Prince of the Blood
by
Raymond E. Feist

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 overheard 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 pasha wa 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 concentration.  An
off-duty soldier, he kept alert for any sign of trouble in the room,
and trouble was rapidly approaching.  He made a display of studying his
cards, while discreetly 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, allowing 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 cutaway 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 before 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 caravan 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 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 feeling 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 delight 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 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 attack.

"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
upward 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."

"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 observed, 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 toward 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 showered 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 stupefication 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 custody of the two young men.

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 disapproval.

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 deferentially 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 answered, "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' predicament.  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 following 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 already had."

Baron James, Chancellor of Krondor and first assistant 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 business 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 softening 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 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 taking 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 dispense 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 anything 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 request.  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 father's dark and intelligent eyes.  Those who
knew the royal family well often observed that if Borric and Eriand
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 mother'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
idolized 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 sibling, 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.  Unwilling 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 Erland 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 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 recognize
it as such.  Then his attention was back upon the matter before the
court.  A minor noble was being advanced into a new office, and while
the four royal children 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.

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 Sic, Ambassador 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," responded 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
celebrated 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 unusually
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
invitation 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 ruler ship 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 regrettable, 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 nodded.  "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 contained.

The Keshian Ambassador inclined his head toward the Princes a moment in
appreciation.  "A fitting gesture 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
before 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 attention 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 sixteen!"

Elena hiked up her skirts and swept past her brothers.  "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.

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 grinning 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 lectures.  He's sure to run to Mother
and she'll speak to Father and ..."

Borric winced.  "And we'll get another round of lectures."

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 had stiffened overnight.
"Something wrong?"  asked Arutha.

Both sons smiled weakly.  Their father missed little Borric said, "He
tried a beat and counter lunge 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 perusal, knowing their father's
mood brooked no insolence.

At last he threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation 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 understand."

Returning his attention to his boys, he said, "If your grandfather
still lived, he'd have you over a barrel, a 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 endured 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.  Obviously 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
Ambassador 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

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 unruly, 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, dagger, 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 exaggeration and
suddenly developed a limp.  "And faster, too.  Uncle Locky."  Without
warning, he threw an elbow 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 hauling 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 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 impressively 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 thoroughbred 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 garrison," 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 opposite 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 student, 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 oncoming 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 Sergeant Palmer to help
him to his feet.  But the Sergeant didn't release Borric's right hand,
but rather held it 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 considered 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," observed 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 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 staggered 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 water.

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 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 instructors 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 painting 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,

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 con Doing
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 themselves 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 retreated.

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 commenced 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 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 torment.  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 apartment.  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 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 chirurgeons and priests
are certain the Queen will have no more children.  There will not be a
Royal Heir in Rillanon."

Arutha moved to a door at the back of the royal chambers 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
memory."

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 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."  Eriand 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 mistake 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 image.  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.

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 order, he expected
it to be obeyed without question."  Arutha sighed, and in that sound
both boys heard uncertainty 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 uncharacteristic 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 nothing 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.

"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 forefinger 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 others' designs."  Gazing out over the
city, he added, "To sit at day's end with your wife and discuss the
small matters 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 Kingdom'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 distance 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.

* *

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 sixth day at noon, with
seventh day generally held to be a day of devotions and meditations.

But within the last twenty years another "tradition" had arisen.  From
the first sixth day following the winter equinox, boys and young men,
apprentices and servants, 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 instructed his Master of Ceremonies to draw up a
standard 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 associations, 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, speeding 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 disgust 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."

James laughed.  "Then why don't you go down and play for him?"

Borric and Eriand shared in James's laughter.  "Certainly, 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 devised ..."

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 apprentice boy had concealed in his shirt.  This
would lead, then, to a debate between the two Barons on the general
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 midfield 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 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 interest 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, signaling 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, knocking 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, accompanied by angry shouts as spectators
were knocked about, Locklear had his sword out and was leaping toward
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 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 below.  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 staggered 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 assailant 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 halfdozen guardsmen were standing behind him.
"Spread out and be alert."

The men did as they were bidden and slowly advanced beneath the viewing
stands.  The men closest to the front were forced to stoop, as the
lowest risers of the 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 front most stands to hide.  Above
them the sounds of citizens leaving the stands filled the gloom with a
thunderous clatter of sandals 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 wounding."

Borric forced himself to a nervous grin.  "Why would anyone wish to
kill me?"

Eriand joined in the strained humor.  "An angry husband?"

James said, "Not you, Borric con Doing  He glanced around the crowd, as
if seeking other assassins.  "Someone 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.  Ashenfaced, 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 preposterous. What
would Kesh gain in killing a member 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 transparent 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 member 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

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 acknowledged, "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 affirmative 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 Ambassador is ... an odd
choice.  He's what they call a true blood but not of the Royal House
the assassin would have been a more logical choice.  The Ambassador 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."

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 Imperial 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 outside 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 escorts."

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
Kingdom 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 dominating 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 magicians upon Stardock had grown over the years, and now
other communities had developed to meet the demands 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 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 provide 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 obviously the crossroads
of the two main streets in the town 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 ferryman, "Good evening.
We seek passage to Stardock island."

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 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
Academy sets the rates."  He scratched his chin.  "Suppose you could
haggle with that young spell caster 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 followed 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 emphasis, 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 frightened
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."

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 answers 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 entrance 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, waited
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 thirties.  Brown eyes almost
shone with warmth and, despite his age, the dark beard couldn't hide an
expression that was almost boyish.  This youthful face could not belong
to the man reputed to be the single most powerful 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.  Despite King Lyam's generous
intentions in creating a tiny duchy out of Stardock and naming me its
lord and master, 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 Captain 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 thousand 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 difficulty, 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 contrast 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 children 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 un
railed stairway around a column, topped by a tiny platform.  It was
illuminated by an odd blue light which 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 Testing," 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.  Despite 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
communities 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 intersection 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 morning."

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 shedding 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 discomforted 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 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 unknown farmer or
fisherman's wife finished the task.  After 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 mantel 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."

"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 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 issues."

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 conflicts.  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 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 tenacious 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 inconsiderable 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 rhetorically.  "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 between 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.

"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 welcomed."

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 toward 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 rivulet of water over spilled 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 removed 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, relaxing 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 con Doing  He sighed.  Pug was a strange man but a wise
and powerful one; he was an adopted kinsman 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 decided 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, pulling 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 something 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 servants 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 elbowed 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
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 relaxed 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 occasion 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 remained 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 lazily  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 apparent.  Calm by
nature, he found the notion of swimming 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 striding 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 sputtering and blind.  He paddled to the far side and
again felt land under him.

A birdcall above him made him wonder if the creature 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 confronted 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 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 newborn's, was revealed merely a yard before him.
And by circumstance of his depressed perspective, 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 hammer 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 over road 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 terrifying sight he had ever beheld.
Then those beautiful pale blue eyes narrowed and suddenly pain exploded
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, drowning in memories: his
playing upon the street cobbles and never a moment passing without the
fear.  Strangers 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 smile died without
knowing his murderer's reasons, his face blackening as his tongue
protruded through swollen lips and his eyes bulging, while the son of a
murdered 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 Armengar 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 elevated 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 important.  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 being  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 seeing 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, unselfconscious 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.

"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 knowingly.  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 fearfulness came with
it.  No stranger to a woman's embrace, 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

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 permission ... to ask for the hand of your daughter in
marriage."

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
romance for those inclined and able to find willing partners.  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 emphasize 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 suspicions 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 grandfather was a little
older than you, he was just as unwilling 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.  "Limits?  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 bear on a problem, try
every conceivable solution in your mind, and still have no solution,
then you'll understand what limits I'm talking about."

"Father always said you were one of his most demanding teachers," said
Eriand with a grin.

"Ha!"  snorted Kulgan.  "Now Father Tully, there was an exacting
taskmaster."  His eyes looked off in the distance, 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, Kulgan 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 upon marrying your Uncle Laurie within days of
meeting 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 bed silks of nobility's daughters will lose
their luster as well."

Both Borric and Eriand exchanged glances, and Erland 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 Martin 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 moment 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 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 nation."

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 turning 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 back to the entrance of
the main building of the Academy, 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 unbreachable defenses.  No,
it wasn't that way, he amended silently 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 intended bride.  He marveled at the arch other neck, the
way her fine pale hair see me4 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 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 rampaged through him and
his usual pose of relaxed confidence 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 knowing 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 only connection to
life.  And as it had before, the pain slipped away, leaving behind a
tired but warm and relieved 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, theatrical 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 announce 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 restraining 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,

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 instant 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 ... consideration.  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 beckoned James to a large
window.  Looking out, he pointed at small lights which dotted the far
shore.  "People," he said.

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 simple 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."

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 departure.  William is
firm upon his soldier's path, having forsaken 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 unusual mind.  Her
mental speech is both magic and natural, 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

Gamina this.  She was a child burdened with great sadness and pain at
an early age much like you, I suspect."

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 blessings."

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 created 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."

&

"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 banished 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 expression 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 suddenly.  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 approve.  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 amusement 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 demonstrative 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 present," 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 reaction to the sorcerer's ability to really move
the parchment over such a distance in an instant.

Pug handed it to James.  "For you."

James opened the document and read.  His eyes widened 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, anyway.  You've earned
the rank, James.  We'll discuss holdings 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 remembered 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 indicated 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
triumvirate of magicians who will decide the good of the people 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,

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 relationship 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 distant.  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 next sixth day 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 tabard 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 fisher folk and farmers in
the main, and all too often his duties consisted of burying them.
Weddings and dedications 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
notice.  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 studded by matching pearls and a silver
buckle.  A garland of 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 created
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 understand?"  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.  Plunging 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 reservation and knowing that she is
now one with you, holding 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.

"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 gravelly voice.  "There
are those who would pay well to know this.  Get to the Inn of the
Twelve Chairs at the 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 carrying 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 unguarded 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, oblivious 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.

If the twins had been surprised by their mentor's sudden encounter with
love, they were equally unsurprised 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, famine, 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 another 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 moment.  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 improve.  "What I really
wish is to be quit of this nest of spell casters 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 entirely 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 civilization," said
Borric.

James sighed.  "And some new clothing.  Those outfits look absurd."

Locklear laughed.  "You want to see absurd!"  To Borric 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 singlehanded.  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

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 touching 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.  "Always 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 distance away.  When they
were out of earshot of the others, 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 traveling with her?"

Pug just shook his head.  "I must be about other business."

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 daughter, 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 something 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
miraculous victory over them, directed by Pug, Tomas of Elvandar,
Macros the Black, and Arutha was still something 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 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 company motioned two
guards forward, and they quickly broke segments of wooden standards out
of their saddlebags.  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
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 hanging 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 nothing.  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 particular, a
lazy gesture of bringing his right hand to his head, palm out, then let
his hand fall to his horse's neck.  "Welcome, 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 return.  "I am Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi,
my lord.  What conspires to bring your august company to such a
miserable place?"

"We are traveling to the City of Kesh for the Empress'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 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 comfort.  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 JalPur may blow quickly or long.  If
I was a betting man, I would wager this one will be little more than an
inconvenience.  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
frontier.

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 no tone youthful face in the company.  To his
brother, Eriand said, "They keep their veterans along our borders."

Jimmy, overhearing, said loudly enough for the entire 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 neighbor is bigger than
you, you fear invasion and occupation.  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 cursing 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 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 veterans 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 wondered 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 understand him, but sensed something
behind.  He spun as two bandits bore down upon him, one pointing a
scimitar 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, causing the mount to stumble and
throw his rider.  The horse's chest struck the Prince, the impact
sending Borric 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

ready for a fight, but had the advantage of his weapon.  Borric pulled
the glowing staff from his belt and attempted 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 happening, 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 running 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 discover the whereabouts of
the two Princes and saw Erland 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 search for Borric, James spurred his horse
and headed toward the gathering band of Islemen.  Quickly commands 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 severity 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 intensity of the storm alternately increased and
diminished.

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 baggage 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, yanking 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 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 unconscious
guard's throat.

The slaver whispered harshly in Borric's ear, "No tricks, spell caster
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 ransacking 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
desert men 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
inclined 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

Prince of the Blood and clenched his teeth.  Borric recognized a man
with a violent temper, who ruled his company through intimidation and
threats as much as through any natural leadership.  "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 returning 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 Empress'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 tanner 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 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.  Understand?"

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 arriving at an odd oasis,
surrounded by three ancient palm 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 trouble 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
distance 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."

With an inarticulate grunt, the raider moved away, signaling 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 unarmed 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."  Shifting 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 spell caster what are you?"

Improvising, Borric said, "I ... teach.  I know several 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 whinnying 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 continued
to circle away from the others, shouting his brother's name.
"Borric!"

Gamina stood beside her husband and said, "It's difficult 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 sadness in her voice, she said, "I
can't sense Borric anywhere."

James reached out to her and she came into the comfort 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 remain 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 farther 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 shelter 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 potential for personal difficulty should his
superiors judge him 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 detected earlier were in
this gully.  But there was no pattern 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 arrival and a state welcome will be mounted by
the Governor 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 then, I can only wish you
the gods' favor in your travels."

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
incline 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 baggage 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 plentiful, 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,

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
govern, and that can be dangerous."  James spoke with authority.

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, something 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 landscape.  "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 recuperate until they were ready to return to the
Kingdom.  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 approach unobserved, be they stealthy.  But it is
dangerous.  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 riding gown so it stayed
clear of the ground.  She tucked it in her wide leather belt, in the
fashion of the Stardock fisher women 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 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 approached
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 deepening 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 forever, 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 perimeter 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 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
Borric.  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 motioned 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 certain."

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
certain 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 royal family en route 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 apparent death at last
setting over him and the blase attitude 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 forwarded 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 border, I would do so
gladly, m'lord."  He then left to see to his horse.  James nodded at
Locklear, who in turn motioned 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 something's going on.  I can't
help feeling that."  He put a finger on Locklear's chest.  "It's just
too much a coincidence 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 moment, then said, "It
makes no sense.  Why would they wish to kill the boy?"

"To start a war between our Kingdom and the Empire."

"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 desert night, James
crossed to stand beside him.  In quiet tones he said, "You must come to
terms with this, Eriand.  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 nothing 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 confusion 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 property 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 inconsiderate 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 attempted 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.  Earlier a sixth woman had struggled too
much, biting out the neck artery of the guard who was raping her,
earning both of them death, his the swifter and less painful.

From the sound of the pitiful wail that trailed on after 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
master'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 remove 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 revealing 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
when riding, so it was locked away in his baggage, among those packs
the bandits did not conspire to capture.  While red hair might make
them pause to consider 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 numbered as many redheads as blonds among their citizenry.
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 ransom 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
beckoned 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.  Blisters 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 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 returned 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 meeting.  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 illA 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 having 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 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 consciousness was all
that remained, a cunning, vicious animal that refused to die.  Every
iota of energy he possessed was given over to but one task, to move
forward 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 gentleness.  "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 northerners die from the sun
so quickly."  He washed the back of Borric's neck and dried his hand by
running it 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 between 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 remain 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 Borric'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?

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
outline 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.

"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 heatstroke.  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 remembered
what he had been taught about the infamous pirate stronghold as a
boy.

Durbin commanded the only arable farm land between the Vale of Dreams
and the foothills of the TrolIhome 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 unexpected 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,

the Wreckers Guild, and the Captains of the Coast.  Yes, the Three
still rule in Durbin.  It is they, not the Imperial 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 question 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.  Despair
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 Kingdom under the name Captain
Trenchard, the Dagger of the Sea.  He had been a renowned member of the
Captains 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 Captain 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
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 passage 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 between 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 escape 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 cooperation from the
other prisoners.  If a long enough diversion 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 considered 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.

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 direction, 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?"

The boy took Borric's elbow and steered him to the center of the pen,
where they would be the least conspicuous to the guards.  "It is a
matter of some complexity, 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,
suggested they were dark to the point of being black.  Under 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 everywhere, would wish to break into this
miserable company?"

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 merchant 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 condemned to
slavery?"

Borric was silent for a moment, at a loss to answer that.  Shaking his
head in wonder, he asked, "Tell me, in 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 attentions.  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 certain.  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 captivity, 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, master, 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
inconsequential 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 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 ... colorful childhood.
Not all his lessons were standard teaching 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 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 glorious 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."

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, ducking 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 harbor," Borric said, and Suli nodded to show he was correct.
"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."

"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, master, 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 gambling 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 Borric 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.

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 elicited 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 silence, 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 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.  Putting 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 lowered himself into the
room.  He glanced around and was satisfied the room was being used for
storage.  In a corner, 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 unlocked.  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,
checking in rooms randomly, and found that all were deserted.  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 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 redheaded 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.  Circulate 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 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 discover 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 con Doing 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
identity."

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 counsel 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 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 speechless 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 hysteria.  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
disposed of at the same time, to insure his silence, and the boy found
himself hanging out over the brink of hysteria, 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.  Shaking 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 statues 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.

The trap opened and Borric tensed, bringing his knife to the ready.
"Master!"  a familiar voice whispered.  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 pack
trains 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 another 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 redhaired 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

having nothing more intelligent to offer, he remained silent.

Borric awoke with a gulp of breath, his heart pounding in his chest. It
was still dark.  No, he corrected himself 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 remembered.  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 ship
heading out of the city, working as a common sea man.

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 miserable 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
trying.  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 minutes had passed when he had
hoped for hours.  He returned 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

Hadati warrior had once taught him and Eriand, designed to keep muscles
loose and toned at times when there was no room for sword practice or
the other rigors common to war craft  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 assume 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 departed, so he was already gone.  And the two Keshian
magicians he left in charge were not men who appeared to Borric as
likely candidates for generous help.  There was something decidedly
off-putting about both 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 considered 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 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 servant."

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 attainment 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 guarantee 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 returned 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 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 improvement 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 purchase, yet have
enough left for food."

Borric smiled at the boy.  "You did well.  I can go without 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 harbor 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 deformed."

Borric laughed as the boy continued to work on his 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 fugitive 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 fortune."

Borric tried to calculate the worth.  It came out to roughly five
thousand Kingdom Sovereigns, or the income 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 realization.  "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 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, except 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 approached 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 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
threatening mutter, his alcohol-lade ned 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 encounter, 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 inside 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 bringing him before a magistrate on charges.
"He's unconscious."

"All the better, master.  There will be no struggle."  Seeing Borric
hesitate, he added, "Quickly, master, before 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
consequences of that go unspoken.

Steeling himself, Borric withdrew the knife he had taken from Salaya
and held it.  But then he was confounded 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.

"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 purposefully 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 perplexity 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, master."

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 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 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 escape to Ranom, a
small trading port to the west, or if needs be, LiMe th a modest city
high up on the southern 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 channel, 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."

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 western 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 heading straight at them.
"Master!"  the boy yelled.  "They are coming!"

Borric turned the craft, attempting to get the maximum 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 horizon.  "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 the front of the mast, but didn't
raise it.  "Hurry, master!"  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 interceptor 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
evaporating 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 pinnace, 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 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 timbers, 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 captain's curses filled the air.  The helmsman
was now steering 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 dangerous
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

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 almost 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 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 expression 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 headsail 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 going 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 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 LiMe th  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 LiMe th  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 suddenly 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 ordered the helm put
over, bringing the ship to a slow 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 forbade 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 began 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 display
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 Khimrat 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 elder man 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 BeniWazir, one of
the desert people of the Jal-Pur.  Many desert men 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 HazaraKhan, 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 desert men 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 differed 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, Highness."

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 thousand!"  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 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
highway 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 regiments, 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 plateau upon which the palace rests.  It has become
tradition 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 appearance: dusky skin, but not black or dark brown, nor
fair.  Hair uniformly black or dark brown, with an occasionally 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 plateau above,
noticing the many spires and towers visible 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 ruler ship 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 empire.  There was a culture that produced
artists and musicians here when Eriand's own ancestors were fishermen
who had just turned their hand to raiding their neighboring islands
from their safe harbor at Rillanon.  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 chieftains, and triumphant captains
before Rillanon had come under con Doing rule.  And conquering armies
under legendary generals passed here to bring subjugation to other
nations when Rillanon and Bas-Tyra first

Prince of the Blood began their trade wars, two city-states seeking
dominance 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 thundering 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 Borric'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 Eriand.  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 recommendation for promotion and reward for
his heroic 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 Empire into war with the Kingdom, but
Arutha had refused 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 happiness 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 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 common 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 Erland.  "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 accustomed 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 true bloods 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 Erland, 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 welcome 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 Armies of the West, and envoy to She Who Is
Kesh."

"Your Highness," said the stout Nirome.  "To honor 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 welcoming
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 Empress, 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 company, 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.

Eriand was almost incapable of words.  His "apartment" 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
apartments 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 thousand 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 varying
opacity.  Right now, the only curtains were to his right and left, and
both were transparent gauze, allowing 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 chamber.  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 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 moment, 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
formal 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 committee.  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 assumed 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 chamber.  There a pool at least thirty feet long awaited.
At the far end a gold statue of some sort of water spirit held a 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 meaning.

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 awkward 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 bottom
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
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 different 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 causing 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 yourself, for tonight She Who Is Kesh
will receive you."

Eriand settled back against the soft body of the servant 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 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 eyelids.  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.  Motioning 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 active 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."

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 distressed 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
already 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 business in the morning, the
Empress and her privy officers,

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 entered 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 chosen 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 sandals, 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 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 Eriand, the Earl James, the Countess Gamina,
and the Baron Locklear!"

The doors swung open wide, and through them Eriand 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 cushions had been
placed.  Laying upon this was an old woman.  Eriand tried to look
directly at her, yet not 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 sapphires and
rubies upon her brow dancing in them, regarded 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
off icel 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 contained 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."

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 Empress.  "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 Eriand 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.

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 Princess 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 stomach, 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 serpents 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 desert man concurred.
"The Princess is conceded among the most beautiful of the true blood
m'lord Baron."  There was a guarded tone in his observation.

James looked at Kafi with an odd, questioning expression on his face,
but the desert man 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

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 desert man
forced a smile.  "She may give you the opportunity.  It is said her
tastes are .. . adventuresome."

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 after 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 Mountains.

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."

Eriand nodded, then found himself struck by an oddity.  "That would
mean his niece, Sharana, is "

"Higher in rank in this court than the Prince," finished 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 tantalizing bits of this and that and fitted them
into the pattern 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 presence 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 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 Eriand, 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," commanded 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 sailing 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 behavior with the knife, he was
called by crew and Captain 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 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
pennants 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 common
sailor's duty."  As he spoke, the Captain kept glancing 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 continued, "Your hands showed calluses,
but those of a horseman, 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 pinnace 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 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, "Bow 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 penniless 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 they 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'll just turn 'im loose.  Even if'n he's just as
common as you are, Madman.  It's being true blood

The second sailor said, "That's fact enough.  Watch yourself with the
true bloods  They think different than the rest of us.  Honor's
different.  If you challenge one, he might 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 beggar boy and said, "Not the sort of welcome to
Kesh I had 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 miserable, Farafra was
exotic.  And crowded, dirty, and miserable.  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 torso 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
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 anything 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 breech clout 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
morning'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 hungry."

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
oblivious 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 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 going to have to stick his arm down the front of
Borric's shut, 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, preferring 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 alehouse, 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 stun nec
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 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
polish, 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 chariot 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 mercenary released the bridle and bent down to
pick something 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
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 shoppers.

Laughter filled the boulevard as the enraged charioteer 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 Borric'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 before 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.

"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 mercenary 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 Sam6 runs along the north tip of the Guardians. Follow
the river to a place on the 0\ em Deep where a lot of people live, and
that's the city of

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 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 guarantee 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 monkey."

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
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

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 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
serviceable 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 head cover to keep his lengthening hair back
and perspiration out of his eyes.  The covering also protected ; the
back of his neck from the harsh Keshian sun.  A long sword 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?"

"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 survived
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'll cause you no trouble.  He can help the
cook around the campfire 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 extending 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."

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.  Tomorrow 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 boyhood 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, Erland 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 desert man Kafi Abu Harez.  Arrayed nearby
were a half-dozen chariots, the traditional centerpiece to Kesh's army.
The Commander of the Imperial Charioteers, 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 confrontation.

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-dare en a
non hunter 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 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 impossible 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 pursuit.  That was the signal, and the
hunt was on.  Borric and his companions put heels to their mounts and
galloped 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 hunters

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 moment 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 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 important boy,
being the eldest son of Lord Jaka.  The true blood 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 approaching 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 escaped 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 confusion: 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.

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 desert man shrugged.  "I don't see much logic in it
myself, but it is the true blood 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 stirrup 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.

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 returned 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 quarters, 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 true blood 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 something in the old man's glance, approval
or condemnation, 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 possessed 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 personally beat you within an inch
of your existence."

Eriand pushed James's hand away.  "I haven't forgotten that."  Eriand
circled his horse, anger on his face.  "I

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 people 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 dismemberment 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 desert man 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 canter, along with James and Locklear.
"Perhaps nothing will come of this.  With the true blood 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 tension 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 returning more and
more to Miya's company.  He felt nothing he would call love for the
young Keshian servant, 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 better?"

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.

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?"

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 sleeping 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 minute?"

"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 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 circumstances.  "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 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.  Outside, 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 Ceremonies intoned the long list of praise for the
approaching 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.

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 reddening.  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 true blood 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 ordered
him to her side.  She seemed disinclined to interfere.  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-dare
en

A few voices could be heard muttering.  In this court, to be a non
hunter 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 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 collapsed 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 Kingdom of the Isles.  I
cannot let that pass."  He released the young man's torque, pushing him
away.  The youth staggered 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 Kilawa."

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 Highness'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 banished 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
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 desert man 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 true blood 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 true
blood  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,
tantamount 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 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 discomfort.  "Of course all in yom 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 true blood 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 accompany 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.

Finally?  Has there been a problem?

A problem?  There was a feeling of humor with lames's answer.  Only
that we're under constant supervision.  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."  Mentally, 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 differences 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 nations ofKesh are fiercely patriarchal and fear
that three women rulers in a row might turn Kesh into a matriarchy.  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 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 marvels 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 question.  Also, another lord wishes preeminence in the
Gallery.

Who?  asked the Prince.

Lord Ravi, Master of the Brothers of the Horse.  But he is not true
blood 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 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 tomorrow, 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 before 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 contempt for the three.

"Who are they?"  asked Borric, laughing at the comedy.  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 keeping 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

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 long sword 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 overwhelm 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 boys.  "If A ^ nave
the 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
opportunity presented by an exposed back.  But at the moment be sought
to strike a blow, Borric spun and took the blow upon his dirk, counter
thrusting 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 approaching 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 attention 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 attack.  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 long sword 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, every 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 opponent equal to the challenge.

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, feeling 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 chilling 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 opponent, 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 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 after 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 interposed 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 opponent stood ready to act if he continued
being combative, 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 waters king

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 attentions to his friends.
The man with the leg wound he 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 Saber was
less than amused to see you go scampering 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 Borric 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 long sword 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 halfdozen
chances to hand that bloke his head, if you ask me.  If you're going to
live a long life, you'd better learn 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 determined 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 overtook 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 appearance.  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 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 LaM ut 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 cheating 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 tempt to cheat me.
I deal honestly with those who are honest with me.  The difficulty,
usually, is in finding honest 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 shoulders 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.  Janos 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 little man had somehow bemused the usually stern
caravan 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 behind the one upon which his victim rode.  Borric thought
that even his uncle Jimmy wouldn't claim being 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 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 perimeter, 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 between 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
communities dotted the landscape.  Borric could understand now why
caravan duty in the interior of Kesh was considered 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 almost blazed in anger
as he said, "Isn't that interesting?

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 moment, 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 Odoskoni."

"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 expected to be obeyed, instantly.  Each
man in the company 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?"

Ghuda whispered back.  "Many, Madman.  The cemeteries 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!"  complained 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."

Then Borric thought that while those who were trying to kill him knew
he had red hair, the description of the runaway slave would be altered
to fit the description 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.

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, "Answer 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," answered 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.

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
company 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 conversation, 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 vanished 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.

"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.  Moving 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 bearing 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,

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 behind 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 WiT as the single
most impressive feat of construction Eriana had witnessed.  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 combined.

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
answer questions.

Finally Eriand said, "Kafi, how long did it take to build this?"

"Centuries, Highness," answered the desert man  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 Benevolent
decided that the prohibition against those who were not of true blood
remaining upon the plateau at night prevented his citizens from
observing some necessary Imperial functions, most notably those
ceremonies 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.

"So he decreed that all that was of this plateau, including 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 enlarged 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, blessings 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 Imperial 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 desert man 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 desert man 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 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 Kingdom of the Isles a slight bow.  Eriand
noted the halfdozen 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 super cede
the convenience of those nobles needing 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 differently."

"I understand," said Kafi.  He pointed to the area between 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, Highness, after the
nobles of Kesh and before the commoners, as Ambassadors of all nations
will.  The Empress has favored you by placing your delegation before
all others 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 complement, 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 permitted to view the festivities from across the entrance,
atop roofs, and many other vantage points."

Eriand looked out over the lower city, where thousands 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 ceremony."

"My lord Abu Harez," said Locklear, "before we continue, could you and
I discuss the speech my Prince has prepared for this day, so that we
might not inadvertently 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 relatively 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.

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?

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 Emnress'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 desert man said, "Highness, your remarks will be doubly appreciated
for their sincerity and brevity.  After 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 Imperial box, and came
to the very edge.  He was dressed as all true blood 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 Eriand 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 true blood

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 Nations, harken to me!"

The acoustics were perfect in the amphitheater.  Even those across the
boulevard, sitting atop the buildings, could hear the man perfectly as
the sounds of the crowd died away to a hush.

"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
true blood 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
enumerations of the Empress's wondrous attributes continued in similar
vein as more and more true bloods 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 desert man benefit.  "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.

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, Eriand 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 Warriors 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 bodyguards.
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 surrounded by her own Imperial
Guards?"

The desert man 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 intoning a long ritual introduction, citing great feats
accomplished 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
transverse 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 entire 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 feeling 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 sudden
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 day Gamina .. ."

"No, Locky.  I'm fine.  I just need to drink a bit more water, I
think."

Kafi said, "That is wise."

Eriand returned his attention to the next group to enter.  The Prince
and both Princesses of Kesh had entered after their mother, and now the
most powerful lords and masters in the Empire were being announced.

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 occasions 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 participating 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 true blood 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 true blood to Eriand's inexperienced eye.

Eriand looked at James, who answered, He's an unknown player, Eriand.
He seems openly loyal.  His peo pies were the first to be conquered by
their neighbors, so they are among the oldest lines in the nation,
second only to the true blood  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 pan ions and the
Prince was momentarily startled.  He did not notice them approaching in
the crowd.  they made no cry nor did they need to.  People on the ramp
behind the boxes seemed to sense their approach instinctively 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 the
Beni-speaking people called kismet or fate, the will oi the gods.

The name Lord Ravi intruded upon Eriand's awareness and he glanced back
to see another colorful group of men entering.  Each man in front had a
shaved head, save for a scalp lock 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
scalp lock  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.

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 Brothers 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 identity.  "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 feeling 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 distasteful, 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 have a saying, "Even the
most high born man is but a servant in his own bedchamber."  Many of
our best rulers took counsel in the arms of their wives, to the benefit
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 fascinating."  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 JalPur.  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 incident.  "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 importance to the
true blood 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 .. . amusement 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
precedence 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 difficulty appreciating the better
qualities of the Ashuntai."  Softly, he added, "Whatever they may
be."

Gamina looked at the desert man with sympathy, but said nothing.

They had been standing in place for ten minutes, waiting to move up to
the entrance to the amphitheater.  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 delegates 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.

Eriand said, "I don't understand.  Queg and the Empire 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 successfully 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 tavern keepers
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 understand
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
formally 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

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
amphitheater, 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 dozens 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 true blood appeared 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
personal."

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.

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 reception with the
Empress tonight."

Unable to keep from grinning, Eriand said, "It's for .  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 worn ai 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 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 opportunity, 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 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 quietly 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."

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 Borric'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 reasons."  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 resources 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 thousand!"

"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 oath
breaker  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 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, Madman.  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

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 animal."

Borric went and grabbed at the animal's bridle, holding 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 himself 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 Jubilee 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?"

"It is a secret," he said with an affable grin.  "But it is no matter.
What does matter is that we must do something 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 emphatically.  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.  "Horsemen," 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
moving."

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 and staff.  Borric caught the aroma of
decomposing compost 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 beginning 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 present costume. He
was wearing the dahd, traditional costume of a Bendrifi, hill people 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 without 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 obtained the night before, and
now he was a startlingly 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 standoffish aloof tribe, so it was
unlikely anyone would wonder 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 Borric 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, Borric 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
startling degree.

Suli was now garbed as a boy of the Beni-Sherin, a large tribe of
desert men 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 yellow robe and now wore
one that was almost as disreputable, but of a blotchy peach color.  And
he didn't look 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 heading 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 passing 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 strangers.

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 remember."  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 moment, 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 bloodhound 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 companions 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 true blood

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 true blood is not just a true
blood 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 Necromancer "

Borric tried to appreciate the gallows humor, but round himself chewing
over the implication.  Who was 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 company 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,

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 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 guardsmen 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 guardsman 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 being 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 noticed 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 Planner 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 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 guardsmen turned to see what the problem
was.  Ghuda materialized 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 Jeweled 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, cuttnroats of all stripe, gamblers, whores, and
drunkards.

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, looking 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, reflect
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 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 anything 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 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 stories 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 Borric 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 watch bell
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 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 market 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 Bendrift.  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 people 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 worn ai was unusually striking.

A pair ofAshuntai plainsmen sauntered by, each leading 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 priestesses, 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."

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 dog meat

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 vanished 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 flat bread he had
eaten down, Borric said, "A friend once told me that thieves will often
put garbage and" stepping on what appeared 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 lock plate
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 approaching them down the alley.  Ghuda
hissed.  "I have a very bad feeling, Madman!"

Borric said, "Good evening.  Are you the one I arranged 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
behind him were shadowy silhouettes.  "What is your proposal?"

"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 long sword
"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 companions spread out,
forming a wall of swords across the alley.  "And?"

"And I bring greetings from the Upright Man of Krondor."

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 unsheathed his rapier and Suli his short
sword  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 attacker's longer sword.  Suli had never
used a sword before, 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 shoulder 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 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 behind
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 broken 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 instantly
convinced that whatever he said, the man's intent 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 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 merchant 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 themselves 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 standing before
the door as Borric pulled it open.  Without 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
superhuman.  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 companions 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 grinning 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 reception area, Eriand discovered Lord Nirome, the noble 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 liking?"

Eriand smiled and returned the bow with a deference beyond what
Nirome's rank entitled him to, saying, "Your generosity is at times
overwhelming, my lord."

Glancing backwards over his shoulder, the pudgy true blood 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 bungler, 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 nothing, 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 around as if wary of being overheard, Nirome
said, "If I may 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 patriarchal 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 without thought was only trying to
show his Empress that Awari is not some weakling, fearful of Isles
simply because 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 someday 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 purposefully 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 true
blood 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 becoming aroused at thoughts of this evening's
encounter, fcrland focused on James's parting words to him, just 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

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 occasions, 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 Princess returning.  In
a flower garden of exotic blossoms, she was both the most lovely and
exotic.  Unlike most of the true blood 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 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 true blood 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 undertaking a
failure.

Eriand nodded.  "Why are your uncle and grandmother estranged?"

1 "I not sure re alb answered the girl, taking Eriand s hand in hers, a
natural and unselfconscious act.

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 flattery.  "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 commonplace, 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 referred to the moredhel the dark elves
but he decided 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 one fascinated.  After a while,
they had circled the garden and returned to Sharana's pavilion. Sharana
indicated 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 gossamer hangings which
protected the sleeping pavilion from flying Mg"I 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 assumed from the timing
of the meeting and his previous experience with Keshian true blood
girls that the Princess might have something more personal than an
informal 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 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, everything 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 little impatient .. . the first time .. . but that the second
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, contests and
exhibitions were scheduled.  The Empress might or might not appear in
her private box, overlooking 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, rattles made from animal skulls, and horn trumpets
were played with enthusiasm as the warriors began their ancient
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 Highness."

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 reaching 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 intercepted 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 fascinated 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 send the Inner Legion or an army of Dog Soldiers
to crush Durbin and hang the Governor than it is to replace 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 intriguing.  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
squadron.

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 ancient 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 flipping 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 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
forward, 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 behind 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 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 showing 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 warriors
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 withstand modern iron weapons.  Each man's helm was bedecked
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
armor 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 purposes, 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 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 prevailing, and the
festivities were over for the afternoon.  After a recess for a long nap
and refreshments, the dinner festivities would commence.  Eriand was
thinking 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, after 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 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 true blood 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 companions marched.

When they reached the foot of the dais, Eriand and James bowed, while
Gamina curtsied.  Without preamble, the Empress said, "Would His
Highness care to tell us why we just received word that your father is
marshalling 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 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 matter of your
brother's death.  Not content to assume the role of monarch, and to
negotiate some sort of indemnity, 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 thousand Royal Krondorian Lancers
join them, and our reports 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 LaM ut 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 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 entrances.  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 decision.  Even if Arutha didn't have
some personal experience 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 military adventure from
the Kingdom.  An occasional border 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 Kingdom lands, when
Imperial forces attempted to occupy the narrow strip of land north of
the Peaks of Tranquillity 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 Imperial forces at Deep Taunton, ending all
Kesh's attempts 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

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 something 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 concerned 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 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 simply 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 patterns.  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 personal grief or anger,
lead him to make so rash and destructive a decision."

That's my thinking, too, sent James.  Aloud he said, "Then what are the
alternatives?"

"Two possibilities one, that the Empress's intelligence is false, that
someone is sending fabricated reports 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,

the significance of the second choice, if that is the correct one?

What?  asked Eriand.

It means our courier system, and more, our intelligence 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 expression 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 grandmother.  She must know that we harbor
no ill will toward her nation."

James nodded.  "Good.  I'm going to set pen to parchment 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 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 discussed, 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 information; he might be a poor thief, but Suli was an
exceptional 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 convinced 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 going in the palace tonight, beyond what is normal for even
festival times.  And men on horseback, wearing the 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 true blood 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 extensive still contained one fact
which fit in.  "There are several hundred members of the Gallery of
Lords and Masters in the city.  Those not true blood 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.  Usually, 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.

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 commander decides what to charge them with so he can sell
them on the slave block.  Imperial justice is fair: it punishes
everyone equally, regardless of guilt or innocence."

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 nameless
mercenary, in the city for the celebration.  Suli wore the same desert
man 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 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 true
blood but still true blood  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 answered.

Borric followed the edge of the boulevard as it bordered 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 companions were only a step behind, so it looked
as if he escorted 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, servants and guards assume you know
where you are going.  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.

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 something 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 moment, then looked at
Nakor.  "And what about you, wizard?"

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 business 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 appeared to be private quarters.  Expecting
any moment to be challenged, he was relieved when they turned 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 another.  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
appearance, the girl was young, healthy, and fit, and challenged
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 moments.  As she fastened the clasp
which bound her kilt,

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 quarters.  A mixed company of true
blood 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 commands 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 almost 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 reaction to the
slight, and the ferocity with which she expressed 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 Empress's audience hall.

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 lowered chandeliers and replaced guttering candles
almost spent, for never was darkness allowed in the Court of

Light

Down the long entranceway they hurried, past assembled 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 Eriand 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

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 distressed
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.  Several 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 welcomed 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, "Poland!  Prince of the
House of con Doing 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

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 commanded 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 moment .. . 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
familiar, then just as I recognized it .. . as I thought I recognized
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 absolutely.  With a note of sadness,
she said.  It could,i if 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 anything 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 something."

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 true bloods of the Palace Guards and the black-armored
members of the Inner Legion.  Borric'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?"

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 entered the garden and began methodically
searching among the hedges and bushes.  Ghuda slowly and methodically
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, "Yeah!"

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 entire 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 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 moment, 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 improbable 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 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 possible 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 considered 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 scapegoat, 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?"

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 for words.  "Even if something caused him to act .. . un like
himself ... he wouldn't have throttled Sojiana He's a blades man 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, then 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

Rut many who were supporters of Sojiana simply because 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 getting 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 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 nothing 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 concerned.  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 Empress's temper fades, she may seek
a more reasonable solution.  I convinced her to send Awari north in
preparation 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
another corner.

Suli turned and pulled emphatically on Borric's sleeve.  "Master!"

What?"  said Borric, trying to sort out a rush of images.

"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 before Ghuda could question him
further.  Borric hesitated 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
control 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 outcry 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 "

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 characteristic 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 prattle.  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 understood 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 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 servant 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

I'm a different stripe of cat.  I have no use for you true bloods 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 mercenary he said, "The man was Lord Toren Sic,
Kesh's Ambassador to my father's court."

The mercenary shook his head.  "He's royal.  Some very important people
want you dead.  Madman."

"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 unguarded 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 another door, where the
opening procedure was repeated, 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 true blood 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 something 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 nersonally outraged.  We lost a cousin at most, while She
Who Is Kesh lost a daughter.  While mother and daughter 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 throughout 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 protective
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 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 true
bloods 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 suspects some magic is at play and
keeps his mind repeating 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 desert raiders.  It is thought he
killed the wife of the Governor of Durbin to mask his escape.  He
matches the description 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 attention 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

"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 shoulder.  Eriand jumped forward and grabbed the
staff, forcing 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 true blood 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 Sic and we'll join you."

Suddenly Eriand realized that this stout man of obsequious 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 determination 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 Empress, 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."

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 moment were taking the
three from the apartment, making 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
weapons.

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 short sword 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.

Borric turned quickly to discover Ghuda kicking one man in the groin
while trying to free his hand-and-ahalf sword from the man he had just
impaled.  Suli was backed into a corner, frantically waving his short
sword 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 long sword 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 breathing 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.  Impotence 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 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!  Perhaps 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 Empress'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 Sic.

"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 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 that: 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 Sic, 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 Borric, "is one who is unknown to me,
but his clothing is unmistakably that of another member of the Royal
House of Kesh."

Toren Sic 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 Sic 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."

Borric motioned with the point of his blade, making a dramatic
whooshing sound right below Toren Sic'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
suddenly the resistance ceased and he almost fell through Borric
grabbed Toren Sic 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 true
blood 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 fingers at the floating man. Seeing
Ghuda and Borric, he stopped his grunting and said, "Borric! Ghuda!" 
Instantly the stout Keshian fell to the floor with a harsh thud, and
Ghuda reached out to grip the man by the neck.

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 goodhearted 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 everyone.  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 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.  Magicians are somber
men who work in caves and do terrible 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 comprehension
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 prevent magicians from using their powers."

"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 Sic
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
Empress'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 hall.

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 Sic 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 discuss a small matter of treason."

The entire Gallery of Lords and Masters was in extraordinary 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 criminals "

Ghuda rested his blade on the stout man's shoulder, saying, "It's not
polite to speak until you're given permission."  To the Empress he
said, "Sorry, mum.  Continue 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 present."  Without waiting for permission, the
audacious little 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 falconer, 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 only 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 Sic "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 without 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.  Sojiana'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.  Coming 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."  Returning 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

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 remove 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 requesting permission to approach the Empress.  She ga\
e permission and he hurried up the dais.

When he was finished passing on the Captain's report, 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 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 directed 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 discerning the truth."

Nakor cleared his throat pointedly.

"Yes?"  said Lakeisha.  "What is it?"

"Empress, there is an ancient Isalani means of determining 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 rummaging 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 impossible 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 true blood 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 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
true bloods would never accept a nontrueblood 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 Gallery
without enemies?  The one man able to speak to true blood 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.  "Mistress, I fear the
traitor was correct.  Until this evening, we believed the Prince, your
son, to have been the one responsible for Sojiana's death.  We would
not have accepted 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-ccc!"  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 himself."  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!"

"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 sentence
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 true blood 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 lowest shall be
offered sticks of bamboo with which to torment 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 true blood 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 who betrayed his nation," and the name
Nirome will be forbidden to children of the true blood from this day
forward.  In time, even the gods will not know who you were.  And in
the black void of the nameless and forgotten 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
terrified Nirome.  "No!"  he screamed as they dragged him from the
court, and his cries echoed through the halls.

The Empress said to Toren Sic, "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 Sic 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 cushions 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 appraisal.  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 de red 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 might 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, Majesty.  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 Sic 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, Empress.  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 appointment 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 serious matters, but we've located the
body of your companion.  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."

"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 Princess, 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 pleasant."

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 understanding.  Get along."

Sharana and Eriand rose and departed, and the Empress said, "Sharana
can't marry anyone but a true blood 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 Empire.  You're too dangerous to allow
back here."

James couldn't tell if she was joking.  "Yes," she continued.  "I'm
going to marry her to Lord Jaka's eldest No true blood 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 father's
sage council, he will grow to rule wisely."

Looking off to where Eriand and Sharana had disappeared, 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 true blood they are denied the highest ranks
in court.  There was never a more vigorous servant and brilliant mind
in Kesh's employ than your late Ambassador 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 understanding'?"

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.  Grandmother's decided that.
The rebellious lords will get their male ruler and the true blood will
get their true blood 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 somehow .. ."

What?"

"I love you, Sharana.  I shall always love you."

The girl pulled Eriand around and kissed him passionately  "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 provoked 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 moment, 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 something 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 softness 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 different.  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 true blood women will want to sleep with
him.  To have an Emperor's child is a very special thing."

Eriand laughed.  "I guess I just don't understand you,

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 true blood
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 true
blood 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

Nirome would implicate more of Awari's followers.  There was a strong
feeling that somehow the stout noble 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."

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,

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 propelled 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

Borric's loss and his return.  And they felt an empty place 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
returned.  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 attractive, 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 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 happened 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 through some very clever ruses .. . who knows what harm
could have come of it?"

Arutha put his hand on James's shoulder.  "It's become 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, "After 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."

