Borric nodded. "Same here. Now, what are we going
to do about this mess?"

James was shaking off the effects ofNakor's stun while
Gamma was still barely conscious. Ghuda stood watch
over the reviving guards and looked convincingly ready
to cut in half anyone who moved, so they sat quietly and
gave no trouble.

Eriand had been the first to revive, something to do
with being the youngest, according to Nakor. The

328 Prince of the Blood

brothers had spoken about what each knew and had
come to the conclusion that many double dealings had
taken place.

James said, "Perhaps if we get word directly to the
Empress herself . . . ?"

"How?" asked Borric.

"Gamina," answered Eriand.

Borric looked uncomprehending and Eriand said,
"She caft do mind-speech, remember?"

Borric nodded, then his face reddened. "I could have
'called' for help with my mind when I first got in the
palace and she would have heard."

"Why didn't you?" asked James as Gamina began to
rouse.

Borric's grin was sheepish. "I didn't think of it."

"And," said James, "how did you escape her mind
touch when she stumbled across you earlier today?"

Borric hiked a thumb at Nakor. "He sensed it and
somehow blocked her out."

James said, "You're a magician?"

Nakor made an unpleasant face. "No. Isalani. Magi-
cians are somber men who work in caves and do terri-
ble and serious things. They do great magic. People
don't like magicians. I just do a few tricks that make
people laugh. That is all."

As Gamina fully roused, James said, "From the look of
the guards and our fat friend over there, yours are no
mean tricks, and not always funny."

Nakor's grin widened and he said, "Thank you. I'm
pretty good at what I do, and I thought this was pretty
funny."

Gamina caught sight of Borric and said, "You're
alive!"

"Apparently," answered Borric with a laugh.

Gamina gave him a hug and said, "How, then,
couldn't I find you in the desert?"

Borric's look showed he didn't understand, then com-
prehension registered. "Of course. That bloody robe I
won before we left. The slavers took me for a magician
and clapped some manacles on me that somehow pre-
vent magicians from using their powers."

Traps                  329

"Bah!" said Nakor. "That couldn't happen if those
magicians knew what they were doing."

Tames said, "Perhaps. In any event, the next question
is- how do we get from here to the Empress?"

"It should be easy," said Nakor. "You just follow me.
And bring these fellows along."

Ghuda had disarmed the twelve guards and dragged
the stunned Toren Sie into the room. With four armed
guards, Borric, Eriand, James, and Ghuda, the fourteen
captives didn't seem inclined to start any trouble.
Nirome warned, "As soon as we see another company of
guards, you'll be prisoners. Men loyal to Awari control
this entire sector of the palace."

Nakor grinned. "Maybe."

When they reached the occupied hallway, where
they would begin to pass dozens of guards, Nakor
reached into his rucksack and pulled something out of
it. Borric and Ghuda were almost blase about the sack at
this point, but everyone else was astonished. For as the
little Isalani brought his hand up, perched upon it was
the red- and golden-speckled falcon, the royal bird of
Kesh, and most revered and holy symbol of the Em-
press's power. It was a bird thought to be almost extinct
—three females were all that remained in the Imperial
mews. The falcon shrieked and spread his wings, but
remained upon the little man's wrist as he moved down
the haU.

The guards they passed simply gaped at the splendid
bird. Nakor said to each sentry he passed, "Please, come
with us. We go to see the Empress."

No matter what Nirome or Toren Sie said, the guards
seemed mesmerized by the sight of the falcon. They
joined in behind the Islemen and their captive band
and soon a procession of two hundred guards followed
Nakor and his companions as they entered the hall of
the Empress.

The Master of Ceremonies said, "What is this?"

Borric and Eriand both came forward and Eriand
said, "The Princes Borric and Eriand of Isles wish an
immediate audience with Her Majesty. We wish to dis-
cuss a small matter of treason."

330 Prince of the Blood

The entire Gallery of Lords and Masters was in ex-
traordinary session when the odd procession entered
the hall, Nakor leading the band with the falcon
perched boldly upon his arm. When at last they reached
the dais, they bowed, and Lakeisha half-rose from her
throne. "What insanity is this?" Her eyes swept the
party below her and suddenly she became aware that
Borric stood beside his brother. "You—unless I'm sadly
mistaken—are supposed to be dead."

Nirome attempted to speak, "Majesty, these crimi-
nals—"

Ghuda rested his blade on the stout man's shoulder,
saying, "It's not polite to speak until you're given per-
mission." To the Empress he said, "Sorry, mum. Con-
tinue if you please."

Lakeisha seemed to sense some mysteries were about
to be unraveled and chose not to take offense. "Thank
you," she said drily. To Nakor she said, "Let's begin with
you, little man. You know that to possess the royal falcon
is a sentence of death."

Nakor grinned. "Yes, Empress. But I do not possess
this bird. I am merely providing the falcon transport to
your august self. I'm just bringing you a birthday pres-
ent." Without waiting for permission, the audacious lit-
tle Isalani mounted the dais and crossed to the throne
The two black-clad Izmali bodyguards moved to block
his approach, but he veered past the throne. Behind the
throne was the empty sun symbol. He set the bird atop
it and the falcon flapped his wings.

The Empress said, "Only a male can perch upon the
royal sun, Isalani."

"Nakor understand, Empress. This one is a boy. He
will father many falcon hatchlings for you. I caught him
last spring in the mountains west of Tao Zi. There are a
few more up there, too. If you send your Imperial fal-
coner, he can bring them to the mews. The line will be
revived."

Since the death other daughter, the Empress had not
smiled. Now she smiled. Something in the little man's
words touched her, and she knew he was speaking not

Traps                  331

onlv of the rare birds, but of the Royal House as well.
"This is a gift of stunning splendor."

Stopping next to the throne before descending the
steps to the floor below, Nakor leaned down and said,
"It would be a very wise thing if you were to believe the
twin boys, for those two over there"—he indicated
Nirome and Toren Sie—"are very bad men."

The Empress studied the tableau below then at last
said "Prince Eriand, why don't you begin and we can
start to sort out this mess."

Eriand and Borrie held the undivided attention of
everyone in the chamber as they wove together their
separate accounts, attempting to make sense of all that
had transpired since the desert raid. They spoke with-
out interruption for nearly a quarter-hour. As Eriand
concluded his account of the events leading up to their
arrival in the chamber, he said, "And the last thing that
convinced me Nirome was responsible for Sojiana's
death was his crushing a nut with his bare hand. Soji-
ana's neck was broken—only someone with powerful
hands could accomplish the feat. Locklear is a master
swordsman, but he lacked the strength." Pointing at
Nirome, he said, "There is the murderer. There is the
mysterious Lord Fire!"

The Empress rose and said, "My lord Nirome—"
But from the door came a cry, "Mother!"
Prince Awari entered, with a dozen officers of the
army at his back, including Lords Ravi and Jaka. Com-
ing to stand before the throne, he bowed, then said,
"What is this terrible news about Sojiana?"

The Empress studied her son's face a moment, then
said, "We are about to determine just that. Stay and be
quiet a while. This concerns your future, as well." Re-
turning her gaze to Nirome, she said, "I was about to
ask, my lord Nirome, what you had to say regarding
these charges."

The stout courtier said, "Mother of Us All—"
"Please," interrupted the Empress, "I despise that
title most. Especially now."
"Most Majestic Ruler, have mercy. I did but what I

332 Prince of the Blood

thought was best for the Empire, which was to bring
your son to primacy. But it was never my wish to see
anyone harmed. The attempts upon Prince Borric were
but a ruse, to keep the Islemen from reaching the cib,.
We only wished to keep Sojiana's followers' attention 10
the north—which is why we falsified the reports of Isles'
gathering to invade. But the murder of your daughter
was none of my doing! It was Awari who sought to re-
move his rival."

Prince Awari went livid at that point and had his
sword halfway out of its sheath before Lord Jaka put a
restraining hand upon him. The Empress shouted,
"Enough!" Glancing around the room, she said, "Is
there any path to truth in this?" To the twins she said,
"Your arguments are convincing, but where is the
proof?"

She looked down at Gamina. "You can read thoughts,
you say?"

Gamina nodded, but Nirome shouted, "She's the wife
of an outlander, Majesty! She would lie to serve her
husband and his cause is Isles!"

Gamina seemed about to respond, but the Empress
said, "I doubt you would lie, my dear." She gestured
around her, indicating the now full gallery above her.
"But I doubt others here would be so kindly disposed lo
believe you. If it's not come to your notice, this is a
rather tense situation."

A guard Captain in the armor of the Inner Legion
hurried into the room and whispered into the ear of the
Master of Ceremonies. He, in turn, made a gesture re-
questing permission to approach the Empress. She ga\ e
permission and he hurried up the dais.

When he was finished passing on the Captain's re-
port, the Empress sat back. "Well, then, there you have
it. We have reports now that two companies of the
Household Guard are barricaded in one wing of the
palace, in open defiance of orders to put down their
arms, and throughout the city armed companies of men
are moving.

"Now," she said, rising from her throne, "we are
faced with armed rebellion in our own city! The Impe-


Traps                  333

rial Seal of Peace is upon Kesh, and the man who draws
sword first, or whose retainer draws sword first, that
man be he base born or most noble lord, is under death
sentence. Do I make myself clear?" The last was di-
rected at Lord Ravi, who stood motionless.

The Empress sat again and said, "Again I am faced
with betrayal and disloyalty, but have no means of dis-
cerning the truth."

Nakor cleared his throat pointedly.

"Yes?" said Lakeisha. "What is it?"

"Empress, there is an ancient Isalani means of deter-
mining the truth of a thing."

"I would be pleased to know what it is."

Grinning, Nakor said to Ghuda, "Bring the fat lord
out here, before the dais." As the mercenary did so,
Nakor put his rucksack on the ground and began rum-
maging in it. After a moment of searching, he said,
"Ah!" and pulled something out.

All near to him reflexively stepped back, for in his
hands he held a cobra of stunning beauty and impossi-
ble proportions. The snake was easily six feet in length
and as thick as a man's forearm. The back scales were
the gold of beaten metal, and the inside of the hood and
throat were the green of the darkest and most vivid
emerald. Eyes like fire opals, blue-black with red flame
dancing in them regarded the crowd, which muttered
with astonishment. A blood-red tongue flicked in and
out of its mouth. Then it opened its mouth with a loud
and ominous hiss, revealing two terrible-looking fangs
of ivory. It writhed and hissed again as Nakor set it
down on the floor in front of Nirome. The courtier
shrank back against the steps of the dais as Nakor said,
"This is the Truth Snake of Sha-shu. To lie before him is
to embrace death." With a cheery note to Nirome, he
added, "It's very painful."

The serpent slithered to Nirome's feet then raised
itself up, so that it appeared to look the stout trueblood
lord in the eyes. The broad hood flared out and silver
sparkles danced on its golden back.

Nakor said, "The snake will not strike so long as you

334 Prince of the Blood

speak truth. One falsehood and you die. There is no
warning. It is infallible."

Nirome could barely move, he was so mesmerized by
the swaying serpent that rose up before him. Then
when it was but a foot away, he said, "Enough! I will tell
all! I planned this from the beginning."

Several members of the Gallery spoke in hushed
whispers. The Empress said, "What was Awari's part in
this?"

His fear turning to anger, Nirome turned to face his
Empress. "Awari! A strutting peacock and a fool. He
thought I was but seeking to bolster his claim. I was
going to place blame upon Awari for Sojiana's death, or
at least cast enough suspicion that no one would accept
him as heir to the throne."

"So," said the Empress sitting back in her throne,
"you would put Sharana in my place. But why?"

Nirome said, "Because Ravi and his allies would
never accept another Empress. The southern nations
are ready to rebel once more and with the Brothers of
the Horse holding the pass through the Girdle of Kesh,
Lesser Kesh would be lost for all times. And Lord Jcika
and the other truebloods would never accept a non-
trueblood consort. So there was only one solution."

Lakeisha nodded. "Obviously. Marry Sharana to one
who is heir. Make her husband Emperor upon my
death." She sighed. "And who better but the Great
Conciliator, Lord Nirome. The only member of the Gal-
lery without enemies? The one man able to speak to
trueblood and nontrueblood alike?"

The Empress covered her face with her hands, and
for a moment it appeared as if she might be weeping
When she at last removed her hands, her eyes were
indeed red-rimmed, but no sign of tears could be seen
"How have we come to this, that our best plot for their
own aggrandizement, and not for the well-being of the
Empire." She sighed loudly and said, "My lord Rau
Would this plan have worked?"

The Master of the Brothers of the Horse bowed. "Mis-
tress, I fear the traitor was correct. Until this evening,
we believed the Prince, your son, to have been the one

Traps                  335

responsible for Sojiana's death. We would not have ac-
cepted Sharana as our mistress, but we would not have
allowed one who has spilled royal blood to command us.
Nirome would have been the logical compromise."

The Empress seemed to lose her strength, so far back
into the throne did she slump. "Ai-eee!" she half-
screamed. "All is tumbling toward the pit! All trembles
on the brink of chaos, but for the kind fortune that sent
these two boys to our court!"

Eriand said, "Majesty! If I may ask a boon?"

Lakeisha said, "You have been as wronged as any
here, it seems. Prince Eriand. What is your wish?"

"A question of Nirome." To the trembling lord he
said, "Locklear has been branded with the murder of
Sojiana. I told you that only a man with powerful arms
and hands could have broken her neck in such a fashion.
Did you kill her and cast the blame upon my friend?"

Nirome gazed at the hovering serpent and barely
whispered, "Yes."

James said, "Where is Locklear?"

Attempting to sink even farther back into the stone
steps, Nirome said, "He is dead. His body is hidden in a
grain room in the lower levels."

Gamina's eyes began to brim with tears and James
and the twins all looked stricken at the news. They had
known against all hope that Locklear was most likely
murdered, but until they had actually heard the news
they had held out hope. Borric was the first to speak.
"Majesty, I know that Kesh had no part in the death of
one of our Ambassadors. The Kingdom of the Isles will
demand no reparation." He spoke calmly, but everyone
close to him could see the tears that were gathering in
his eyes.

Rising, the Empress turned to look at the assembled
Gallery. "Hear my judgment!" Pointing at Nirome, she
said, "This man, by his own words, has condemned him-
self." Turning to stare at the traitor, she said, "Nirome,
lord no longer, by your own words you have confessed
your evil and for this you shall die."

The stout man stiffened and said, "I demand my right
to die at my own hands!"

336 Prince of the Blood

"You shall demand nothing!" spat the Empress. "You
are not of the blood from this moment forward. There
will be no sweet death as you drift into intoxicated
oblivion from a gentle poison, no lightly cut wrists in a
hot bath as you drift away into eternal sleep.

"In ancient times a punishment was decreed for
those who betrayed their kings and queens. It has not
been pronounced in centuries, but it shall be now.
Nirome, this is to be your fate: you are to remain in a cell
this night, to dwell upon your wrongdoing and your
coming death, and at every beating of the quarter-hour,
a guard shall repeat this sentence aloud to you, so you
may have no rest. Then at dawn, you are to be taken to
the temple, and there shall the guard read your sen-
tence to the High Priest of Guis-wa, so that the Red-
Jawed Hunter will hear that you are not worthy of a
place in the Eternal Hunt. Then you shall be taken to
the base of the plateau and stripped naked. Then shall a
dozen guards of the trueblood whip you and run you
through the city. Should you fall, they shall apply hot
coals to your buttocks, until you rise and run again. At
the gates of the city you will be hung in a cage, and your
sentence will be read aloud by guards upon the hour, so
that all passing may hear of your crimes. Even the low-
est shall be offered sticks of bamboo with which to tor-
ment you, so you may feel the wrath of those you
betrayed, yet you shall endure and no one shall grant
you merciful death. When you are near unto death from
exposure, you shall be taken from the cage and revived
with water made bitter with vinegar and bread covered
with salt. You shall be driven by lash and hot coals to the
edge of the Overn Deep, to the marshes where the first
Kings of the trueblood hunted. There you shall be made
to drink the bitter wine of betrayal and eat the rotten
meat of treason. Then shall your manhood be cut from
your body. You shall then be bound and thrown into the
marsh, where the crocodiles of the Overn shall devour
your flesh.

"In every royal decree and record of your time
among us, your name shall be stricken so that no one
shall ever speak it again. In its place will be written 'one

Traps                  337

who betrayed his nation,' and the name Nirome will be
forbidden to children of the trueblood from this day
forward. In time, even the gods will not know who you
were. And in the black void of the nameless and forgot-
ten will your soul endure eternal confinement, alone.

"This, then, is my decree!"

The Master of Ceremonies called out, "She Who Is
Kesh has spoken! Now, let it be done!"

Guards hurried forward and hesitated as they
reached the cobra. Nakor motioned that the snake
wouldn't touch them, and the guards seized the terri-
fied Nirome. "No!" he screamed as they dragged him
from the court, and his cries echoed through the halls.

The Empress said to Toren Sie, "You, my onetime
friend, shall name every accomplice in this plot and
perhaps I shall be kind to you: a quick death or perhaps
even mere banishment. Otherwise you shall follow your
friend in humiliation and pain."

Lord Toren Sie bowed and said, "Your Majesty is
merciful. I shall reveal all."

As he was led away, the Empress motioned to Nakor.
"Do something with that."

The grinning wizard hurried over and said, "This,
Empress?" He reached down and grabbed the cobra
around the middle, and when he stood, there was only a
long strand of cord in his hands. "This is just a piece of
rope."

He coiled the line and put it back in his rucksack.
Eriand's eyes were wide, but Borric said, "It's only a
trick."

Chapter Eighteen
Triumph

The servant bowed.

Borric, Eriand, and their companions entered a small
garden, and the servant bade them sit upon soft cush-
ions surrounding a wondrous table, with all manner of
delicacies and a choice of fine wines. A cold pitcnei of
lager and a warm pitcher of ale were the choices of
Ghuda and Nakor respectively, and the guests began
without their hostess.

When the Empress entered, carried in a sedan chair,
all began to rise. She gestured for them to remain
where they were. "There are so few occasions I can
manage a little informality, I relish those times. Sit, sit."
The servants who carried the chair placed it at the head
of the low table and removed the long poles that they
used to carry it.

Sharana entered a moment later, and came to sit
between her grandmother and Eriand. She smiled at
Borric, who looked her over with open and frank ap-
praisal. Borric now wore his own clothing, from among
those bags not stolen by the raiders in the desert. His
hair was its own natural color, the dye having been
washed out with some foul-smelling lotion that Nakor
provided. Ghuda and the little wizard wore fine robes
provided for the occasion by the Empress's staff.

"I wanted a little informal chat before we return to
this miserable business of the Jubilee. I can't belie\ e
we'll have to endure another four-and-a-half weeks of
it."

Eriand said, "I was somewhat surprised that you 01
dered it continued, Majesty."

The old woman smiled. "Nirome's plotting would be
nothing compared to the troubles I'd start if I tried to
cancel the festivities, Eriand. The Lords and Masters

Triumph              339

mieht wish land or power, but the common man of the
Empire merely wants his fun. If we tried to take it away
from him, we'd have blood in the streets. You've the
look of a common enough fellow, Ghuda Bule. Isn't that

4-i-npr

Ghuda, uncomfortable at being this close to such
powerful and important people, said, "This is true, Maj-
esty. Most men won't give you much trouble if they get
food to eat, a roof over their head, a good woman now
and again, and some fun along the way. Too much
bother, otherwise."

The Empress laughed. "A philosopher. And a serious
one." To the others she said, "Didn't even notice I was
having fun with him." She sighed. "I think I may have
lost the knack of fun."

Looking at Ghuda, she said, "So then, what is your
reward to be for helping save our Empire?"

Now Ghuda looked terribly embarrassed, and Borric
said, "He was promised ten thousand golden ecu, by
me, Majesty."

"Done," she said. "And again that much from our
treasury. How would you like to stay on and help run
my Inner Legion, Ghuda? I have many openings for
officers, and more to come as Toren Sie confesses."

Ghuda smiled weakly, uncomfortable to be refusing
such an offer, but he said, "I am sorry. Your Majesty, but
I think I'm going to take the money and open an inn, in
Jandowae maybe. The weather's nice there, and there's
not much trouble. I'll get a couple of pretty serving girls
and maybe even marry one of them and have some
sons. I'm getting too old for travel and adventure."

The Empress smiled warmly and said, "I envy you
your modest ambitions, warrior. You'll do well telling
your stories around the taproom in the evening. But
you have my debt and should you ever need an ear at
court, send word and I'll listen."

Ghuda inclined his head and said, "Your Majesty."
^ "What about you, little man?" she said to Nakor.
"What can we do to thank you for your part in this?"

The Isalani wiped foam from his mouth with the back
of his sleeve and said, "Could I have a horse? A large

Prince of the Blood

black horse maybe? And a fine blue robe to wear when I
ride her?"

The Empress laughed and said, "A thousand horses if
that is what you want."

Nakor grinned. "No, just one will do, thank you, Em-
press. It's difficult to ride more than one at a time. But
one beautiful black horse and a grand blue robe would
once again make me Nakor the Blue Rider. That would
be a fine thing."

"Anything else? Gold? A court appointment?"

Reaching into his rucksack, Nakor pulled out a deck
of playing cards. Piffling them, he said, "As long as I
have my cards, I don't need gold. And if I take an ap-
pointment at court, I won't have time to ride my black
horse. Thank you. Empress, but no."

The Empress regarded the two men and said, "The
two most refreshingly original characters to walk into
the palace in my life and I can't keep either of you
around. Very well," she said, with a hint of humor. "But
if I were Sharana's age still, I'd find a way to keep \ ou
here."

Everyone laughed at that. The Empress said, "Lord
James, I'm sorry to turn the conversation to more seri-
ous matters, but we've located the body of your com-
panion. Baron Locklear will be made ready to return to
Krondor and a guard of honor shall escort him to his
father's estates at Land's End. The Empire stands ready
to make any reparation your King may ask. He was a
noble of the Kingdom and our guest; his safety was in
our hands and we let him come to harm."

James said, "I think Prince Arutha and the King will
both understand." He looked thoughtful for a moment.
"We knew coming down here there would be risks. It's
the price we pay for our privileges."

The Empress regarded him with a penetrating lock
"You Islemen are a strange lot. You take very seriously
your concept of the obligations of the nobility and the
Great Freedom."

James shrugged. "The Great Freedom gives even t'"e
most lowborn rights the nobles cannot abridge. E^>-n
the King is not above the law."

Triumph              341

"Brrr," said the Empress with a mock shiver. "That
gives me a chill. The idea of not being able to command
what I wish is ... alien."

Borric smiled. "We are different. Eriand and I, each
in our own way, have learned many things by coming
here, being among 'aliens.' " Regarding the lovely Prin-
cess, whose thin robe hid none of her physical beauty,
Borric drily added, "Though by most any measure, I
suspect my brother's lessons were by far the more pleas-
ant."

Eriand said, "What is to happen now? I mean with
you and your son?"

The Empress said, "Awari has always been a strong-
headed boy. That's the reason he is not the man to guide
Kesh when I am dead."

James looked at Sharana. "So the Princess will be
named your heir?"

"No," said the Empress. "As much as I love her,
Sharana does not have the temper to govern. Perhaps if
I lived another twenty years, she might learn enough,
but I doubt I'll survive half that." Sharana began to
protest that she would, and the Empress waved her off.
"Enough. I'm seventy-five years old and I'm tired. You
have no idea what tired can be until you've had the
weight of over five million people on your shoulders
every day for forty-seven years. I took the throne when
I was younger than your mother, may the gods give her
peace. Twenty-eight years when my mother's weak
heart gave out." There was a bitter note in the air as the
Empress paused. "No, it's no gift I give when I name my
heir." Looking at Borric, Eriand, and James, she said, "If
I had one of you here, then I would not fear half so
much my people's future." Pointing at Eriand, she said,

If I could I'd keep you here, boy, and name you my
successor and marry you off to Sharana. Now wouldn't
that be a fine mess." She laughed, but Eriand's face
showed he didn't think the subject was comic.

Seeing Eriand's distress, Lakeisha said, "Girl, take
him away and talk to him. You're going to be spending
some more weeks together and you need have an un-
derstanding. Get along."

342 Prince of the Blood

Sharana and Eriand rose and departed, and the Em-
press said, "Sharana can't marry anyone but a
trueblood, or we'd have a revolution here upon the
plateau, and Awari would be our next Emperor. We'll
barely have enough support as it is."

James considered what he knew of the court, then
said, "So you're going to marry her to Diigai?"

The Empress's eyes went round in obvious pleasure
"Oh, you are a clever one. I do wish I could keep you
here, but I'm sure your King would object." Looking at
Gamina, she added, "With a lady at your side who can
read the thoughts of those you negotiate with .

what a treasure you would be, my lord James. I must
remember to have you banned for life from the Em-
pire. You're too dangerous to allow back here."

James couldn't tell if she was joking. "Yes," she con-
tinued. "I'm going to marry her to Lord Jaka's eldest
No trueblood, save Awari and perhaps a handful of his
most ardent followers, will object to Diigai being the
next to sit upon the Throne of Light. And with his fa-
ther's sage council, he will grow to rule wisely."

Looking off to where Eriand and Sharana had disap-
peared, the Empress said, "All ends well, I think." To
Borric she said, "I know that when you become ruler in
Isles, you'll have at your side a brother who will always
remember this court with some affection. And in Diigdi,
Kesh will have a ruler who will feel obligation to your
house." Borric inclined his head in acknowledgment
James had told him of Diigai and the lion and Eriand's
part in that.

Borric said, "I hope, that as long as I rule in Isles, Kesh
will count us her friendly neighbor to the north."

Tapping her fingers upon the arm of her sedan chair,
Lakeisha said, "I hope that is so. I fear we shall have
trouble with our more fractious subjects south of the
Girdle. Lesser Kesh wears its yoke poorly."

"If I may suggest," said James, "remove the yoke,
Majesty. There are many able men who would serve
you with their life's blood if needs be, but because they
are not trueblood they are denied the highest ranks in
court. There was never a more vigorous servant and

Triumph                343

brilliant mind in Kesh's employ than your late Ambassa-
dor Hazara-Khan, and the man who has been our guide
lately. Lord Abu Harez, puts me much in mind of him.
To limit such a man from serving you because of his
ancestry . . . seems a waste."

The Empress said, "It may be you're right. But there
are limits, my lord. Old ways die hard and there are
men in my service, blood kin, who would die rather
than see such changes. And our position is not, at this
moment, what I would call the best. I have no idea how
much my son was in league with Nirome, but if he truly
was ignorant of what Nirome was apparently doing on
his behalf, it was because he chose to be blind, deaf, and

mute.

"No, revolutionary changes cannot be considered."

James said, "Be warned, then. I tear that revolution is
the only alternative."

The Empress was silent for a long time, then at last
said, "I will think on this. I'm not dead yet. There might
still be time."

All fell silent around the table; each hoped that would
be the case.

Eriand held the girl's hand tightly as he said, "What
does your grandmother mean, 'need have an under-
standing'?"

Sharana said, "She knows how much I enjoy having
you in bed with me. But I need to spend less time with
you in public."

"Why?"

"I'm going to wed Lord Jaka's son, Diigai. Grand-
mother's decided that. The rebellious lords will get
their male ruler and the trueblood will get their
trueblood Emperor. He's a cousin, you know, so it's still
in the family."

Eriand looked away for a moment. "I knew it was
impossible for us to remain together . . . yet some-
how . . ."

;;What?"

"I love you, Sharana. I shall always love you."

The girl pulled Eriand around and kissed him pas-

344 Prince of the Blood

sionately. "I am very fond of you, Eriand. It will be good
to know you are so close to the throne of Isles when I sit
at the Emperor's side."

Eriand felt disappointed his statement hadn't pro-
voked a more enthusiastic response. "I said I love you."

"Yes," said Sharana, with wide eyes fixed upon him. "\
heard you."

"Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does. It's very nice. I just said so. Vi hat
else did you have in mind?"

"Nice?" Eriand turned around from her for a mo-
ment, feeling icy pains in his stomach. "Nothing, I
guess."

She pulled him back around and said, "Stop this.
You're being very strange. You said you love me. I said
I'm fond of you. That's all very nice. You act as if some-
thing is wrong between us."

Eriand laughed and said, "Nothing is wrong. Just the
woman I love is going to marry another man."

Sharana said, "You say 'woman I love' as if you will not
love anyone else again."

"That's the way I feel."

"That's a silly way to feel, Eriand." The girl took his
hand and put it upon her breast. "Feel my heart. Can
you feel the beat?"

He nodded, feeling heat rise in his body at the soft-
ness of her under his hand. "I have much room in there
for many people. I love my grandmother, and my
mother and father when they lived. I even love my
uncle, though he is a strange man at times. I've loved
other boys before you and I will love others as well,
Loving one takes nothing away from the others. Can
you see?"

Eriand shook his head. "I guess our ways are too dif-
ferent. You're going to marry another, yet you talk of
other loves."

"Why not? I'll be Empress and will love anyone I find
worthy. It will be the same with Diigai. Many trueblood
women will want to sleep with him. To have an Emper-
or's child is a very special thing."

Eriand laughed. "I guess I just don't understand you,

Triumph              345

Anyway, I won't cause any difficulty with you and Dii-

She looked puzzled. "Difficulty? I don't know what
you mean. I shall have to spend a few nights with him,
so he gets used to the idea of being husband to the
Empress's granddaughter. And if he is to be named heir
I must spend most of my public time with him. But I will
have most of my nights for you while you're with us. If
you still wish to come to me."

Eriand felt more conflict than he could remember
ever having. Then he laughed and said, "I don't know.
But I think I would have trouble staying away."

Moving sensuously under his hand, she rubbed
against him and gripped him tightly to her. "I thought
you might." She kissed him and said, "Tell me, are you
and your brother very much alike?"

He stepped back from her, then laughed aloud. "In
most ways. But there are some things we just will not
share!"

Sharana pouted. "Pity. It could have provided some
interesting possibilities."

At the city gates of Kesh the mounted escorts were
ready. Borric, Eriand, and their party rode down the
last boulevard to the edge of the town. Near the city
gate, the metal cage that had held Nirome swung
empty, a grim reminder of the fate of traitors. The
former trueblood noble had hung there for almost two
days, enduring the taunts and prodding of anyone who
passed by and chose to stop and add to his torment. And
there were many who relished the idea of seeing a
trueblood noble brought low.

Nearly a thousand people had lined the streets as he
had been taken from the cage, forced to eat salted
bread and drink vinegar mixed with water, then was
whipped like a beast out to the marshes on the edge of
the great Overn Deep. There he was mutilated and cast
to the crocodiles, while hundreds of citizens cheered.
Eriand and Borric had declined the invitation to watch
the spectacle. Prince Awari had watched, and no one
was certain if it was to witness justice or to hear if

346 Prince of the Blood

Nirome would implicate more of Awari's followers.
There was a strong feeling that somehow the stout no-
ble had died still holding secrets within.

At the gate, the newly named Prince Diigai waited in
his chariot, with Sharana at his side. She now wore the
short kilt and golden torque of her rank, and waited
formally next to her future husband. Behind, ranks of
Keshian nobles waited to bid farewell to their royal
guests.

Lord Jaka came forward and reined in his chariot
next to his son's. Eriand halted and said, "Good day, my
lords. Prince and Princess."

Sharana smiled warmly at Eriand. "Good day. Your
Highness."

Borric said, "We are pleased you felt moved to come
see us upon our way."

Diigai said, "Your Highness, we are much in your
debt. If we can ever repay you, you have but to ask."

Borric bowed. "You are gracious. Highness. We hope
the friendship we have begun here shall endure."

Sharana said, "I shall miss you, Eriand."

Feeling himself coloring a little, he replied, "I shall
miss you as well, Princess."

Then Sharana said, "And while we have known each
other only briefly, I shall miss you as well, Borric."

Eriand's eyes narrowed as he turned to look at his
brother. "What—"

Borric said, "Good-bye, dear friends," and spurred his
horse forward. Instantly the dozen Krondorian Palace
Guards moved out and Eriand was left sitting behind.

"Wait a minute!" shouted Eriand, spurring his horse
on after his brother's. "I want to talk to you!"

As the company moved out, James turned and found
Nakor moving up to ride beside him. As they left the
city gate and entered the road to Khattara, James said,
"Nakor, you're coming with us?"

The little man smiled. "For a while. I fear things will
become dull in Kesh when Borric and his brother leave.
Already Ghuda is bound for Jandowae and the inn he
will build. It is lonely when you don't know people."

Triumph             347

Tames nodded at that. "What about Stardock? Have
you thought of going there?"
"Bah! An island of magicians? Who could have fun

there?"

"Perhaps they need someone to teach them fun?"

"Maybe. But I think that someone is someone other
than Nakor the Blue Rider."

James laughed. "Why don't you come with us until
Stardock, spend a little time there, and decide later."

"Maybe. But I don't think I'm going to like it."

James thought for a while, and became certain of
something. "Do you know of Pug the Magician?"

"Pug is famous. He is a very powerful magician. He
works arts like none since Macros the Black. I am a very
poor man who knows some simple tricks. See, I would
not like it there."

James smiled. "He said something. He said that if I
ever needed speak for him, on his behalf, then I should
say this thing."

"Something you think will make me want to go to
Stardock?" said the little man with a grin. "This must be
something very wondrous."

"I am convinced he somehow knew I would meet
you, or someone like you, someone who would bring a
different perspective to magic than anyone else at
Stardock, and he felt that it was important. I think that
is why he had me remember these words: there is no
magic."

Nakor laughed. He seemed genuinely amused. "Pug
the Magician said that?"

"Yes."

"Then," said Nakor, "he is a very smart man for a
magician."

"You'll go to Stardock?"

Nakor nodded. "Yes. I think you are right. Pug
wanted me to go there and knew you would need to tell
me this thing to make me go."

Gamina had been riding silently beside her husband
and at last she said, "Father often knew things before
others. I think he knew that if left to their own devices,

348 Prince of the Blood

the Academy of Magicians would grow introspective
and isolated."

"Magicians like caves," agreed Nakor.

James said, "Then do me one courtesy."

"What?"

"Tell me what 'there is no magic' means."

Nakor's face screwed up in concentration. "Stop," he
said. James, Gamina, and Nakor moved their horses out
of line and halted by the roadside, just beyond the
boundary of the city. Nakor reached into his rucksack
and pulled out three oranges. "Can you juggle?"

"A little," said James.

Nakor tossed the three oranges to him. "Juggle."

James, who had always had dexterity bordering on
the supernatural, caught the three oranges and pro-
pelled them upward, and quickly was juggling them
while holding his horse steady: no mean feat. Then
Nakor said, "Can you do it with your eyes closed?"

James tried to get it into a rhythm as even as possible
and closed his eyes. He had to force himself not to open
his eyes and yet every instant he felt as if the next
orange would not land in the palm of his left hand

"Now, do it with one hand."

James's eyes opened and the oranges fell to the
ground. "What?"

"I said you were to juggle with one hand."

"Why?"

"It's a trick. Do you see?"

James said, "I'm not sure."

"Juggling is a trick. It is not magic. But if you don't
know how to do it, it looks like magic. That is why
people toss coins to jugglers at the fair. When you can
do it with one hand, you're learning something." Then
he spurred his horse on and said, "And when you can do
it without using your hands, you'll understand what Pug
meant."

Arutha and Anita stood before their thrones as their
sons marched into the court in Krondor. In the four
months since the boys had left their court, the Prince
and Princess of Krondor had felt pain and joy at news of

Triumph              349

Borric's loss and his return. And they felt an empty
olace within that matched the empty place in court
where Baron Locklear should have been.

The twins came to stand before their parents and
both bowed formally. Arutha couldn't put his finger on
it but something in them was different. He had sent
boys south to deal with Kesh and young men had re-
turned. They were now confident where they had been
brash, decisive where they had been impulsive, and in
their eyes was an echo of loss, of seeing the results of
vicious and hateful acts. Arutha had read the reports
that hard-riding dispatch riders had carried ahead of
the returning Princes, but now he understood them.

So that all could hear, he said, "It pleases us that our
sons have returned. The Princess and I welcome them
back to our court."

Then he stepped down from the dais and embraced
Borric, then Eriand. Anita came behind and hugged
both fiercely, lingering a bit when she held Borric's
cheek next to her own. Then Elena and Nicholas were
there to greet them, and Borric held his sister close to
him, saying, "After those Keshian noblewomen, you are
a simple and rare treasure."

"Simple!" she said, pushing him away. "I like that!"
Grinning at Eriand, she said, "You must tell me about
the ladies of the Keshian court. Everything. What did
they wear?"

Borric and Eriand exchanged glances and started to
laugh. Borric said, "I don't think you'll be starting any
fashions here, little sister. Keshian ladies wear almost no
clothing at all. While Eriand and I found it very attrac-
tive, I think Father would take one look at you in
Keshian court regalia and have you locked away in your
room forever."

Elena blushed. "Well, tell me everything anyway.
We're going to have a wedding celebration for Baron
James and I'll want something different."

Nicholas had been quietly waiting next to his father,
and Borne and Eriand as one noticed him. "Hello, little
brother," said Borric. He bent down hands on knees so

350 Prince of the Blood

he could look Nicholas in the eyes. "Have you been
well?"

Nicholas threw his arms around Borric's neck and
began to cry. "They said you were dead. I knew you
couldn't be, but they said you were. I was so scared."

Eriand felt tears come unbidden to his own eyes and
he uncharacteristically reached out and pulled Elena
into his arms, hugging her again. Anita wept for joy, as
did Elena, and even Arutha was hard-pressed to keep a
dry eye.

After a moment, Borric picked up the boy and said
"That's enough, Nicky. We're both just fine."

Eriand said, "Yes, we are. And we missed you."

Nicholas wiped away his tears and said, "You did?"

"Yes, we did," answered Borric. "I met a boy in Kesh
who was only a few years older than you. He made me
understand just how much I did miss my little brother."

Nicholas said, "What's his name?"

"His name was Suli Abul," said Borric with a tear
running down his face.

"That's a strange name," said Nicholas. "What hap-
pened to him?"

"I'll tell you about him."

"When?" said Nicholas with the impatience of most
seven-year-old boys.

Borric put the boy down. "Maybe in a day or two,
we'll take a boat out of the harbor and go fishing. Would
you like that?"

Nicholas nodded his head emphatically, and Eriand
tousled his hair.

Arutha motioned for James to come away from the
others and then when they were off a little way, Duke
Gardan joined them.

Arutha said, "First of all, I'll want to talk to you at
length tomorrow. But from your reports, I think we
owe you thanks."

James said, "It was something that needed to be don ••
Really, the boys deserve most of the credit. If Borric had
returned to Krondor rather than risk his life trying to
catch up with us, or had Eriand not been so quick to see

Triumph               351

through some very clever ruses . . . who knows what
harm could have come of it?"

Arutha put his hand on James's shoulder. "It's be-
come something of a joke between us about you being
named Duke of Krondor someday, hasn't it?"

James smiled. "Yes, but I still want the job."

Gardan, his seamed face showing disbelief, said, "Af-
ter all you've just been through, you still want to sit at
the right hand of power?"

James glanced at the happy faces in the court and
said, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Arutha said, "Good. Because I have something to tell
you. Gardan is finally retiring."

James's eyes widened. "Then . . ."

"No," said Arutha. "I'm offering the post of Duke of
Krondor to Earl Geoffery of Ravenswood, who's serving
in Rillanon with Lyam's First Advisor."

James's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying,
Arutha?"

The Prince smiled his crooked smile and James felt
his stomach turn cold. "When the festivities of your
wedding celebration are over, my dear Jimmy," said
Arutha, "you and your lady are bound for Rillanon. You
are to take Geoffery's place as second in command to
Duke Guy of Rillanon." He grinned, one of the rare
occasions James had ever seen him do that. "And who
knows, when Borric is at last King, he may make you
Duke of Rillanon."

Motioning for his wife to come to his side, James
slipped his arm around her waist and with a dry note
said, "Amos Trask is right about you, you know. You do
take the fun out of life."