The King's Buccaneer
by
Raymond E. Feist


PROLOGUe

Ghuda stretched.  Through the door behind him came a woman's voice:
"Get away from there!"

The former mercenary guard sat back in his chair on the porch of his
inn, settling his feet upon the hitching rail.  In the background the
usual evening serenade was commencing.  While rich travelers stayed at
the large hostels in the city or at palatial inns along the silvery
beaches, the Inn of the Dented Helm, owned by Ghuda Bule, catered to a
rougher clientele: wagon drivers, mercenaries, farmers bringing crops
into the city, and rural soldiers.

"Do I have to summon the city guards!"  cried the woman from inside the
common room.

A large man, Ghuda had found enough hard work keeping up the Jnn that
he hadn't run to rat and he still kept his weapons finely honed; more
times than he cared to recall, he had been forced to toss one or
another customer through the door.

Evenings, just before dining, were his favorite time of the day.
Sitting in his chair, he could see the sun set over the bay of Elarial,
the brilliant glare of the day dimming to a gentler blush that colored
the white buildings soft oranges and golds.  It was one of the few
pleasures he managed to reserve for himself in

2 Raymond E. Feist an otherwise demanding life.  A loud crash sounded
from within the building, and Ghuda resisted the urge to investigate.
His woman would let him know when he was needed to intervene

"Get out of here!  Take that fighting outside!"  Ghuda took out a dirk,
one of the two he habitually wore on his belt, and absently began to
polish it.  The sound of broken crockery echoed from within the inn.  A
girl's shriek followed quickly after, then the sounds of fists striking
bodies joined in.

Ghuda looked at the sunset as he polished his blade.  At almost sixty
years old, his face was an aging map of leather showing years of
caravan guard duty, fighting, too much bad weather, bad food, and bad
wine dominated by an oft-broken nose.  Most of his hair was gone on
top, leaving him with a shoulder-length grey fringe that began halfway
between crown and ears.  Never one to be called handsome, he still had
something about him, a calm, open directness, that caused people to
trust and like him.

He let his gaze wander across the bay, silver and rose highlights from
the sunset sparkling atop emerald waters, as seabirds squawked and dove
for their supper.  The heat of the day had gone, leaving a soft cool
breeze off the bay, faint with the tang of sea salt, and for a moment
he wondered if life could be better for one of his low station.  Then
he squinted against the glare of the sun as it touched the horizon, for
out of the west came a figure purposefully marching down the road
toward the little inn.

At first it was nothing more than a black speck against the glare of
the setting sun, but soon it took on detail.  Something about the
figure set off an itch in the back of Ghuda's brain, and he fixed his
gaze upon the stranger as he came clearly into view.  A slender,
bandy-legged man wearing a dusty and torn blue robe, tied above one
shoulder, approached.  He was an Isalani, a citizen of Isalan, one of
the nations to the south within the Empire of Great Kesh.  He carried
an old black rucksack over one shoulder and used a long staff as a
walking stick.

When the man was close enough for his features to be clearly
identified, Ghuda said a silent prayer: "Gods, not him."

A walling cry of anger came from within the building as

Ghuda stood up.  The man reached the porch and un-shouldered his bag. A
ring of fuzz surrounded an otherwise bald head; a face resembling a
vulture looked solemn as he regarded Ghuda, then broke into a wide
smile.  His black eyes were narrow slits as he grinned at Ghuda.  He
opened the dusty old bag.  In a familiar, gravelly tone he said, "Want
an orange?"  He reached into the bag and withdrew two large oranges.

Ghuda caught the fruit that was tossed to him and said, "Nakor, what in
the Seven Lower Hells brings you here?"

Nakor the Isalani, occasional card sharp and con man, wizard in some
sense of the word, and undoubted lunatic in Ghuda's estimation, was a
onetime companion of the former mercenary.  Nine years before, they had
met and traveled with a young vagabond who'd convinced Ghuda Nakor
needed no persuading to travel on a journey to the City of Kesh, a
descent into the heart of murder, politics, and attempted treason.  The
vagabond had turned out to be Prince Borric, heir to the throne of the
Kingdom of the Isles, and Ghuda had emerged from that encounter with
enough gold to travel and find this inn, the previous owner's widow,
and the most glorious sunsets he had ever seen.  He wished never again
to experience anything like that journey in this life.  Now, with
sinking heart, he knew that wish was likely to be a vain one.

The bandy-legged little man said, "I came to get you."

Ghuda sat back down in his chair as an ale cup came sailing through the
door.  Nakor nimbly dodged it and said, "Some good fight you have
there.  Wagon drivers?"

Ghuda shook his head.  "No guests tonight.  That's just my woman's
seven kids tearing up the common room, as usual."

Nakor dropped his rucksack and sat down upon the hitching rail and
said, "Well, give me something to eat, then we'll go-"

Returning to sharpening his dirk, Ghuda said, "Go where?"

"Krondor."

Ghuda shut his eyes a moment.  The only person they both knew in
Krondor was Prince Borric.  "This is not a perfect existence, by any
measure, Nakor, but I'm contented to remain here.  Now go away."

The little man bit into his orange, pulled off a large piece of peel,
and spat it out.  He bit deeply into the orange and slurped loudly as
he did.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist,

he said, "Contented with that?"  He pointed into the darkened doorway,
through which the wail of a child carried over the general shouts and
breakage.

Ghuda said, "Well, it's a hard life, sometimes, but rarely is anyone
trying to kill me; I know where I'm sleeping every night, and I eat
well and bathe regularly.  My woman's affectionate, and the children "
Another child's loud shriek was punctuated by the sound of an indignant
infant's wailing cry.  Looking at Nakor, Ghuda asked, "I'm going to
regret asking this, but why do we need to go to Krondor?"

"Got to see a man," Nakor said as he sat back on the hitching rail,
hooking one foot behind a post to keep his balance

"One thing about you, Nakor, you never bore a man to death with
unnecessary details.  What man?"

"Don't know.  But we'll find out when we get there."

Ghuda sighed.  "Last time I saw you, you were riding north out of the
City of Kesh, heading for that island of magicians, Stardock.  You were
wearing a great cape and blue robe of magnificent weave, the horse was
a black desert stallion worth a year's wages, and you had a purse full
of the Empress's gold."

Nakor shrugged.  "The horse ate bad grass, got colic, and died."  He
fingered the dirty, torn blue robe he wore.  "The great cape kept
catching in things, so I threw it away.  The robe is the one I still
wear.  The sleeves were too long, so I tore them off.  The thing
dragged on the ground and I kept tripping on the hem, so I cut it with
my dagger."

Ghuda regarded his former companion's ragged appearance and said, "You
could have afforded a tailor."

"Too busy."  He glanced at the turquoise sky, shot through with pink
and grey clouds, and said, "I spent all the money and I got bored with
Stardock.  Decided to go to Krondor."

Ghuda felt control leaving as he said, "Last time I consulted a map,
Stardock to Krondor by way of Elarial was considered the long way
around."

Nakor shrugged.  "I needed to find you.  So I went back to Kesh.  You
said you might go to Jandowae, so there I went.  Then they said you'd
gone to Farafra, so there I went.  I then followed you to Draconi,
Caralyan, then here."

"You seem singularly determined to find me,"

Nakor leaned forward, and his voice changed; Ghuda had heard him take
this tone before and knew that what he was saying was significant.
"Great things, Ghuda.  Don't ask me why; I don't know.  Just say that
sometimes I see things.

"You need to come with me.  We are going places few men of Kesh have
ever gone.  Now, get your sword and your pack and come with me.  A
caravan leaves for Durbin tomorrow.  I have gotten you a job as a
guard; they remember Ghuda Bule.  From Durbin we can find a ship to
Krondor.  We need to be there soon."

Ghuda said, "Why should I listen to you?"

Nakor grinned and his voice was again the half-mocking, half-mirthful
sound that was the Isalani's hallmark.  "Because you're bored, true?"

Ghuda listened to his youngest stepchild wailing at some outrage done
by one of her six siblings and said, "Well, it's not as if things
around here were eventful .. ."  Hearing another shriek, he added, "or
really peaceful."

"Come.  Tell the woman good-bye and let us go."

Ghuda stood with a mixed feeling of resignation and anticipation.
Turning to the smaller man, he said, "Best go to the caravansary and
wait for me.  I have to explain some things to my woman."

Nakor said, "You got married?"

Ghuda said, "We never seemed to quite get around to it."

Nakor grinned.  "Then give her some gold if you have any left and tell
her you'll be back, then leave.  She'll have another man in that chair
and in her bed within the month."

Ghuda stood by the door a moment, regarding the light from the vanished
sun as it faded from sight and said, "I will miss the sunsets,
Nakor."

The Isalani continued to grin as he jumped down from the hitching rail,
picked up his bag, and shouldered it.  "There are sunsets above other
oceans, Ghuda.  Mighty sights and great wonders to behold."  Without
another word, he turned toward the road down to the city of Elarial and
started walking.

Ghuda Bul6 entered the common room of the inn he had called home for
nearly seven years and wondered if he would ever pass this way again.

DECISION

\J he lookout pointed.  A "Boat dead ahead!"

Amos Trask, Admiral of the Prince's fleet of the Kingdom Navy, shouted,
"What?"

The harbor pilot who stood beside the Admiral, guiding the Prince of
Krondor's flagship, the Royal Dragon, toward the palace docks, shouted
to his assistant at the bow, "Wave them off!"

The assistant pilot, a sour-looking young man, shouted back, "They fly
the royal ensign!"

Amos Trask unceremoniously pushed past the pilot.  Still a
barrel-chested, bull-necked man at past sixty years of age, he hurried
toward the bow with the sure step of a man who'd spent most of his life
at sea.  After sailing Prince Arutha's flagship in and out of Krondor
for nearly twenty years, he could dock her blindfolded, but custom
required the presence of the harbor pilot.  Amos disliked turning over
command of his ship to anyone, least of all an officious and not very
personable member of the Royal Harbormaster's staff.  Amos suspected
that the second requirement for a position in that office was an
objectionable personality.  The first seemed to be marriage to one of
the Harbormaster's numerous sisters or daughters.

Amos reached the bow and looked ahead.  His dark eyes narrowed as he
observed the scene unfolding below.  As the ship glided toward the
quay, a small sailing boat, no more than fifteen feet in length,
attempted to dart into the opening ahead of it.  Clumsily tied to the
top of the mast was a pennant, a small version of the Prince of
Krondor's naval ensign.  Two young men frantically worked the sails and
tiller, one attempting to hold as strong a line to the dock as possible
while the other furled a jib.  Both laughed at the impromptu race.

"Nicholas!"  shouted Amos, as the boy lowering the jib waved at him.
"You idiot!  We're cutting your wind!  Turn about!"  The boy- at the
helm turned to look at Amos and threw him an impudent grin.  "I should
have known," said Amos to the assistant pilot.  To the grinning boy,
Amos shouted, "Harry!  You lunatic!"  Glancing back, seeing the last of
the sails reefed, Amos observed, "We're coasting to the docks, we don't
have room to turn if we wanted to, and we certainly can't stop."

All ships coming into Krondor dropped anchor in the middle of the
harbor, waiting for longboats to tow them to the docks.  Amos was the
only man with rank enough to intimidate the harbor pilot into allowing
him to drop sail at the proper moment and coast into the docks.  He
took pride in always reaching the proper place for the land lines to be
thrown out and in having never dashed the docks or required a tow.  He
had coasted into this slip a hundred times in twenty years, but never
before with a pair of insane boys playing games in front of the ship.
Looking forward at the small boat, which was now slowing even more
rapidly, Amos said, "Tell me, Lawrence, how does it feel to be the man
on the bow when you drown the Prince of Krondor's youngest son?"

Color drained from the assistant pilot's face as he turned toward the
small boat.  In a high-pitched voice he began shrieking at the boys to
get out of the way.

Turning his back on the scene below, Amos shook his head as he leaned
back against the railing.  He ran his hand over his nearly bald pate,
the grey hair around it once dark and curly now tied back behind his
head in a sailor's knot.  After a moment attempting to ignore what they
were doing, Amos gave in.  He turned around, leaning forward and to the
right so he could see past the bowsprit.  Below, Nicholas was leaning
into the oar, one leg braced firmly against the base of the mast, the
oar firmly planted against the bow of the ship.  He looked

THE K/NG'S BaccANesn 9

terrified.  Amos could hear Nicholas shout, "Harry!  You'd better turn
to port!"

Amos nodded in silent agreement, for if Harry pulled hard to port, the
small sailboat would swing wide of the lumbering ship, getting banged
around, perhaps swamped, but at least the boys would be alive.  If they
drifted suddenly to starboard, the boat would quickly be ground between
the ship's hull and the approaching pilings of the dock.

Lawrence, the assistant pilot, said, "The Prince is fending us off."

"Ha!"  Amos shook his head.  "Letting us push them into the dock, you
mean."  Cupping his hands around his mouth, Amos shouted, "Harry!  Hard
aport!"

The young squire only yelled a maniacal war whoop in answer as he
struggled with the tiller, to keep the boat centered upon the ship's
bow.

"Like balancing a ball on a sword point."  Amos sighed.  He could tell
by the speed of the ship and its location that it was time to ready the
lines.  He turned his back on the boys once more.

From below came the sounds of Harry whooping and yelling in exultation
as the fast-moving ship pushed the small boat along.  Lawrence said,
"The Prince is holding the boat in front.  He's struggling, but he's
doing it."

Amos called, "Ready bowlines!  Ready stern lines!"  Saiiors near the
bow and stern readied lines to throw to dock men waiting below.

"Admiral!"  said Lawrence in excited tones.

Amos closed his eyes.  "I don't want to hear it."

"Admiral!  They've lost control!  They're veering to starboard!"

Amos said, "I said I didn't want to hear it."  He turned toward the
assistant pilot, who stood with a panic-stricken expression on his face
as the sounds of the small boat being crushed between the ship and the
dock grated on their ears.  The cracking of wood and tearing of planks
were accompanied by shouts from the men on the dock.

The assistant pilot said, "It wasn't my fault."

An unfriendly smile split Amos's silver and grey beard as he said,
"I'll testify to that at your trial.  Now order the lines, or you'll
smash us against the wharf."  Seeing the remark didn't

IQ Raymond E. Feist register on the shocked man, Amos shouted, "Secure
the bowlines!"

A second later the pilot called for the stern lines to be secured, and
these were tossed to those waiting below.  The ship had lost almost all
its forward movement and, when the lines went taut, stopped altogether.
Amos shouted, "Secure all lines!  Run out the gangplank!"

Turning toward the dock, he peered down into the churning water between
the ship and the dock.  Seeing bubbles amid the floating wood, line,
and sail, he yelled to the dock gang, "Lower a rope the re to those two
idiots swimming beneath the dock before they drown!"

By the time Amos was off the ship, the two wet youngsters had climbed
up to the dock.  Amos came to where they stood and regarded the soaked
pair.

Nicholas, youngest son of the Prince of Krondor, stood with his weight
shifted slightly to the right.  His left boot had a raised heel to
compensate for the deformed foot he'd possessed since birth.  Otherwise
Nicholas was a well-made, slender boy of seventeen.  He resembled his
father, having angular features and dark hair, but he lacked Prince
Arutha's intensity, though he rivaled him in quickness.  He had his
mother's quiet nature and gentle manner, which somehow made his eyes
look different from his father's, though they were the same dark brown.
At the moment he looked thoroughly embarrassed.

His companion was another matter.  Henry, known to the court as Harry
because his rather, the Earl of Ludland, was also named Henry, grinned
as if he hadn't been the butt of the joke.  The same age as Nicholas,
he was a half-head taller, had curly red hair and a ruddy face, and was
considered handsome by most of the younger court ladies.  He was a
playful youngster who often let his adventuresome nature get the better
of him, and from time to time his sense of fun took him beyond the
limits of good judgment.  Most of the time, Nicholas traveled beyond
that border with him.  Harry ran a hand through his wet hair and
laughed.

"What's so funny?"  asked Amos.

"Sorry about the boat, Admiral," answered the Squire, "but if you could
have seen the assistant pilot's face .. ."

Amos frowned at the two youngsters, then couldn't hold in his own
laughter.  "I did.  It was a sight to behold."  He threw wide his arms
and Nicholas gave him a rough hug.

"Glad you're back, Amos.  Sorry you missed the Midsummer's Feast."

Pushing the Prince away with exaggerated distaste, Amos said, "Bah!
You're all wet.  Now I'm going to have to go change before I meet with
your father."

The three began walking toward the wharf next to the palace.  "What
news?"  asked Nicholas.

"Things are quiet.  Trading ships from the Far Coast, Kesh, and Queg,
and the usual traffic from the Free Cities.  It's been a peaceful
year."

Harry said, "We were hoping for some rousing tales of adventure."  His
tone was slightly mocking.

Amos playfully smacked him in the back of the head with the flat of his
hand.  "I'll give you adventure, you maniac.  What did you think you
were doing?"

Harry rubbed at the back of his head and attempted an aggrieved
expression.  "We had right-of-way."

"Right-of-way!"  said Amos, halting in disbelief.  "In the open harbor,
perhaps, with ample room to turn, but 'right-of-way' doesn't halt a
three-masted warship bearing down on you with no place to turn and no
way to stop."  He shook his head as he resumed walking toward the
palace.  "Right-of-way indeed."  Looking at Nicholas, he said, "What
were you doing out on the bay this time of day?  I thought you had
studies."

"Prelate Graham is in conference with Father," answered Nicholas.  "So
we went fishing."

"Catch anything?"

Harry grinned.  "The biggest fish you've ever seen, Admiral."

"Now that it's back in the bay, it's the biggest, you mean," answered
Amos with a laugh.

Nicholas said, "We didn't catch anything worth talking about."

Amos said, "Well, run along and change into something less damp.  I'm
going to refresh myself, then call upon your father."

"Will you be at dinner?"  asked the young Prince.

"I expect."

"Good; Grandmother is in Krondor."

Amos brightened at that news.  "Then I will most certainly

** Nicholas gave Amos a crooked half-smile that was the im of hU fX's
and said, "I doubt anyone thinks it co mci grinned.  "It's my boundless
charm."  With a tnfheadsof bothiys he said, "Nowgo!  I must rwue
Geoffrey, then I'm off to my quarters to change So something more
fitting for dinner with .  your father.  He winked at Nicholas and
strode off, whistling a nameless tune.

1C.

Nicholas and Harry hurried along, stockings squishing in their boots,
toward the Prince's quarters.  Harry had a small room near Nicholas's,
as he was officially Prince Nicholas's

Squire.

The Prince's palace in Krondor rested hard against the bay, having in
ancient times been the defensive bastion of the Kingdom on the Bitter
Sea.  The royal docks were separated from the rest of the harbor by an
area of open shoreline that was contained within the walls of the
palace, Nicholas and Harry cut across the open expanse of beach and
approached the palace from the water.

The palace rose majestically atop a hill, outlined against the
afternoon sky, a sprawling series of apartments and halls grafted
around the original keep, which still served as the heart of the
complex.  Dwarfed by several other towers and spires added over the
last few centuries, the old keep still commanded the eye, a brooding
reminder of days gone by, when the world was a far more dangerous
place.

Nicholas and Harry pushed open an old metal gate, which provided access
to the harbor for those who worked in the kitchen.  The pungency of the
harbor, with its smells of fish, brine, and tar, gave way to more
appetizing aromas as they neared the kitchen.  The boys hurried down
past the wash house and the bake house through a small vegetable
garden, and down a low flight of stone stairs, moving, among servants'
huts.

They approached the servants' entrance to the royal family's private
apartments, not wishing a chance encounter with any of Prince Arutha's
staff or, more to the point, with the Prince himself.

THE KING'S BUCCANSZK.

Reaching the doors used by the serving staff closest to their own
rooms, Nicholas opened it just as a pair of the palace serving girls
approached from within carrying bundles of linens bound for the wash
house behind the palace.  He stood aside, though his rank gave him
precedence, out of respect for their heavy loads.  Harry gave both the
girls, only a few years older than himself, his version of a rakish
grin.  One giggled and the other fixed him with a look appropriate to
finding a rodent in the larder.

As the young women hurried off, conscious of their impact on the two
adolescent boys, Harry grinned and said, "She wants me."

Nicholas gave him a hard push that sent him stumbling through the door,
saying, "Just about as much as I want the belly flux.  Keep
dreaming."

Hurrying up the stairs to the family's quarters, Harry said, "No, she
does.  She hides it, but I can tell."

Nicholas said, "Harry the lady's man.  Lock up your daughters,
Krondor."

After the bright afternoon sunlight, the hallway was positively gloomy.
At the end of the hall, they turned up stairs that took them out of the
servants' area to the apartments of the royal family.  At the top of
the stairs, they opened the door and peeked through.  Seeing no one of
rank, the two boys hurried to their respective doors, located halfway
down the hall from the servants' door.  Between this door and his own a
mirror hung, and, catching his own reflection, Nicholas said, "It's a
good thing Father didn't see us."

Nicholas entered his own quarters, a large pair of rooms, with enormous
closets and a private garderobe, so he didn't have to leave the room to
relieve himself.  He quickly stripped off his wet clothing and dried
himself.  He turned and caught sight of himself in a large mirror, a
luxury of immense value, as it was fashioned from silvered glass
imported from Kesh.  His body that of a boy on the way to becoming a
man showed a broadening chest and shoulders; he had a man's growth of
body hair, as well as a need to shave daily.  But his face was still a
boy's, lacking the set of features that only time can give.

As he finished drying, he looked at his left foot as he had every day
of his life.  A ball of flesh, with tiny protuberances that should have
been toes, extended from the base of an other wise well-formed left
leg.  The foot had been the object of medicine and magic since his
birth, but had resisted all attempts at healing.  No less sensitive to
touch and sensation as the right foot, it nevertheless was difficult
for Nicholas to command; the muscles were connected incorrectly to
bones the wrong size to perform the tasks nature intended.  Like most
people with a lifetime affliction, Nicholas had compensated to the
point of rarely being aware of it.  He walked with only a slight limp.
He was an excellent swordsman, perhaps the equal of his father, who was
counted the best in the Western Realm.  The Palace Swordmaster judged
him as already a better swordsman than his two elder brothers were at
his age.  He could dance, as required by his office son of the ruler of
the Western Realm but the one thing that he could not compensate for
was a terrible reeling that he was somehow less than he should be.

Nicholas was a soft-spoken, reflective youngster who preferred the
quiet solitude of his father's library to the more boisterous
activities of most boys his age.  He was an excellent swimmer, a fine
horseman, and a fair archer in addition to being skilled at swordplay,
but all his life he had felt deficient.  A vague sense of failure, and
a haunting guilt, seemed to fill him unexpectedly, and often he would
find his mind seized by dark brooding.  With company, he was often
merry and enjoyed a joke as well as the next boy, but if left alone,
Nicholas found his mind seized by worry.  That had been one reason
Harry had come to Krondor.

As he dressed, Nicholas shook his head in amusement.  His companion for
the last year, Squire Harry had provided an abrupt change to Nicholas's
solitary ways, forever dragging the Prince off on some foolish
enterprise or another.  Life for Nicholas had become far more exciting
since the arrival of the middle son of the Earl of Ludland.  Given his
rank and two competitive brothers, Harry was combative and expected to
be obeyed, barely observing the difference in rank between himself and
Nicholas.  Only a pointed order would remind Harry that Nicholas wasn't
a younger brother to command.  Given Harry's domineering ways, the
Prince's court was probably the only place his father could have sent
him to have his nature tempered before he became a regular tyrant.

Nicholas brushed out his wet, neck-length hair, cut in imitation of his
father's.  Alternately drying it with a towel, then brushing it, he got
it to some semblance of respectability.  He envied Harry his red curls,
hugging his head.  A quick toweling and a brush, then off he went.

Nicholas judged himself as presentable as he was likely to make himself
under the circumstances, and left his room.  He entered the hall to
discover Harry already dressed and ready, attempting to delay another
serving woman, this one several years his senior, as she was bound upon
some errand or another.

Harry was dressed in the green and brown garb of a palace squire, which
in theory made him part of the Royal Steward's staff, but within weeks
of his arrival he had been singled out to be Nicholas's companion.
Nicholas's two older brothers, Borric and Erland, had been sent to the
King's court at Rillanon five years before, to prepare for the day
Borric would inherit the crown of the Isles from his uncle.  King
Lyam's only son had drowned fifteen years earlier, and Arutha and the
King had decided that should Arutha survive his older brother, Borric
would rule.  Nicholas's sister, Elena, was recently married to the
eldest son of the Duke of Ran, leaving the palace fairly empty of
companions of suitable rank for the young Prince before Harry was sent
into service by his father.

Clearing his throat loudly, Nicholas commanded Harry's attention long
enough for the serving woman to make her getaway.  She gave the Prince
a courteous bow coupled with a grateful smile as she hurried off.

Nicholas watched her flee and said, "Harry, you've got to stop using
your position to annoy the serving women."

"She wasn't annoyed " began Harry.

"That wasn't an opinion," said Nicholas sternly.

He rarely used his rank to command Harry about anything, but on those
rare occasions he did, Harry knew better than to argue especially when
his tone sounded like Prince Arutha's, a sure sign that Nicholas wasn't
joking.  The Squire shrugged.  "Well, we have an hour to supper.  What
shall we do?"

"Spend the time working on our story, I should think."

Harry said, "What story?"

"To give to Papa to explain why my boat is now floating across half the
harbor."

Harry looked at Nicholas with a confident smile and said, "I'll think
of something."

"You DIDN'T SEE it?"  said the Prince of Krondor as he regarded his
youngest son and the Squire from Ludland.  "How could you miss the
biggest warship in the Krondorian fleet when it was less than a hundred
feet away!"  Arutha, Prince of Krondor, brother to the King of the
Isles, and second most powerful man in the Kingdom, regarded the two
boys with a narrow, disapproving gaze they had both come to know well.
A gaunt man, Arutha was a quiet, forceful leader who rarely showed his
emotions, but to those close to him, old friends and family, the subtle
changes in his mood were easy enough to read.  And right now he wasn't
amused.

Nicholas turned to his partner in crime.  Whispering, he said, "Good
story, Harry," in dry tones.  "You obviously spent a lot of time
thinking about it."

Arutha turned to his wife, his disapproval giving way to resignation.
Princess Anita fixed her son with a scolding look that was mitigated by
amusement.  She was upset with the boys for acting foolishly, but
Harry's blatantly artless pose of innocence was entertaining.  Though
she was past forty years of age, there was still a girlish quality
about her laughter^ which she fought hard to keep reined in.  Her red
hair was streaked with grey, and her freckled face was lined from years
of service to her nation, but her eyes were clear and bright as she
regarded her youngest child with affection.

The evening's meal was a casual one, with few court functionaries in
attendance.  Arutha preferred to keep his court informal when possible,
quietly enduring pomp only when necessary.  The long table in the
family's apartment in the palace could comfortably hold a half-dozen
more people than dined tonight.  While the great hall of Krondor housed
most of the Western Realm's battle trophies and banners of state, the
family's dining hall was devoid of such reminders of wars, being
decorated with portraits of past rulers and landscapes of unusual
beauty.

Arutha sat at the head of the table, with Anita at his right hand.
Geoffrey, the Duke of Krondor and Arutha's chief administrator, sat in
his usual chair on Arutha's left.  Geoffrey was a quiet, kind man, well
liked by the staff, and an able administrator.  He had served for ten
years in the King's court before coming to Krondor eight years
previously.

THE K/NG 's BUCCANEER 17

Next to him sat Prelate Graham, a bishop of the Order of Dala, Shield
of the Weak, one of Arutha's current advisers.  A gentle but firm
teacher, the Prelate had ensured that Nicholas, like his brothers
before him, would become a man of broad education, knowing as much
about art and literature, music and drama, as he did about economics,
history, and war craft  He sat beside Nicholas and Harry, and showed by
his expression that he did not find the excuse remotely amusing.  While
the boys had been excused his tutelage while he attended the Prince's
council, he had expected them to be studying, not crashing their boat
into warships in the harbor.

Opposite the boys sat Anita's mother and Amos Trask.  The Admiral and
Princess Alicia had enjoyed a playful relationship for years, which
court gossip claimed was far more intimate than simply flirtation.
Still a handsome woman of a like age to Amos's, Alicia positively
glowed from his attention.  Anita's resemblance to her mother was clear
to see, although Alicia's once red hair was now grey and her features
revealed life's passage.  But when Amos told a quiet joke to make her
blush, her sparkling eyes and embarrassed laughter made her seem
girlish again.

Amos squeezed Alicia's hand while he whispered something to her,
probably oflF-color, and the Dowager Princess laughed behind her
napkin.  Anita smiled at the sight, for she remembered how dreadfully
her mother had missed her father after his death, and what a welcome
addition to Arutha's court Amos had become after the Riftwar.  Anita
was always pleased to see her mother smile, and no one could make her
laugh like Amos.

To the Admiral's left sat Arutha's military deputy, William,
Knight-Marshal of Krondor, a cousin to the royal family.  Cousin
Willie, as everyone in the family called him, winked at the two boys.
He had been serving in the palace for twenty years, and over that span
of time had seen Nicholas's older brothers, Borric and Erland, discover
every possible way to incur their father's anger.  Nicholas was new to
causing his father to lose his temper.  William reached for a slice of
bread and said, "Brilliant strategy, Squire.  No unnecessary derails to
remember."

Nicholas attempted to look properly chastised, but failed.  He quickly
cut a piece of lamb and stuffed it in his mouth to

IS Raymond E. Feist keep from laughing.  He glanced at Harry, who was
hiding his amusement behind a cup of wine.

Arutha said, "We'll have to think up a suitable punishment for you two.
Something to impress the value of both the boat and your own necks on
you."

Harry threw Nicholas a quick grin from behind the wine cup; both boys
knew that they stood half a chance of Arutha's forgetting any serious
punishment if the press of court business was heavy, as it often was.

The Prince's court was the second busiest in the Kingdom, and only by a
little after the King's.  Effectively a separate realm, the West was
governed from Krondor, with only broad policy coming from King Lyam's
court.  In the course of one day, Arutha might have to see two dozen
important nobles, merchants, and envoys, and read a half-dozen
important documents, as well as approve every regional decision
involving the Principality.

A boy in the purple and yellow livery of a palace page entered the room
and came to the elbow of the Royal Master of Ceremony, Baron Jerome. He
whispered to the baron, who in turn came to Arutha.  "Sire, two men are
at the main entrance of the palace, asking to see you."

Arutha knew that they would have to be something unusual for the guard
sergeant to pass them along to the Royal Steward, and for the steward
to disturb the Prince.  "Who are they?"  asked Arutha.

"They claim to be friends of Prince Borric's."  Arutha's eyebrows went
up slightly.  "Friends of Borric's?"  He glanced at his wife, then
asked, "Do they have names?"

The Master of Ceremony said, "They gave the names Ghuda Bule and Nakor
the Isalani."  Jerome, an officious man to whom dignity and pomp were
more essential than air and water, managed to convey a volume of
disapproval as he added, "They're Keshian, Sire."

Arutha was still trying to piece together some semblance of
understanding when Nicholas said, "Father!  Those are two who helped
Borric when he was captured by slavers in Kesh!  You remember him
telling us about them."

Arutha blinked and recollection came to him.  "Of course."  He told
Jerome, "Show them in at once."

Jerome motioned for the page to carry word to the entrance of the
palace, and Harry turned to Nicholas.  "Slave traders?"

Nicholas said, "It's a long story, but my brother was an envoy to Kesh,
about nine years ago.  He was captured by raiders who didn't know he
was from the royal house of the Isles.  He escaped and made his way to
the Empress's court and saved her life.  These are two men who helped
him along the way."

Everyone was staring at the door expectantly when the page entered,
followed by a pair of ragged and dirty men.  The taller was a fighter
by his dress: old, battered leather armor and a dented helm, a
bastard-sword slung over his back, and two long dirks, one at each hip.
His companion was a bandy-legged fellow; with a surprisingly childlike
expression of delight at the new sights around him, and an appealing
grin, although he could be described as nothing so much as homely.

They came to the head of the table and both bowed, the warrior stiffly
and self-consciously, the shorter man in a haphazard, absentminded
fashion.

Arutha stood and said, "Welcome."

Nakor kept looking at every detail of the room, lost in thought, so
after a long moment Ghuda said, "Sorry to disturb you, Your Highness,
but he" he jerked a thumb at Nakor "insisted."  His speech was
accented, and he spoke slowly.

Arutha said, "That's all right."

Nakor at last turned his attention to Arutha and studied him a moment
before he said, "Your son Borric doesn't look like you."

Arutha's eyes widened in amazement at the direct statement and lack of
an honorific, but he nodded.  Then the Isalani regarded the Princess
and he again grinned, a wide slash of crooked teeth that made him look
even more comical than before.  He said, "You are his mother, though.
He looks like you.  You are very pretty, Princess."

Anita laughed, and glanced at her husband, then said, "Thank you,
sir."

With a wave of his hand, he said, "Call me Nakor.  I was once Nakor the
Blue Rider, but my horse died."  He glanced around the room, fixing his
gaze on Nicholas.  His face lost its grin as he studied the boy.  He
stared at Nicholas to the point of awkwardness, then grinned again.
"This one looks like you!"

Arutha was at a loss for words, but at last managed to say,

"May I ask what brings you here?  You are welcome, for you did a great
service to my son and the Kingdom, but ... it's been nine years."

Ghuda said, "I wish I could tell you, Sire.  I've been traveling with
this lunatic for over a month, and the best I can get from him is that
we need to come here and see you, then leave on another journey." Nakor
was off in his own world again, seemingly entranced by the glitter of
the chandeliers and the dancing lights reflecting off the large glass
window behind the Prince's chair.  Ghuda endured another moment of
painful silence, and said, "I'm sorry, Highness.  We never should have
bothered you."

Arutha could see the old fighter's obvious discomfort.  "No, it's I who
am sorry."  Noticing the ragged, dirty attire, he added, "Please.  You
must rest.  I'll have rooms made ready, and you may bathe and get a
good night's sleep.  I'll have fresh clothing provided.  Then, in the
morning, maybe I can aid you in whatever mission you find yourself
upon."

Ghuda gave an awkward salute, not quite sure of the response; then
Arutha said, "Have you eaten?"  Ghuda glanced at the heavily laden
table and Arutha said, "Sit down, over there."  He motioned for them to
take the chairs next to Knight-Marshal William.

Nakor snapped out of his reverie at the mention of food and
unceremoniously hurried to the indicated chair.  He waited until the
servants had his place set with food and wine, and fell to like a man
starved.

Ghuda attempted to display as many manners as possible, but it was
clear he was uncomfortable in the presence of royalty.  Amos said
something in a strange language, and the Isalani laughed.  In the
King's Tongue he said, "Your accent is terrible.  But the joke is
funny."

Amos laughed in turn.  He said to the others, "I thought I spoke the
language of Isalan pretty well."  He shrugged.  "It's been near thirty
years since I was last in Shing Lai; I guess I've lost the knack," and
turned his attention back to the Princess of Krondor's mother.

Arutha sat down.  He became lost in his own thoughts.  Something about
the appearance of these two, the old tired fighter and the comic
character his sons had told him of, brought him a feeling of
discomfort, as if the room were sud

demy colder.  A premonition?  He tried to shrug it off, but could not.
He motioned for the servants to remove his plate, for he had lost his
appetite.

AFTER DINNER, ARUTHA walked along the balcony that overlooked the
harbor.  Behind closed doors, servants bustled readying the rooms of
the royal family's apartments.  Amos Trask left the building and came
to where Arutha stood staring out at the lights near the harbor.

"You asked to see me, Arutha?"

Arutha turned and said, "Yes.  I need your advice."

"Ask."

"What's wrong with Nicholas?"

Amos's expression showed he didn't understand the question.  "I don't
take your meaning."

"He's not like other boys his age."

"The foot?"

"I don't think so.  There's something in him .. ."

"That's cautious," finished Amos.

"Yes.  It's why I'm disinclined to really punish him and Harry for
their prank today.  It's one of the few times I've ever seen or heard
of Nicholas taking a risk."

Amos sighed as he leaned upon the low wall.  "I haven't given this a
lot of thought, Arutha.  Nicky's a good enough lad not full of pranks
and troublemalting as his brothers were."

"Borric and Erland were such a pair of rogues that I welcomed
Nicholas's reserve.  But now it's become indecision and over
cautiousness  And that is dangerous in a ruler."

Amos said, "You and I have been through a lot, Arutha.  I've known you
what, twenty-five years?  You worry the most about those you love.
Nicky's a good lad, and he'll be a good man."

"I don't know," came the surprising answer.  "I know he hasn't a mean
or petty bone in him, but one can err on the side of caution as well as
rashness, and Nicholas is always cautious.  He's going to be important
to us."

"Another marriage?"

Arutha nodded.  "This goes no further than here, Amos.  The Emperor
Diiagai has let it be known that closer ties to the i,.Kingdom are now
a possibility.  Borric's marriage to the Princess Yasmine was a step in
that direction, but the desert people are a tributary race in Kesh.
Diiagai thinks it time for a marriage to a Princess of the true
blood."

Amos shook his head.  "State marriages are nasty business."  Arutha
said, "Kesh has always been the biggest threat to the Kingdom except
for the Riftwar and we need to treat with her gently.  If the Emperor
of Kesh has a niece or cousin of the true blood he wishes to marry to
the brother of the future King of the Isles, we had better be very
secure in our borders before we say no."

"Nicky's not the only candidate, is he?"

"No, there's Carline's two sons, but Nicholas might be the best if I
thought he was able."

Amos was silent awhile.  "He's still young."

Arutha nodded.  "Younger than his years.  I blame myself "

"You always do," interrupted Amos, with a barking laugh.

" for being too protective.  The deformed foot ... his gentle nature ..
."

Amos nodded and again fell silent.  Then he said, "So season him."

Arutha said, "How?  Send him to the Border Lords as \ did his
brothers?"

"That's a little too much seasoning, I think," said" Amos, stroking his
beard.  "No, I was thinking you might do well to send him to Martin's
court for a while."

Arutha said nothing, but from his expression Amos could tell the idea
had struck home.  "Crydee," said Arutha softly.  "That would be a
different sort of home for him."

"You and Lyam turned out well enough, and Martin'll see the boy stay
safe without coddling him.  Around here no one dares raise a hand or
even their voice to the 'crippled son of the Prince."  " Arutha's eyes
flashed at that term, but he said nothing.  "Send Martin instructions,
and he won't let Nicky use his bad foot as an excuse for anything.
Prince Marcus is about his and Harry's age, so if you send that
troublemaker along, there'll be two companions of noble rank who are a
little rougher than Nicky's been used to.  He might be able to command
them, but he won't cow them.  The Far Coast is nothing like Highcastle
or Ironpass, but it's not so civilized that Nicky can't be hardened a
bit."

Arutha said, "I'll have to convince Anita."

THE KING 's BUCCANZE R

"She'll understand, Arutha," said Amos with a chuckle.  "I don't think
you'll have to do much.  As much as she wants to protect the boy,
she'll see the need."

"Boy.  Do you realize I was only three years older than Nicholas when I
took command of my father's garrison?"

"I was there.  I remember."  Putting his hand upon Arutha's shoulder,
he said, "But you were never young, Arutha."

Arutha was forced to laugh at that.  "You're right.  I was a serious
sort."

"Still are."

Amos turned to leave, and Arutha said, "Are you going to marry Anita's
mother?"

Amos turned in surprise.  Then he put his fists upon his hips and
grinned.  "Now, who have you been talking to?"

Arutha said, "Anita, and she's been talking to Alicia.  The palace has
been thick with gossip about you two for years now: the Admiral and the
Dowager Princess.  You've got the rank and the honors.  If you need
another title, I can arrange it with Lyam."

Amos held up his hand.  "No, rank has nothing to do with it."  He
lowered his voice.  "I've lived a dangerous life, Arutha.  And every
time I board a ship, there's no guarantee I'd be back.  I can be a mean
man, and no more than when I'm at sea.  There was always the chance I'd
get myself killed out there."

"You thinking of retirement?"

Amos nodded.  "Since I was about twelve I've lived on ships, save that
bit of scuffling around I did with you and Guy du Bas-Tyra during the
Riftwar.  If I'm to wed, I'll stay at home with my lady, thank you."

"When?"

Amos said, "I don't know.  It's a difficult choice; you've seen some of
what the sea can do."  Both remembered their first voyage together, as
they braved the Straits of Darkness in the winter many years ago.
Arutha had been changed by the journey, for not only had he faced death
on the sea and survived, he had come to Krondor and met his beloved
Anita.  Amos continued, "To leave the sea is difficult.  Perhaps one
last voy asc-'

Arutha said, "Martin's requested some aid in preparing the new garrison
at Barran, up the coast from Crydee.  The Royal Eagle is in the harbor,
ready to sail with enough weapons and stoics to outfit two hundred men
and horses for a year.  Why don't you captain it?  You can carry
Nicholas to Crydee, continue up the coast to the new garrison, then
visit with Martin and Briana awhile before you head back."

Amos smiled.  "A last voyage, back to where my cursed luck began."

"Cursed luck?"  asked Arutha.

"To meet you, Arutha, Since we've met, you insist on ruining my fun
every way you can."

It was an old joke between them.  "You've done well enough for an
unrepentant pirate,"

Amos shrugged.  "Well, I've done the best I could."

Arutha said, "Go pay court to your lady.  I will join mine shortly."

Amos clapped Arutha upon the back once, then turned and 4eft.  When he
was gone, Arutha continued to watch the distant tights of the harbor,
lost in thoughts and memories.

Arutha's reminiscences were interrupted by an unexpected presence at
his side.  He turned to find the odd little Isalani standing next to
him, regarding the city below.

Nakor said, "I needed to spend a moment with you'

Arutha said, "How did you get past the guards in the hall?"

Nakor shrugged.  "It was easy" was all he said.  Then he stared out
over the water, as if seeing something distant.  "You're sending your
son on a voyage."

Arutha turned sideways, eyes fixed upon the Isalani.  "What are you:
seer, prophet, or wizard?"

Nakor shrugged.  "I'm a gambler."  He produced a deck of cards
seemingly out of nowhere and said, "That's how I get money most times."
He twisted his wrist and the deck vanished.  "But sometimes I see
things."  He fell silent for a moment, then said, "Years ago, when I
met Borric, I felt drawn to him, so that when he befriended me, I
stayed with him."

He paused and, without asking leave, jumped atop the stones of the low
wall, folding his legs under him.  Looking down at the Prince, he said,
"Many things can't be explained, Prince.  Why I know things and can do
things what I call my tricks.  But I trust my girts.

"I am here to keep your son alive."

Arutha shook his head, a small motion of denial.  "Alive?"

"He moves toward danger."

"What danger?"

Nakor shrugged.  "I don't know."

Arutha said, "What if I keep him here?"

"You cannot."  Nakor shook his head.  "No, that's wrong.  You must
not."

"Why?"

Nakor sighed and his smile faded.  "A long time ago I met your friend
James.  He said things about you and your life and what he had done to
gain your favor.  He tells of a man who's seen things."

Arutha's sigh echoed Nakor's.  "I've seen dead men rise and kill, and
I've seen alien magic; I have known men born on other worlds.  I've
spoken to dragons and seen impossible visions become flesh."

Nakor said, "Then trust me.  You've made a choice.  Abide by it.  But
let me and Ghuda go with your son."

"Why Ghuda?"

"To keep me alive," said Nakor, and the grin returned.

"Borric said you were a wizard."

Nakor shrugged.  "It serves my purpose at times to let others think
such.  Your friend Pug knew there was no magic."

"You know Pug?"

"No.  But he was famous before I met Borric.  He has done many wondrous
things.  And for a time I lived at Stardock."

Arutha's eyes narrowed.  "I've not seen him for a dozen years, and word
came to us that he had removed to Sorcerer's Isle, wishing no contact
with his old friends.  I've honored that request."

Nakor leaped from the wall.  "Time to ignore it.  We will need to see
him.  Tell your captain we will have to stop there on our way west."

"You know where I'm sending Nicholas?"

Nakor shook his head no.  "I only know that when I saw Ghuda again,
after so many years, he was sitting watching the sunset.  I knew then
that we would eventually journey west, toward the sunset."  Nakor
yawned.  "I'm going to beet now, Prince."

Arutha only nodded as the strange little man let himself back into the
hallway that led to the balcony.  The Prince of Krondor stood silently
for a long time, leaning against the wall as he pondered what had been
said.  Nakor's words echoed through his mind as he attempted to sort
out the conversation.  One thing he knew, as he knew his own heartbeat:
of all those whom he loved, Nicholas was the least able to care for
himself should he travel in harm's way.  It was many hours before
Arutha at last went to his bed.

VOYAGE

The palace was in an uproar.  Arutha had spent a quiet morning with his
wife, and by the time they were finished with breakfast, she had agreed
that a year or two with Martin might be the right thing for Nicholas.
She had lived at Crydee as Arutha's guest during the last year of the
Riftwar and had come to think fondly of that modest town on the Far
Coast.  Rough by Krondorian standards though it might be, it was the
place where she had come to know her beloved Arutha, with all his dark
moods and worries as well as the lighter sides of his nature.  She
understood Arutha's concerns over Nicholas, and his fear that the boy
could find himself in over his head with the fate of others in the
balance; she also knew that Arutha would view such an occurrence as a
failure on his part.  She relented though she would miss her youngest
child because she understood this was for Arutha as much as for
Nicholas.  Out of deference to her, Arutha had protected Nicholas from
many of the harsher realities of the world he lived in.  His telling
argument was the simple statement that Nicholas stood third in line of
succession to the crown, behind his brothers, and nothing so far in his
life had prepared him for that awesome charge should ill chance
unexpectedly bring the crown to him, as it had to his uncle Lyam.

Anita had also sensed something behind his words, more than simple
anxiety over a youngster leaving home for the first time, but she could
not tell what it was.  But most of all, Anita understood that her
husband ached to be able to take control, to provide guidance,
protection, and support for Nicholas, and that to let him go was
perhaps harder for Arutha than it was for her.

Within an hour of Arutha's telling Nicholas and Harry they were bound
for Crydee with Amos, the thousand and one details of making ready for
the voyage sent the household into a near state of panic.  Yet with
practice born of a thousand state occasions, the Royal Steward and his
host of squires, pages, and servants rose to the occasion, and Arutha
knew that when the ship left the following day, everything the Prince
and his companion needed would be aboard.  " "" The Royal Eagle lay
ready to carry the arms and stores needed by the new garrison that Duke
Martin was establishing.  Amos was assuming command, and they would
leave for Crydee on the early morning tide.  The decision to leave so
abruptly was made both because Arutha did not want time to second-guess
his choice, and to take advantage of the favorable weather.  The
infamous Straits of Darkness would be navigable for the next few
months, but fall would be upon Amos by the time he left for his return
voyage.  Once heavy weather set in, the straits between the Bitter Sea
and the Endless- Sea were too dangerous to attempt except in the most
extreme need.

Amos walked down the long hall that led from the guest quarters.  In
the years he had lived in Krondor, he had never bothered to secure
private lodgings outside the palace, as had most of the Prince's staff.
He was the only member of the Prince's circle of advisers and
commanders who was unmarried and did not require a place apart from
court demands for a family.  As he was at sea nearly three-quarters of
the time, anyway, the days he stayed in the palace were few in any
event.

But now he was wrestling with the notion of how his life would change
after this voyage.  He stood a moment, hesitating, then knocked upon
the door.  A servant quickly answered and, seeing the Admiral without,
pulled the door wide.  Amos entered and found Alicia sitting upon a
divan before a wide gi ass doorway that gave upon her private balcony,
opened to admit the morning breeze.  She rose and smiled as he crossed
to her.

THE KING 's BUCCJNEE n

He took her hand and kissed her cheek.  While the servants knew well he
had spent the night in this very apartment, they observed the pretense
of not knowing in the name of court protocol.  Amos had snuck out of
the rooms before dawn and had returned to his own quarters.  He had
changed and journeyed to the harbor for a quick inspection of the Royal
Eagle.

"Amos," said the Dowager Princess.  "I didn't expect to see you until
this evening."

Amos was at a loss for words, which surprised Alicia.  She had
understood something was on his mind last night, for while he had been
ardent, he had also been somewhat distracted.  Several times he had
appeared to be on the brink of saying something, only to switch into
some inconsequential question or statement.

He glanced around, and when it was clear they were alone, he sat
heavily beside her.  Taking her hands in his own, he said, "Alicia, my
darling, I've given the matter some thought "

"What matter?"  she interrupted.

"Let me finish," he said.  "If I don't get this out, I'm likely to lose
my nerve, hoist sail, and leave."

She tried not to smile, for he seemed very serious.  But she had a good
idea of what was next.

"I'm getting on in age "

"You're still a youngster," she said playfully.

"Dammit, woman, this is difficult enough without your trying to flatter
me!"  His tone was more exasperation than anger, so she was not
offended.  Her eyes betrayed a merry glint while she kept a straight
face,

"I've done many things I'm not proud of, Alicia, and some I've
confessed to you.  Others I'd just as soon forget."  He paused,
searching for words.  "So, if you're not of a mind to, I'll understand
and take no offense."

"Mind to what, Amos?"

Amos almost blushed as he blurted, "Marry."

Alicia laughed and squeezed his hands tightly.  She leaned forward and
kissed him.  "Silly man.  Whom else would I marry?  It's you I'm in
love with."

Amos grinned.  "Well then, that's it, isn't it?"  He threw his arms
around her and held her close.  "You're not going to regret this, are
you?"

"Amos, at my age I've had my share of regrets, I can assure you.  I
married Erland because he was the King's brother and my father was the
Duke of Timons, not because I felt anything for him.  I came to love my
husband, for he was a kind and lovable man, but I was never in love
with him.  When he died, I assumed that love would be something I would
watch in others younger than I. Then you showed up."  He sat back, and
she gripped his chin in her hand, playfully shaking his head as she
would a child's.  Then her hand went to his cheek and she caressed it.
"No, I haven't enough time left for making poor choices.  For all your
rough edges, you've a quick mind and a generous heart, and whatever you
did in the past is in the past.  You've been the only grandfather my
grandchildren have (mown though they know better than to say it to your
face but that's how they feel.  No, this is no mistake."  She leaned
into his arms and again he held her tight.  Amos sighed in
contentment.

Alicia felt tears of happiness gather in her eyes, and she 'blinked
them back.  Amos had never been comfortable with open displays of
emotion.  Their relationship had been intimate for years now, but she
had understood Amos's reticence in making a proposal, for she knew him
a man not given to close attachments.  That he cared for Arutha and his
family was clear, yet there was always a part of Amos that was distant.
She knew that he held back, and nothing she could do would force him to
give freely.  Age had lent her a wisdom many younger women would not
have understood.  She had not wished to drive Amos off by asking him to
choose between his love for her and his love for the sea.

Amos reluctantly released his hold on her.  "Well, much as I would love
to stay awhile, I have been given a mission by your daughter's
husband."

"You're leaving again?  But you only just got here."  There was genuine
disappointment in her voice.

"Yes, true.  But Nicholas is to go to Martin's court for a year or two
of seasoning, and some stores must be taken to the new garrison at
Barran on the northwest coast."  He looked into her green eyes and
said, "It's my last voyage, love.  I'll not be gone long, and then
you'll find how quickly you grow tired of having me underfoot all the
time."

She shook her head and smiled.  "Hardly.  You'll find much to keep you
busy on my estates.  We'll have lands to tend,

tenants to supervise, and I doubt Arutha will let you stay away from
court more than a month at a time.  He values your insights and
opinions."

They talked for a while, and then Amos said, "We have much to do.  I
must ensure the ship is ready, and you and Anita will no doubt wish to
get about the business of a wedding."

They parted and Amos walked away from her apartment, feeling both
elation and an unusual desire to keep sailing west once he dropped
Nicholas off.  He loved Alicia like no other woman he had met in this
life, but the prospect of marriage was more than a little frightening
to the old bachelor.

He almost knocked over Ghuda Bule as he rounded a corner.  The
grey-haired mercenary backed away, bowing awkwardly.  "Excuse me,
sir."

Amos paused.  Switching to the Keshian language, he said, "No excuse
needed .. ."

"Ghuda Bule, sir."

"Ghuda," finished Amos.  "My mind was other places and I wasn't
watching my way."

Ghuda's eyes narrowed and he said, "Forgive me, sir, but I think I know
you."

Amos rubbed his chin.  "I've been to Kesh a time or two."

Ghuda smiled an ironic smile.  "I was a caravan guard, mostly; there's
little of Kesh I haven't seen."

Amos said, "Well, it would have been a port, for I've never been
farther inland in Kesh than I needed to be.  Perhaps in Durbin."

Ghuda shrugged.  "Perhaps."  He glanced around.  "My companion has
vanished, as he does from time to time, so I thought I'd gawk a bit."
He shook his head.  "I was in the Empress's palace in the City of Kesh
some years ago, when I traveled with your Prince's son."  He glanced at
the high vaulted windows that looked out over the landward side of the
city.  "Very different here, yet worth a look."

Amos grinned.  "Well, get your fill of gawking, then.  We leave at
first light to catch the tide."

Ghuda's eyes narrowed.  "We leave?"

Amos's grin widened.  "I'm Admiral Trask.  Arutha told me you two would
be traveling with us."

"Where are we going?"  asked Ghuda.

"Ha!"  barked Amos.  "Obviously that strange friend of yours hasn't
told you.  You and he are coming with us, to

Crydee."  .- ,

Ghuda turned about slowly, talking to himself as much to Amos.  "Of
course he didn't tell me.  He never tells me any thing."  .

Amos clapped him on the back in a friendly man net  "Well, I'm not sure
why, but you're welcome.  You'll have to share a cabin with the little
man, but you seem used to his company.  I'll see you in the courtyard
before dawn tomorrow."

"Of course we'll be there."  After Amos left, Ghuda shook his head.  In
a sour tone he muttered, "Why are we going to Crydee, Ghuda?  I haven't
the vaguest idea, Ghuda.  Shall we go find Nakor, Ghuda?  Certainly,
Ghuda.  Then shall we strangle him, Ghuda?"  With a single nod of his
head, he answered himself, "With great delight, Ghuda."

HURRIED ALONG the soldiers' marshaling yard, where an afternoon drill
was under way.  He was looking for Harry.

The young Squire was where Nicholas expected to find him, watching the
team from Krondor getting ready for a football match with the visiting
team from Ylith.  The sport, played by Prince of Krondor rules codified
some twenty years earlier by Arutha had become the national sport in
the Western Realm, and now city champions challenged one another
regularly.  Years before, an enterprising merchant had erected a field
and stands near the palace.  Over the years he had improved it and
expanded it, until it was now a stadium that could easily accommodate
forty thousand spectators.  It was expected to be full next Sixthday
when the match was played.  The visiting Ylithmen, the North Precinct
Golds, were playing Krondor's champions, the Millers and Bakers
Association Stonemen.

Nicholas arrived to see an attack drill, in which five Stonemen
descended upon the goalkeeper and three defenders and, with three deft
passes, scored a goal.  Harry turned and said, "I hate to miss the
match."

Nicholas said, "Me too, but think of it: a sea voyage!"

Harry regarded his friend and saw an excitement in Nicholas he had
never seen before.  "You really want to go, don't your

"Don't you?"

Harry shrugged.  "I don't know.  Crydee sounds like a pretty sleepy
place.  I wonder what the girls are like."  He grinned at the last and
Nicholas grimaced in return.  Nicholas was as shy of girls as Harry was
shameless.  Still, he enjoyed being around Harry when he flirted with
the younger girls in the court and the servants' daughters, because he
thought he might learn something as long as the Squire wasn't bullying
them, as he had the day before.  At times Harry could be charming, but
at other rimes he got too rough for Nicholas's taste.

Nicholas said, "You may miss getting put tn your place by the local
girls, but I feel like I'm getting out of a cage."

Harry's usual bantering manner vanished.  "It's not that bad?"

Turning away from the practice, Nicholas walked back toward the palace,
Harry felling in at his side.  "I have always been the youngest, the
weakest, the ... cripple."

Harry's eyebrows went up.  "Some cripple.  I've got more bruises and
cuts from sword practice with you than everyone else combined, and I
don't think I've touched you more than twice in a year."

Nicholas's crooked smile made him look like his father as he said,
"You've scored a point or two."

Harry shrugged.  "See.  I'm not bad, but you're exceptional.  How could
you be considered a cripple?"

"Do you have the Festival of Presentation in Ludland?"

Harry said, "No, it's only for the royal family, right?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "No.  It used to be that every noble child
was presented to the people thirty days after birth, so that all could
see the child was born without flaw.

"It fell out of practice in the Eastern Realm a long time ago, but it
was practiced widely in the West.  My brothers were presented, as was
my sister all the children of the royal family, until me."

Harry nodded.  "All right, so your father didn't wish to show you off
to the people.  What about it?"

Nicholas shrugged.  "It's not what you are, sometimes; it's how people
treat you.  I've always been treated as if there was something wrong
with me.  It makes it hard."

"And you think things will be different in Crydee?"  said Harry as they
left the precinct of the stadium and reached the gate to the palace.

Two guards saluted the Prince as he passed, and Nicholas said, "I don't
know my uncle Martin well, but I like him.  I think I may have a
different life in Crydee."

Harry sighed as they entered the palace.  "I hope it's not too
different," he observed as a particularly pretty maid hurried past.  He
watched her until she vanished through a side door.  "There are so many
possibilities here, Nicky."

Nicholas shook his head in resignation.

THE ROWERS PULLED and the longboat backed away, as heavy lines ran out
to the stern of the ship.  Upon the docks Arutha, Anita, and a host of
court functionaries stood, bidding Prince Nicholas good-bye.  Anita had
a glimmer in her eyes, yet she held back her tears.  Nicholas was her
baby, but she had seen three other children leave home before, and that
kept her in balance.  Still, she kept a tight hold on her husband's
arm.  Something in his manner made her uneasy.

Nicholas and Harry stood near the bow, waving to those upon the docks.
Amos stood behind them, his eyes fixed upon his beloved Alicia.
Nicholas looked from his grandmother to Amos and said, "Well, should I
begin to call you "Grandfather'?"

Amos gave Nicholas a baleful look.  "You do and you'll swim to Crydee.
And when we clear the harbor, you'll call me "Captain."  As I told your
father over twenty years ago, Prince or not, upon a ship none is master
save the captain.  Here I'm high priest and king, and don't you forget
it."

Nicholas grinned at Harry, not quite ready to believe that Amos could
turn into some sort of raging tyrant once they were at sea.

The harbor crew continued to tow the large ship clear of the royal
quay, then cast off.  Amos shot a glance at the harbor pilot and
shouted, "Take the wheel, master pilot!"  To the crew he shouted, "Set
all topsails!  Make ready mainsails and topgallants!"

When the first three sails were deployed, the ship seemed to come to
life.  Nicholas and Harry felt the movement beneath their feet.  The
ship heeled slightly to the right as the pilot brought it about.  Amos
left the boys to their own devices and made his way to the stern.

Slowly the ship moved through the fwfeor, majestically

THE KING '$ BUCCANEER

passing dozens of lesser craft.  Nicholas watched every detail as the
crew sprang to answer the pilot's commands.  Two smaller coastal
cutters were entering the harbor mouth as they approached.  Seeing the
ensign of the royal house of Krondor atop the mainmast, they dipped
their own Kingdom flag in salute.  Nicholas waved to them.

Harry said, "Not very dignified, Your Highness."

Nicholas threw an elbow into Harry's ribs, laughing.  "Who cares?"

The ship turned into the wind near the harbor mouth, bringing it to a
virtual halt.  A small rowboat came alongside and the pilot and his
assistant hurried down into it, turning command of the ship over to
Amos.

Once the pilot's boat was clear, Amos turned to his first mate, a man
named Rhodes, and shouted, "Trim topsails.  Set mainsails and
topgallants!"

Nicholas involuntarily gripped the rail, for the ship seemed to leap
forward as the wind filled the sails.  In the brisk morning breeze the
ship sped through the water.  The sun began to burn through the early
morning haze and the sky turned a vivid blue.  Above, sea gulls flew
after the ship, waiting for the day's garbage to be tossed over the
side.

Nicholas pointed down at the bow wake, and Harry looked over to see
dolphins racing the ship.  Both boys laughed at the sight.

Amos watched the landmarks of the harbor fall away behind, then he
consulted the position of the sun above the harbor.  Turning to the
first mate, he said, "Due west, Mr.  Rhodes.  We make for Sorcerer's
Isle."

FOR six DAYS they tacked against the prevailing westerly winds, until
the lookout called, "Land ho!"

"Where away?"  shouted Amos.

"Two points off the starboard bow, Captain!  An island!"

Amos nodded.  "Look for the headlands, Mr.  Rhodes.  There's a cove to
the southwest that we can lie in.  Pass word that we'll only be laying
over for a day or so.  No one is to leave the ship without
permission."

Rhodes, a laconic man, said, "No one's going to wish to set foot on
Sorcerer's Isle without a direct order, Captain."

Amos nodded.  He knew who lived there now, but old superstitions died
hard.  For years the abode of Macros the Black, the island was reputed
to be the home of demons and other dark spirits.  Pug, a magician
related to Arutha by adoption whom Amos had met on a number of
occasions, had come to live on this island almost nine years before,
and for his own reasons made few welcome there.  Without thought, Amos
said, "Pass the word to be alert."

Looking around, Amos realized that there was no need.  Every man on the
ship had his eyes fixed upon the spot of land that was growing larger
with every passing minute.  Amos felt a little stirring of
anticipation, for while he knew Pug had requested no visitors, he
doubted he would attack a ship flying the Krondotian royal ensign.

Nakor and Ghuda had come up on deck, and the little man rushed to the
bow, where Nicholas and Harry were already stationed.  Nicholas grinned
at the strange little man.  He had taken a liking to Nakor, who had
proved an entertaining companion on an otherwise dull voyage.

"Now you'll see some things," said Nakor.  Ghuda said, "Look, a
castle."

Upon a promontory, the outlines of a castle could be seen as they drew
closer.  As they neared, they began to discern details.  It was built
of black stones, and set upon a rocky finger of land that was separated
from the rest of the island by a narrow fissure through which the surf
pounded.  Across the gap a drawbridge extended, but even with it down,
there was little about the place that looked hospitable.  A single
window, high up in a tower, flashed an ominous blue light.

The ship swung to the south of the rocks that lined the cliff base
below the castle, and soon they approached a small inlet.  The boys,
Ghuda, and Nakor heard Amos call out, "Reef all sails!  Drop anchor."

Within minutes the ship had stopped, and Amos came forward.  "Well,
who's going ashore besides these two?"  he asked, indicating Nakor and
Ghuda.

Nicholas said, "I'm not sure what you're asking, Amos er, Captain."

Amos seemed to squint with one eye at the boy as he said, "Well, then
it seems your father was even less forthcoming with you than with me.
All he said was I was to heave to at Sorcerer Isle for a bit, so you
could visit your cousin Pug.  I thought you'd know all about this."

Nicholas shrugged.  "I've not seen him since I was very young; I hardly
know the man."

Nakor said, "You come."  He pointed at Harry.  "You too."  To Amos he
said, "You I don't know about.  I think you come also, but I'm not
sure.  Ghuda comes with me."

Amos stroked his beard.  "Arutha said to do as you asked, Nakor, so
I'll tag along."

"Good," said the little man with a grin.  "Let's go.  Pug is
waiting."

Harry said, "He knows we're here?"

Ghuda shook his head.  "No, he's fast asleep and hasn't noticed this
great ship approaching for the last half day."

Harry had the decency to blush as Nicholas laughed.  Amos turned to his
crew, many of whom hung in the rigging, watching the flashing lights of
the distant castle, and shouted, "Lower a boat!"

THE BOAT GROUND into the sand and two sailors jumped out and pulled it
ashore.  Nicholas and Harry climbed out and waded through the
ankle-deep water as Nakor, Ghuda, and Amos followed.

Nakor immediately headed for a path that led up to a ridge overlooking
the cove.  Amos called, "Where are you going?"

Nakor kept walking as he turned and said, "That way," pointing up to
the top of the path.

Ghuda looked at the others, shrugged, and began to follow.  The boys
hesitated an instant, then also started walking up the path.

Amos shook his head and turned to the sailors.  "Return to the ship.
Tell Mr.  Rhodes to keep a sharp eye out; we'll signal from here when
we want the boat to pick us up."

The two sailors saluted and pushed the boat back, while the two who
were still sitting in it unshipped a pair of oars and started pulling
against the breakers.  The two at the bow leaped into the boat and soon
there were four sailors pulling hard to get back to the relative safety
of their ship.

Amos trudged after the other four to find them waiting at the top of
the path.  Another path diverted from the one that led to the castle,
and Nakor started walking down that one.

Amos said, "The castle's over that way, Keshian."  "Isalani," answered
Nakor.  "Keshians are tall, dark people who run around without most of
their clothing.  And Pug is this way."

Ghuda said, "Best not to argue with him, Admiral," as he followed.  The
others fell into step and followed Nakor down into a small  defile,
then upward to another ridge.  From the top of the second ridge they
could see down into a small vale.  It was overgrown with brush and
thick with ancient trees.  The path seemed to vanish at the edge of the
woods at the base of the hill.

Ghuda said, "Where are you taking us?"

Nakor almost skipped as he walked, tapping his walking stick on the
path.  "This way.  It's not far."

The boys hurried along, almost running, and soon were beside the
Isalani.  "Nakor," said Nicholas, "how do you know Pug is here?"

Nakor shrugged.  "It's a trick."

As they reached the edge of the forest, they encountered
daunting-looking undergrowth and trees set so close together that
passage seemed impossible.  "Where now?"  asked Harry.

Nakor grinned.  "Look."  He pointed at the path with his staff.  "Look
here.  Don't look up."

He started walking slowly, turning around so he was moving backward,
dragging the point of his staff upon the ground.  The boys followed
after, keeping their eyes fixed upon the tip of the staff as it stirred
dust in the pathway.  They moved slowly, and after a moment Nicholas
realized that they should now be stuck in heavy undergrowth but in feet
the pathway was still clear.  "Don't look up," said Nakor.

Gloom surrounded them, but they could clearly see the path where the
staff touched it.  Then suddenly there was light, and Nakor said, "You
can look now."

Instead of a heavy forest, they stood before a large rambling estate,
with a few well-tended fruit trees around the edges.  On the other side
of the estate, sheep grazed, and a half-dozen horses ambled across a
large meadow.  Nicholas looked back and saw Amos and Ghuda glancing
about as if lost.  Nakor said, "They were too slow.  I'll go get
them."

From behind, a voice said, "There's no need."

Nicholas turned and saw a man in a black robe, slightly

THE KING 's BUCCANEI K

shorter than himself, looking at the three with a quizzical expression.
The Prince's eyes widened, for the man could not possibly have been
there a moment before.  The man moved his hand, and suddenly Amos and
Ghuda were staring with eyes wide.  "I've removed the illusion," said
the man.

Nakor said, "I told you: it was a trick."

The man looked over the two boys and Nakor, then studied Amos and Ghuda
as they approached.  After a moment his bearded face relaxed and years
seem to fall away as he said, "Captain Trask!  I had no idea."

Amos strode up to him and stuck out his hand.  "Pug, it's good to see
you once more."  As they shook, Amos remarked,

"You look no different than you did after the Battle of Setha- it"

non!

There was some humor in Pug's voice as he said, "I've been told that.
Who are your companions?"

Amos motioned for Nicholas to step forward.  "I have the pleasure of
presenting your cousin Prince Nicholas."

Pug smiled warmly at the boy and said, "Nicky, I haven't seen you since
you were little more than a baby."

Amos continued, "This is Harry of Ludland, his Squire, and these two
are Ghuda Bule and"

Before he could finish, Nakor said, "I am Nakor, the Blue Rider."

Unexpectedly, Pug laughed aloud.  "You!  I have heard of you."  With
genuine amusement he said, "You are all welcome to Villa Beata."

He motioned for them to follow as he led them toward the strangely
designed home.  A large central building, white, with a red-tile roof,
was surrounded by a low white stone wall, which sheltered a garden of
fruit trees and flowers.  In the center of the garden, a fountain
fashioned of marble in the form of three dolphins sent up a cheerful
spray.  Off in the distance, they could see outbuildings.

Stepping forward so he walked at Pug's side, Nicholas said, "What is
Villa Beata?"

"This place.  In the language of those who built it, it means 'blessed
home," or so I was told.  And so I have found."

Amos turned to Nakor and asked him, "How did you know not to go to the
castle?"

The little man grinned and shrugged.  "It's what I would do Pug said
over his shoulder, "If you had gone to the castle, you would have found
it deserted, save for some lively traps in the tallest tower.  I find
it preserves my privacy to keep alive the legend of the Black Sorcerer.
Wards I've set there would have alerted me to your trespass, so I would
have come to see who called, but you've been saved a half day of wasted
time."  Looking at Nakor, he said, "We should talk before you leave."

Nakor nodded vigorously.  "I like your house.  It makes sense."

Pug nodded in turn.

Reaching the gate through the low wall, he held open the gate for the
others, letting them all pass through before he followed after.  "Be
warned, not all my servants are human, and some may startle you.  But
none here will do you harm."

As if illustrating this point, a tall creature appeared at the main
entrance of the house.  Ghuda's sword was half out of his scabbard
before he remembered himself and put it away.  The creature appeared to
be a goblin, though taller than any Ghuda had ever seen.  Goblins were
usually smaller than men, but not by much.  This creature's
blue-green-tinged skin was smooth, and his eyes were huge and round,
with black irises on yellow.  He also possessed a finer cast of
features than any goblin Ghuda had fought, though he did have the heavy
brow ridge and comically large nose common to goblin kind.  But his
clothing was of fine weave and cut and he carried himself with an air
that could only be called dignified.  He smiled, showing long teeth
that came close to being fangs.  He executed a courtly bow and said,
"Master Pug, refreshments are ready."

Pug said, "This is Gathis, who acts as seneschal of my house.  He will
provide for your comforts."  Looking skyward, he said, "I think our
guests will dine and spend the night.  Make rooms ready."  Turning to
the five visitors, he said, "We have ample room, and I think a relaxed
evening would be appropriate."  He added to Nicholas, "Highness, you do
resemble your father at your age."

Nicholas said, "You knew my father when he was my age?"

The youthful-looking Pug nodded.  "Well.  I shall tell you of it
sometime."  To the entire party he said, "Come.  Refresh yourselves.  I
must see to some matters of urgency, but I will join you after you have
rested."  So saying, he vanished through the door to the house, leaving
them in the care of Gathis.

The odd-looking creature spoke with a sibilance due in the main to a
large assortment of teeth, but his words were courtly.  "If you have
any needs, gentlemen, please inform me and I shall endeavor to meet
them at once.  Please, come this way."

He led them into a spacious entry hall, facing a large set of doors
opening upon a very large central garden.  To the right and left,
corridors stretched away.  He led them to the left, down to the first
corner, then to the right.  A portico extended from a door on their
left, connecting another large building to the main one.  Leading them
to the next building, Gathis said, "These are the guest quarters,
gentlemen."

Ghuda again almost had his sword out as a troll came ambling out
through the doorway, carrying a large bundle of linens.  The creature
wore a simple tunic and trousers, but it was without a doubt a troll:
humanlike in form, short, with tremendously broad shoulders and arms
hanging nearly to the ground.  The face was apelike, with large fangs
protruding over the lower lip, and deep black eyes set back under a
massive brow ridge.  Without any fuss, the creature moved to the side
and bowed slightly to the guests, letting them pass.

Gathis said, "That is Solunk, who is the porter here.  If you need
fresh towels or hot water, pull the bell cord and he will answer.  He
cannot speak your Kingdom tongue, but he understands it enough to
answer your requests.  If you should have any needs he cannot
understand, he will fetch me."  He showed them all to rooms in the
building, and left each to himself.

Nicholas found himself in a well-appointed if not overly ornate room. A
simple bed with a thick comforter dominated one corner, beneath a large
window looking out at the smaller buildings behind the great house.  He
glanced through and saw a man and another creature, similar to Gathis
but not as large, carrying firewood into what appeared to be a cook
house

Nicholas turned to examine the other contents of the room, a simple
writing desk with a chair, a large wardrobe, and a chest.  Opening the
chest, he saw fresh linens, while the wardrobe revealed a small array
of clothing of varying cut, color, and weave, and several sizes, as if
any number of guests might have left one or two items behind.

There was a knock at the door and Nicholas opened it to find Solunk,
the troll, standing before the portal.  He motioned to a large metal
tub two men carried, and then to Nicholas.  The boy understood and
nodded, opening the door wide.  The two men entered, and Nicholas
couldn't help but stare.  Both were dressed only in red trousers, and
their skin was black, but unlike the dark-skinned people of Krondor and
Kesh, these men were not merely dark.  They were black as if their
bodies had been painted with lampblack or paint.  They also showed no
hair upon their heads and faces, and their eyes were a startling pale
blue, with no visible white, against the sooty skin.

They set the tub down in the center of the room and left.  The troll
opened the wardrobe and without hesitation selected a pair of trousers
and a tunic that appeared the proper size for Nicholas.  He then rooted
around in the chest, beneath the linens, and produced a pair of under
trousers and hose.  The two men of unusual color returned with large
buckets and filled the tub with hot water, leaving a towel, brush, and
a bar of scented soap.

The troll made an inquiring noise and pantomimed scrubbing Nicholas's
back.  Nicholas said, "No, thank you.  I can manage."

With a satisfied-sounding grunt, the troll motioned for the others to
leave and followed them out, closing the door behind.

Nicholas shook his head in silent amazement, then stripped off his very
dirty clothing and got in the tub.  The water was hot, but not too hot,
and he lowered himself gently into it.  When he was sitting, he
indulged himself in a long sigh and leaned back.  He savored the luxury
of the hot bath after a week in the close quarters aboard ship.  From
down the hall he could hear Harry singing to himself as he began to
bathe and decided he should get on with scrubbing himself before the
water cooled too much.  Shortly he was covered with lather and softly
humming a counter melody to Harry's more rambunctious vocalizing.

After a long, refreshing bath, Nicholas dressed and found the clothing
laid out for him to fit almost as well as his own.  He pulled on his
boots and left the room.  The hall was empty and he thought about
disturbing the others; Harry still filled the air with his less than
stunning voice.

He decided to wander a bit and explore.  He entered the main house,
passing through the main hallway, and turned through a doorway into the
central garden.  Like the one before the house, this garden was
dominated by fruit trees and flowers, with small paths crossing from
four central doors of the square, forming a cross.  At the intersection
of the two paths was set a fountain similar to the one before the
house, and nearby was a small white stone bench.  Pug sat there,
speaking with a woman.

As he approached, Nicholas saw Pug look up and rise.  "Highness, I have
the pleasure of presenting a friend, the Lady Ryana."  Turning to his
companion, he said, "Ryana, this is Prince Nicholas, son of Arutha of
Krondor."

The woman rose and curtsied with precision, startling green eyes fixed
upon the boy.  Her age was unguessable, being somewhere between the
late teens and early thirties; her features were finely chiseled,
"aristocratic" being the only word that Nicholas could think of, in her
presence he felt that he was the lowborn and she the noble.  But
beautiful as she was, there was something in her manner and movement
that could only be called alien: her hair was not blond but truly gold
and her skin was ivory, yet almost glinted in the sunlight.  Nicholas
hesitated a moment, then bowed correctly, saying, "M'lady."

Pug said, "Ryana is the daughter of an old friend, come to study awhile
with me."

"Study?"

Pug nodded, indicating that Nicholas should sit where he had, while Pug
sat upon the edge of the fountain.  "Many of those here are servants or
friends, but some are also students of mine."

Nicholas said, "I thought you had built the academy at Stardock as a
place of study."

Pug smiled slightly, and there was a hint of irony in his voice as he
said, "The academy is like most other human institutions, Nicholas,
which means that as time passes, it will become more set in its ways,
more concerned with 'tradition," and less willing to grow.  I've seen
firsthand the results of such attitudes, and don't wish to see them
repeated.  But I have a limited influence at Stardock.  It's been seven
years since my last visit, and eight since I lived among the magicians
there.  I left soon after my wife died."  He looked at the sky, lost in
thought.  "My old friends Kulgan and Meecham are gone as well- My
children have grown and are married.  No, there are few at Stardock I
feel compelled to visit."

He waved his hand in an encompassing gesture.  "Here I will take any
who is worthy, and some are from other worlds.  I doubt some you've
already met would be welcome down there."

Nicholas shook his head.  "I guess."  Attempting to be polite, he spoke
to Ryana, "M'lady, are you from one of those distant worlds?"

Her voice carried alien notes.  "No, I was born near here,

Highness."

Nicholas felt his skin crawl for reasons he could not put voice to. The
woman was unusually beautiful by any standard, yet it was a beauty of
another kind, something he could not be touched by.  He smiled, for he
could not think of another polite thing to say.

Pug seemed to sense his discomfort, so he said, "What do I owe the
pleasure of this visit to, Nicholas?  I was rather pointed in my
request to your rather that I be left undisturbed here."

Nicholas blushed.  "I really don't know, Pug.  Father said Nakor
insisted, and for some reason Father felt compelled to honor his
request, I'm on my way to Martin's court at Crydee, to squire there for
a while and ... I guess get hardened on the frontier."

Pug smiled, and again Nicholas felt calmed by the smile.  "Well, it's
rough compared to Krondor, but Crydee is hardly the frontier.  The town
is twice the size it was when I was a boy, I have been told.  And the
Jonril garrison is now a major town.  There's a growing duchy out
there.  I think you'll like it."

Nicholas smiled and said, "I hope so," without a great deal of
conviction.  He attempted to keep his expression even, but for the last
couple of days he had been visited by an unexpected homesickness.  The
novelty of the journey had worn off, and now the tedious voyage, with
nothing to do but sit in his cabin or pace the deck, was taking its
toll.

"How are things at your father's court?"  asked Pug.

Nicholas said, "Quiet.  And busy.  The usual.  No wars or plagues or
other crisis, if that's what you mean."  Looking at Pug's face, he saw
a questioning look.  Nodding, Nicholas said, "Your son is now
Knight-Marshal of Krondor."

Pug nodded, his expression thoughtful.  "William and I had a felling
out over his choice to be a soldier.  He has some strange and powerful
gifts."

Nicholas said, "Father told me something about it, but I'm not sure I
understand."

Pug's smile returned.  "I'm not sure I do, either, Nicholas.  For all
my skills, being a father at least with William may have been a little
beyond me.  I insisted he study at Stardock and he would have none of
it."  Pug shook his head and his expression turned rueful.  "I was very
demanding, and he left without my leave.  Arutha gave him a commission
because of his being a cousin.  I'm glad to see he's made something of
himself."

"You should go see him," Nicholas said.

Pug smiled again.  "Perhaps."

Nicholas said, "I wanted to ask you something.  Everyone calls William
"Cousin Willie," and I've heard you also referred to as a cousin.  But
I know my grandfather Borric had only three sons and no nephews .. . ?"
He shrugged.

Pug said, "I did your grandfather some service when I was part of his
household.  I was an orphan boy, and when he thought me lost, he added
my name to the family archives in Rillanon.  As I was not formally
adopted as his son, the King couldn't refer to me as a brother, so
'cousin' seemed appropriate.  I^don't speak of such things no one here
is concerned over matters of patents and titles but I am considered a
prince of one sort or another in the Kingdom."

Nicholas grinned.  "Well, Highness, the other news is that your
daughter has given birth to her third child."

Pug's smile broadened.  "A boy?"

Nicholas said, "At last.  Uncle Jimmy loves his two girls, but he
really wanted a son this time."

Pug said, "I've not seen them since their wedding.  Perhaps I am
overdue at Rillanon for a family visit, if only to see my
grandchildren."  He looked at Nicholas with a friendly expression.
"I'll think about a visit to your father's court on the way, and
perhaps a stubborn father and his equally stubborn son can find
something to say to each other."

Nakor and Ghuda appeared at the entrance to the garden, the fighter
wearing a finely bordered shirt of silk and balloon trousers tucked
into his battered old boots.  His bastard-sword had been left in his
room, but his dirks were prominently evident.  The little gambler wore
a short robe of bright orange, which looked garish to Nicholas, but
which seemed to delight him.  He hurried forward and bowed to Pug.
"Thank you for the fine robe."

He caught sight of Ryana, and his eyes widened as his mouth opened in
an O of amazement.  He quickly spoke a few phrases in a language
unknown to Nicholas.  The woman's green eyes widened, and she regarded
Pug with an expression that Nicholas could only call alarm.  Something
the little man said had frightened her badly.

Pug held up one finger to his lips in the gesture for silence, and
Nakor glanced at Ghuda and Nicholas.  With an embarrassed laugh, he
said, "Sorry."

Nicholas looked at Ghuda, who said, "I never ask."  Pug said, "Amos and
Harry should be here soon.  We can move to the dining room."

The dining room turned out to be a large square room on the side of the
central building farthest from the guest quarters.  In the middle was a
low, square table, with cushions on all sides.  Pug spoke as Amos and
Harry entered.  "I prefer eating in the Tsurani fashion; I hope you
don't mind."

Amos said, "As long as it's food, I'll stand if I must."  Seeing Ryana,
he halted, while Pug made introductions.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes from the woman, almost felling over a
cushion as.  he came to Nicholas's side.  Sitting next to the Prince,
he whispered, "Who is that?"

' Nicholas spoke softly.  "A sorceress, or at least a student of Pug's.
And don't whisper, it's impolite."

Harry flushed and fell silent as the two odd black men entered,
carrying platters of food.  They quickly set plates before everyone and
left, returning a moment later with cups of wine.  As dinner was
served, Pug said, "I'm out of practice entertaining, so I apologize
should you find anything lacking."

Amos spoke on everyone's behalf.  "We gave no warning of our approach,
so nothing you offered would be lacking."  Pug said, "You are kind,
Admiral."

Nicholas said, "I thought Father had some means to contact you."

Pug said, "In an emergency only, Highness, and then only at great need.
He has not needed to use the device I gave him.  The Kingdom has been
peaceful since I left."

Conversation turned to gossip from court and other trivialities.  Nakor
was unusually silent, as was the Lady Ryana.  Pug was a convivial host,
able to draw the two boys into the conversation without making it
obvious.

Both Nicholas and Harry had been drinking wine with dinner since they
were old enough to sit at their parents' tables, but as with most noble
children, theirs had been diluted with water.  Tonight they were
drinking a full-bodied Keshian red, and after two cups, both boys were
in a celebratory mood, laughing loudly at two stories they had heard
Amos tell many times before.

As Amos started telling his third tale of adventure and wonder, Pug
said, "If you will excuse me for a moment.  Nakor, might I have a word
in private with you?"

The little Isalani jumped to his feet and hurried toward the door Pug
had indicated.  They entered another of the many gardens on the
property, and Pug said, "I have been told that this visit was your
idea?"

Nakor said, "I never expected to meet .. ."

Pug said, "How did you know?"

The Isalani shrugged.  "I don't know.  I just know."

Pug halted next to a low bench and said, "Who are you?"

Nakor sat upon the bench, pulling his feet under him.  "A man.  I know
things.  I do tricks."

Pug studied him in silence for a long moment.  Sitting upon the edge of
a reflecting pool, he said at last, "Ryana's people have come to trust
me.  She is the daughter of one I knew twenty years ago.  They are
among the last of their race, and most men think them legends."

"I saw one once," said the unabashed little man.  "I was traveling the
road from Toowomba to Injune, in the mountains.  At sunset I saw one
off" in the distance, resting upon the peak of a mountain, in the
sunlight.  I thought it odd that he should be sitting there alone, but
then I considered he might think it odd that I was also there alone;
so, it being a matter of perspective, I decided not to disturb his
meditations.  But I watched him for a few minutes.  He was a thing of
beauty, like your Lady Ryana."  He shook his head.  "Wonderful
creatures.  Some men count them gods, I have been told.  I would like
to talk to one."

Pug said, "Ryana is young, just having come to intelligence after years
of living as a wild creature, in the fashion of her race; she is barely
able to understand her own nature or her new power.  It's better if we
limit her contact with humans for a while."

Nakor shrugged.  "If you say.  I have seen her.  That is enough,
perhaps."

Pug smiled.  "You are a rare man."

Nakor shrugged again.  "I choose not to become upset about things I
have no control over."

"Why the visit, Nakor?"

The man's usually grinning visage took on a somber expression.  "Two
reasons.  I wished to meet you, for it was your words that brought me
to Stardock."

"My words?"

"Once you told a man named James that should he meet someone like me,
he should say, "There is no magic."  " Pug nodded.  "So when he said
this thing to me, I went to Stardock, to find you.  You were gone, but
I stayed there awhile.  I found many serious men who did not understand
that magic is only tricks."

Pug found himself grinning.  "I've heard you were a bit of a shock to
Watum and Korsh."

Nakor's grin returned to match Pug's.  "They are fussy men, who take
their school much too seriously.  I moved among the students and
recruited many to my point of view.  They call themselves the Blue
Riders in my honor and are united to resist the insular notions of
those two old ladies you left in charge."

Pug laughed.  "The brothers Korsh and Watum were my most apt students.
I don't think they'd appreciate your cat ling them old ladies."

Nakor said, "They didn't.  But they act like them.  "Don't tell this;
don't share that."  They just don't understand that there is no
magic."

Pug sighed.  "When I looked at what ten years of work had brought forth
at Stardock, I saw a repeat of the past, another Assembly of Great
Ones, such as I knew upon the world of Kelewan: a band of men pledged
to nothing but their own power and greatness, at the expense of
others."

Nakor nodded.  "They like being mysterious and pretending they're
important."

Pug laughed.  "Oh, had you visited me upon Kelewan, so many years past,
you would have said worse about me."

"I've met some of your Great Ones," answered Nakor.

"The rift gate still operates, and we still trade with the Empire.
Tsurani goods come through and we send back metals.  The Mistress of
the Empire is a shrewd negotiator, and everyone stays happy on both
sides.  From time to time a Tsurani Great One visits.  And some alien
magicians from Chakahar.  Did you not know?"

Pug shook his head and sighed.  "If cho-ja magicians from Chakahar are
at Stardock, then the Assembly's control over the Empire has been
ended."  His eyes misted over and he said, "There are things I thought
I would never see in my days, Nakor.  The end of that tradition was
foremost among them much of what gave the Assembly its power was based
on fear and lies: lies about magicians, lies about the Empire, and lies
about those outside the Empire's borders."

Nakor seemed to understand Pug's words.  "Lies can live a long time.
But not forever.  You should return and visit."

Pug shook his head, not certain if the lit de man meant Kelewan or
Stardock.  "For nearly nine years I have put my past behind me.  My
children now look of an age with me, and soon will look older.  I've
seen my wife die, and my teachers.  Old friends on two worlds have
traveled into death's hall.  I have no wish to watch my children grow
old."  Pug stood and paced a bit.  "I do not know if I was wise, Nakor,
only that I feared that more than anything."

Nakor nodded.  "We are alike, in some ways."

Pug turned and stared at the little man.  "In what ways?"

Nakor grinned.  "I have lived three times the normal span of a man.  My
birth was recorded in the census of Kesh in the time of the Emperor
Sajanjaro, great-grandfather of the wife of Emperor Diiagai.  I saw the
Empress, his wife's mother, nine years ago.  She was an old woman who
had ruled for more than forty years.  I remember when she was a baby,
and I was then as you see me now."  Nakor sighed.  "I have never been a
man to trust others, perhaps because of my trade."  He produced a deck
of cards seemingly out of nowhere and fanned it with one hand; then,
with a flick of his wrist, the cards vanished.  "But I understand what
you say.  No one I knew as a child lives today."

Pug sat again on the fountain and asked, "Why else have you come?"

Nakor said, "I see things.  I do not know how, but there are

TOO

^ments when I know.  Nicholas is upon a voyage that will take him far
beyond Crydee.  And there is to be much danger in the boy's future."

Pug was silent for a long time, thinking about what the small man had
said.  Finally he said, "What must I do to help?"  Nakor shook his
head.  "I am not a wise man by nature.  I have been called a frivolous
man by Watum and Korsh, and by Ghuda most recently."  Pug smiled at
that.  "I do not understand my abilities, sometimes."  He sighed.  "You
are a man of great gifts and attainments, by all accounts.  You live
among creatures of wonder and do not think it strange.  I saw the work
you left behind at Stardock, and it is impressive.  For me to advise
you is presumptuous."

"Presumptuous or not, advise."

Nakor bit his lower lip as he thought.  "I think the boy is a nexus."
Waving his hand in a vague circle, he said, "Dark forces move and they
will be drawn to him.  Nothing we do can change this; we must be ready
to aid him."

Pug was silent for a long time.  At last he said, "Nearly thirty ytais
ago, Nicholas's father was such a nexus, for his death would have been
a victory for dark forces."  "The serpent people."  Pug looked
astonished at the remark.  Nakor shrugged.  "I heard of the Battle of
Sethanon long after it was over.  But there was one rumor that I found
interesting, that the leader of those invading your Kingdom had a
Pantathian mystic as an adviser."  "You know of the Pantathians?"

"I have run across the serpent priests before," Nakor said with a
shrug.  "I assume that whatever your dark elves of the north may have
thought, it was the Pantathians who were behind the entire mess, but
beyond that I don't understand much of what occurred."

Pug said, "You would be even more surprising than you are if you had
understood, Nakor."  He nodded.  "Very well.  I shall help Nicholas."

Nakor rose.  "We should go to bed.  You would like us to leave
tomorrow."

Pug smiled.  "You I would like to stay.  I think you could be a
valuable addition to our community, but I understand what it is to be
drawn to one's fate."

Nakor's expression darkened, and he looked as serious as Pug had seen
him since meeting him.  "Of this company, five shall cross the waters,
with four more we have yet to meet."  His eyes grew unfocused as if
seeing something distant.  "Nine shall depart, and some shall not
return."

Pug looked worried.  "Do you know who?"

Nakor said, "I am one of the nine.  No man may know his own rate."

Pug said, "You never met Macros the Black."

Nakor grinned, and suddenly the mood was lighter again.  "I did once,
but that is a long story."

Pug stood.  "We must return to my guests, I would like to hear that
tale sometime."

"What of the boy?"  asked Nakor.

Pug said, "For the reasons I have just given you, I am not pleased with
the prospect of becoming involved with any mortal, even if they are
counted kin."  He shook his head as if irritated.  "But I cannot
abandon those for whom I profess affection.  I will help the boy when
the time comes."

Nakor said, "Good.  This is why I told his father we had to come
here."

Pug said, "You are indeed an unusual man, Nakor the Blue Rider."

Nakor laughed and nodded in agreement.

They came back into the dining hall and found Amos finishing another of
his tall tales, to the delight of Ghuda and Nicholas.  Ryana seemed
perplexed, and Harry oblivious to it, as he was completely enraptured
by her.

Pug called for coffee and a fortified wine, and the discussion turned
again to mundane matters of common gossip in Krondor.  After a short
while, yawns gave evidence that the guests were ready to retire.

Pug bade his guests good night and gave his hand to the Lady Ryana,
whom he escorted from the hall.  Nicholas and his companions rose and
made their way back to their own rooms.  Nicholas discovered the
bedding turned down and candles lit upon the night tables.  Across the
foot of the bed a nightshirt had been provided for his comfort.

Nicholas turned in and had just fallen asleep when a hand shook him. He
came awake with his heart pounding, to find

Harry leaning over him.  The boy was wearing a nightshirt similar to
his own.

"What?"  he asked groggily.

"You won't believe this.  Come on!"

Nicholas jumped out of bed and followed Harry back to his own room at
the far end of the hallway.  Harry said, "I was almost asleep when I
heard a strange sound."

He motioned for Nicholas to come to the window and said,

"Be quiet."

Nicholas looked out Harry's window and saw the Lady Ryana standing in
the distant meadow.  Harry said, "She was making these really strange
noises, like chanting or singing, but not quite."  There was no
mistaking the golden hair, almost aelow in the light from two of
Midkemia's moons.  Nicholas s mouth almost fell open.  "She's nude!"

Harry stared.  "She had clothes on a moment ago, honestly!"  The lady
was indeed without clothing and seemed in some sort of a trance.  Harry
whistled softly.  "What's she doing?"

Nicholas suppressed a shiver.  Despite the astonishing beauty of the
woman in the meadow, there was nothing remotely titillating or erotic
about her appearance.  He felt uneasy.  Not only did he fed as if he
was intruding, he felt a sense of danger.

Harry said, "I've heard tales of witches mating with demons in the
moonlight."

Nicholas said, "Look!"

A golden nimbus of Hght gathered around the woman and soon became
blinding.  The boys were forced to avert their eyes as the light grew
in intensity.  For long moments the night seemed broken by a beam of
sunlight, then it started to fade.  They looked again and the light had
expanded to many times the size of the woman.  As large as a house,
then as large as Amos's ship, the envelope of light grew, and inside,
something took shape.  Then the light faded, and where the Lady Ryana
had stood, now a mighty creature of legend spread wings a hundred yards
across.  Golden scales gleamed with silver highlights in the moons'
light, and a long neck with silver crest extended, as the reptilian
head looked skyward.  Then with a leap, a snap of the giant wings, and
a small blast of flame, the dragon lifted into the sky.

THE KING 's BUCCANEE it

Harry gripped Nicholas hard enough to raise a bruise, but neither boy
could move.  When she had vanished into the sky, the boys turned to
regard each other.  Both had tears running down their faces, in mixed
fear and awe.  The great dragons were not real.  There were smaller
flying reptiles called dragons, but they were merely flying wyverns
with no intelligence.  None lived in the Western Realm, but rumor had
them common in the western mountains of Kesh.  But the golden dragons
who could speak and work magic did not exist.  They were creatures of
myth, yet there, in the moonlight, the boys had seen a woman they had
dined with transform herself into the most majestic creature to fly the
sides of Midkemia.

Nicholas could not stop the tears, so moved was he by the sight.  Harry
at last gathered his wits and said, "Should we wake Amos?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "Never tell anyone.  Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, with no hint of his usual braggadocio, looking like
nothing more than a scared little boy.  "I won't."

Nicholas left his friend and returned to his own room.  He entered and
his heart almost seized up as he discovered Pug sitting upon his bed.

"Close the door."

Nicholas complied and Pug said, "Ryana could not long live on the
meager food she could eat at supper and maintain her pretense.  She
will hunt for the next few hours."

Nicholas's face was pale.  For the first time in his life he felt far
from home and the comfort of his father's protection and his mother's
love.  He knew Pug was considered a family member, but he was also a
magician of mighty arts, and Nicholas had seen something not meant for
him to see.  "I won't say anything," he whispered.

Pug smiled.  "I know.  Sit down."

Nicholas sat down next to Pug on the bed, and Pug said, "Give me your
foot."

Nicholas didn't have to ask which one and lifted his left leg so that
Pug could examine the deformed foot.  Pug studied it for several
moments, then said, "Years ago, your rather asked me if I could mend
your foot.  Did he tell you?"

Nicholas shook his head.  He still was frightened enough by what he had
just witnessed that he didn't trust his voice not to break if he
spoke.

Pug studied the boy.  "At the time I had heard of this deformity, and
of the efforts to correct it."

Nicholas whispered, "Many tried."

"I know."  Pug stood and walked to the window, looking out at the clear
night brilliant with stars.  Turning back toward Nicholas, he said, "I
told Arutha that I could not.  That was not true."

Nicholas asked, "Why?"

Pug said, "Because no matter how much your father loves you, Nicholas
and Arutha loves his children deeply, no matter how difficult it is for
him to show it no parent has the right to change a child's nature."

Nicholas said, "I'm not sure I understand."  The fear within was
subsiding, and the boy asked, "Why would healing me be wrong?"

Pug said, "I don't know if I can make you understand yet, Nicholas." He
returned and sat next to the boy.  "We each of us have it within to
make ourselves over, if we choose to do so.  Most of us not only do not
try, but don't even acknowledge that ability to ourselves.

"By any understanding of magic I possess, the healing used upon you
when you were young should have worked.  Something prevented those
spells from being effective."

Nicholas frowned.  "I don't understand.  Are you saying I wasn't
letting them heal me?"

Pug nodded.  "Something like that.  But it's not quite so simple."

Nicholas said, "I would give anything to be normal."

Pug stood.  "Would you?"

Nicholas was silent for a long moment, then said, "I think I would."

Pug smiled, his manner reassuring.  "Go to sleep, Nicholas."  He
withdrew something from a large pocket in his robe and placed it upon
the night table.  "This amulet is a gift.  It is much like one I gave
your father.  Should you need me for anything, grip it tightly in your
right hand while you wear it, and say my name three times.  I will
come."

Nicholas picked up the amulet and saw it bore the symbol of the three
dolphins he had seen in the fountains around the magician's estate.
"Why?"

Pug's smile broadened.  "Because I'm a cousin, and a friend.  And in
days to come, you may need both.  And because I'm letting you and your
friend keep a trust."

"The Lady Ryana."

"She is very young, and foolish to be seen so.  In her race, the first
stages of life are spent with little more thought than that of common
animals.  Every ten years the dragon hides in a cave to shed its skin,
emerging a different color each time.  Not a few perish during that
time, for molting in the dark, they are helpless.  Only those that live
the longest span, surviving many human lifetimes, emerge with a golden
skin and awareness.  When intelligence at last comes, it is an unset
ding thing.  The sudden consciousness of self, and the sense of a
larger universe, to a creature that is already old by human standards
is a very great shock.  In ancient times, other of her race would teach
her."  Pug opened the door.  "There are few of the greater dragons
left.  Ryana's mother once aided me on a quest, so I help the child. It
would not be wise to let men know that among them walk those who are
not men."

Nicholas said, "Father has told me that over time there will be many
things I shall learn that I cannot tell others about.  I understand."

Pug said nothing more as he closed the door.  Nicholas lay back upon
the bed, but sleep was a long time coming.

CfiYBEE

fhf ship dropped anchor.  Crydee bustled with midday activity as the
dock crew made the Royal Eagle secure.  Nicholas examined his new home,
drinking in the novelty of it.  His bouts of homesickness iiad returned
during the long voyage, only vanishing while passing through the
dangerous Straits of Darkness, which had taken an eventfUl day and a
half.  Then northward past Tulan and Carse, and now to Crydee.

The town had grown in the last twenty years, with signs of expansion
everywhere.  As they had sailed northward, Amos had pointed out where a
fishing village had grown up south of the promontory he named Sailor's
Grief.  New buildings were visible high upon a distant hillside to the
southeast as the ship entered the harbor.  Nicholas squinted against
the bright sun reflected off the white facades of the buildings.  He
saw two carriages and a pair of wagons draw up and halt before a
building bedecked by a large royal standard, which proclaimed it the
customs house.  Servants sitting atop the rear of the carriages leaped
from their stations and opened the doors.  From the first emerged a
tall woman, followed by a taller man.  Nicholas recognized them as his
aunt and uncle.  A flurry of activity followed as the other vehicles
came to a halt.

Amos ordered the gangway run out.  Nicholas and Harry stood nearby
waiting to disembark.  Duke Martin, Duchess Bri-ana, and their court
stood ready to welcome the Royal Prince and his companions.  Amos saw
the reception below and said, "Well, we know at least one pigeon made
it from Ylith."

For the twenty-eight years since the Riftwar, a relay of messengers
between Krondor and the Far Coast had been kept intact, including fast
horses and carrier pigeons.  With the sudden decision to send Nicholas
made only the day before he departed, word of his impending arrival
reached Crydee just days before they came into sight of the harbor.

As the sailors made ready, Harry said, "Who are those girls?"

Nicholas had noticed the two young girls who had accompanied the Duke
and said, "I expect one of them is my cousin Margaret.  I don't know
who the other one is."

Harry grinned.  "I'll find out."

When the gangway was out, Amos turned to Nicholas and formally said,
"Your Highness?"  indicating that Nicholas was expected to be the first
one off" the ship.

Harry stepped forward, to discover Amos's hand planted firmly on his
chest.  "By rank, Squire," he said pointedly.

Harry blushed and took a step back.

Nicholas descended to the quay and a tall man stepped forward.  Martin,
Duke of Crydee, smiled warmly as he bowed to his nephew.  "Your
Highness, we are most pleased to welcome you to Crydee."  Martin
resembled Arutha slightly, but was taller and heavier.  His hair was
nearly all grey, and his face was lined by sun and age, yet there was
an air of strength about him that was clear for anyone to see.  This
was no sedentary noble who spent his days drinking wine and issuing
orders to servants.  This was a man who despite his age still spent
nights sleeping on the ground under star-filled skies and who carried
game home upon his back.

Nicholas smiled, a little embarrassed at the ceremony, and said,
"Uncle, I am pleased to be here."

Amos was second off the ship, and said, "Your Grace," as he clapped
Martin roughly on the shoulder.

All formality evaporated as Martin threw his arms around Amos.  "You
old pirate," he said, laughing.  "It's been too many years."  They
slapped each other on the back and shook hands.  Amos inclined his head
toward Nicholas.

Martin returned his attention to the Prince.  "Your Highness.  May I
present my wife, the Duchess Briana."  Nicholas had not seen her since
he was a toddler, and his memories of her were vague.  It was like
meeting her for the first time.  A tall woman inclined her head toward
Nicholas.  Her hair, grey with a startling white streak at the left
temple, flowed back from a high brow.  There was nothing pretty about
the Duchess, but she was a striking woman.  Blue eyes set with lines
from weather and age regarded the Prince from a face otherwise free of
any mark of aging, though she was past fifty.  She wore a very
practical-looking outfit of leather vest over a silk shirt and trousers
tucked into high boots.  "M'lady," said Nicholas, taking her extended
hand and squeezing it slightly in greeting.  The grip he received was
strong, and Nicholas knew the tales of his uncle's strange lady were
mostly true.  From the fallen city of Armengar where women were
soldiers alongside the men Lady Briana could ride, hunt, and fight
better than most men, from all reports.  Looking at her, Nicholas
didn't doubt it.

Martin continued the introductions.  "This is my son, Marcus." Nicholas
turned to his cousin and hesitated; there was something vaguely
familiar about him.  Brown eyes and brown hair: Nicholas judged he must
resemble someone back in Krondor.  The same height as Nicholas, Marcus
wore his hair the same length as the Prince.  But Marcus was almost two
years senior to Nicholas and slightly heavier in build. Marcus gave
Nicholas a stiff bow and stepped back.

Nicholas said, "Cousin," and nodded.

Amos came up to stand behind Nicholas and said to Martin, "Remember
when I first gleaned that you were Arutha's brother?"

Martin said, "How could I forget?  That was my first voyage, and you
almost drowned us all."

"Saved your worthless skin with my masterful sailing, you mean,"
answered Amos.  Waving a hand at Nicholas and Marcus, he said, "But if
the world ever needed proof of your parentage, there it stands
revealed."  He stroked his chin.  "I think we'll have to paint one of
them green so we can tell them apart."

Nicholas looked at Amos in confusion, but Marcus's face was an
unreadable mask.  Amos said, "The resemblance."

Nicholas said, "What resemblance?"

"To each other," answered the admiral.

Nicholas turned to regard his cousin.  "Do you think .. . ?"

Marcus shook his head slightly.  "I don't see it ... Highness."

Amos laughed and said, "You never will."

Martin continued the introductions.  "Highness, this is my daughter,
Margaret."

One of the two young girls curtsied.  Her hair was dark like her
brother's, but she resembled her mother.  Nature had given her a
straight nose and high cheekbones, but with a less severe cast than
Briana's.  She wore her hair long to her shoulders, like her mother,
without any adornment.  Dark eyes glanced up at the Prince as he said,
"A pleasure, cousin."  She smiled at the greeting, and instantly she
was lovely.

Nicholas's gaze drifted to the young woman at Margaret's side, and he
felt his chest tighten.  Cornflower-blue eyes that seemed the largest
he had ever encountered regarded him.  Suddenly he felt clumsy and
unsure of himself Margaret said, "This is my companion, the Lady
Abigail, daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse."  The slender girl
curtsied and Nicholas was certain he had never seen anyone do it so
gracefully.  Unlike Margaret, Abigail had her blond hair gathered up in
a silver circlet behind her head, where it cascaded in ringlets.  Her
skin was pale and clear and her features delicate.  She smiled as she
arose from her curtsy, and Nicholas couldn't help but smile back. After
a moment the smile became a silly grin.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him brought Nicholas from his
trance.  He said, "M'lady," and his voice sounded strained in his own
ears.  Nicholas turned back toward Martin and said, "This is Harry, my
Squire," as his companion came down the gangway, carrying Nicholas's
and his own travel bags.  The boy dropped them on the ground and bowed
before the Duke of Crydee.  Seeing the Princess and her companion, he
grinned broadly.

Martin indicated that Nicholas should ride in the first carriage with
himself and his lady.  Harry began to walk after them, when Amos's hand
again descended and gripped him by the shoulder.  "The first carriage
is for the Prince, the Duke, and the Duchess.  The second is for myself
and the Duke's children."

Harry said, "But "

Amos pointed to the wagons.  "You can make sure your Prince's luggage
is in order as it's unloaded and packed on yon wagons.  Then you can
ride one of them when you're done."  Nakor and Ghuda came down the
gangplank and Harry said, "What about them?"

Nakor grinned.  "We'll walk.  It's not that far."  He pointed to the
castle on the hill overlooking the harbor.  Ghuda said, "I could use a
little stretch."  Harry sighed and took the two bags over to the first
wagon.  A drover said, "Here, boy, what's this?"

Harry was in an ill temper and snapped, "Prince or Krondor's baggage!
I'm his Squire^

The man made a lazy salute as he continued to lean against the wagon
and said, "Then where will you be wanting that lot, Squire?"  He
pointed.

Harry turned and saw the first load of luggage coming off the ship, as
a pair of sailors carried one of Nicholas's heavy trunks down the
gangway.  It was followed by three more like it.  As the creak of wood
and the hum of ropes filled the air, a large cargo net from deep within
the ship's hole rose majestically into view.  Another dozen trunks and
other assorted baggage was hauled over the side and lowered to the
quay.  Dock hands jumped to and began unfastening the net.

The drover said, "And I suppose you know where that lot's to go,
Squire?"

With a sign of resignation, Harry reached back into the wagon and
pulled out the two bags that had been his and Nicholas's source of
clothing and personal items for the weeks they had been aboard ship.
Obviously, they would be among the last pieces to be loaded.  Shaking
his head, Harry said, "And I'm supposed to supervise?"

With a knowing wink, the drover pushed himself away from the wagon.
"It'll go faster and be easier on us all, Squire, if you do your
supervising from over there."  He pointed to a doorway a dozen yards
off.  "Nice ale, good meat pies, and you can supervise through the
window."

Harry's mouth watered at the thought of meat pies after the ship's
plain fare.  But he said, "No, I have my duty."

The drover shook his head.  "Then do us both a favor, Squire, and
supervise real quiet-like, if you catch my drift."

Harry nodded and moved out of the way as the first pair of trunks were
carried over to the wagon.  He found himself a shady patch under the
overhanging roof of the customs house and leaned against the wall.
Glancing up the hill, he could see that Ghuda and Nakor were already
leaving the dock area and walking up the broad street that ran through
the town to the castle.  They would most likely be in the castle a hour
before Harry.  Muttering to himself, Harry said, "I thought this was
going to be interesting."

As THE FIRST carriage rolled into the castle courtyard, two rows of
soldiers snapped to attention.  Each wore the brown and gold tabard of
Crydee and carried a shield with the golden sea gull of Crydee upon a
brown field, and from each halberd a brown and golden pennant hung.
Their armor shone in the sun.  As a coachman opened the door and
Nicholas stepped out, a short, bandy-legged man with grey hair and a
leathery face shouted, "Salute!"  At once the soldiers snapped to
attention.  The halberds dipped, and after a moment the company of
soldiers pulled them back.  Martin and the others stepped out of the
carriage, then the drivers urged the horses on to the carriage house in
back.

Nicholas took a good long look at his new home.  Castle

Crydee was small in comparison to what he knew.  There was

'.: an ancient keep, around which a single surrounding building had
been erected, and later another hall had been added to the

: rear.  Nicholas quickly calculated distances, and found with

\ some disapproval that whoever had erected the outer wall had i7 left
a relatively narrow bailey.  Should the wall ever be breached,

there was little to keep an invader from reaching the central keep.

As if reading his mind, Martin said, "My great-grandfather took this
keep from the Keshian garrison stationed here, and built the wall
around it."  With a half-smile that reminded

Nicholas of his own rather, he added, "My grandfather built the two
additional halls, leaving little further room for growth.

Father planned on pushing the wall out to accommodate new growth .. .
but he never got around to it."  He put his hand upon Nicholas's
shoulder.  "I never seem to find the time, either."

-4 A laree black-skinned man, with a short black beard,

_- ,"?>' O

walked slightly behind the short grey-haired man as the pair advanced
between the lines of soldiers to come before Nicholas.  They both bowed
to the Prince.

Amos grinned at the short man.  "Swordmaster Charles!"  Martin said,
"Highness, my Swordmaster, Charles, and Horsemaster Faxon."

Nicholas returned their salutes with an inclination of his head, and
spoke a few words to Charles in a foreign language.  The Swordmaster
bowed and answered in the same language.  Then in the King's Tongue he
said, "You speak excellent Tsurani, Highness."

Nicholas blushed.  "Only a few words, really.  But all in the court
know of Uncle Martin's Tsurani Swordmaster."  To the dark-skinned man
he said, "And Horsemaster Faxon."  Faxon said, "Your Highness."

Martin introduced other members of his household, and when the
formalities were over, he took Nicholas by the arm.  "If your Highness
will come with me."

, Martin and Nicholas mounted the steps to the castle, while Martin's
children and Abigail followed, heading back to their own quarters.

Briana turned to Amos.  "We'll have a reception tonight, but in the
meantime, we'll have someone show you to your quarters."

Amos said, "Just tell me which room, my lady.  I lived here too many
years to get lost."

Briana smiled.  "Your old room is yours again, Amos."  Amos glanced at
the main gate to the castle, noting the pair of guards standing their
posts.  "You might tell those lads that in a few minutes a pair of very
unlikely characters will heave into view.  One's a short madman from
Shing Lai named Nakor, and the other is a tall mercenary from Kesh,
name of Ghuda Bule.  Let them in, as they're companions to Nicky."

Briana's only reply was to raise an eyebrow.  She turned to Swordmaster
Charles and said, "See to it, please."

He saluted and hurried off to the gate to inform the guards.  Briana
said, "Who are these men, Amos?"  Forcing a light air, Amos said, "As
original a pair as you'd meet anywhere."

Briana put her hand upon Amos's shoulder.  They had served together in
Armengar, her home, when Amos had aided

THE K/NG 's BUCCANEE it in its defense against the armies of the
Brotherhood of the Dark Path.  "I understand you well enough to know
there's something else.  What is it?"

Amos shook his head.  "Just .. . something Arutha told me before I
left."  He glanced at the main door of the castle through which Martin
and Nicholas had just passed.  "He said that should anything happen,
listen to Nakor."

Briana was silent a moment, thinking, then said, "I have no doubt that
'anything' means trouble."

Amos forced a laugh.  "Well, I doubt he meant listen to the wizard if
there was a surprise party!"

Briana answered with a smile.  She gave Amos a hug and kissed his
cheek.  "We've missed you, and your humor, Amos."

Amos glanced around, remembering.  "I've seen too many men die on those
walls and spent too many days defending them to have missed Crydee,
Briana."  Then he kissed her cheek and squeezed her in a bear hug. "But
damn me if I haven't missed you and Martin."

Arms around each other's waists, the tail Duchess and the large sea
captain walked up the steps into Castle Crydee.

MARTIN INDICATED NICHOLAS should sit and moved behind a large desk. The
Duke's office looked small compared to Arutha's in Krondor, and
Nicholas glanced around.

Behind Martin, on the wall, was the sea gull banner of Crydee.  Above
the bird's head were the faint outlines of a crown, where a piece of
material had been removed.  Nicholas knew that once his own grandfather
had held this office, and had also been second in line to the crown
Nicholas's uncle now wore.  But Martin's line was prevented from
inheritance by an illegitimate birth, and all marks of such succession
had been removed from the family coat-of-arms.

Martin said, "This office was your father's for a while, during the
years of the Riftwar, Nicholas.  Before that it was your grandfather's,
and his father's and grandfather's before him."

Nicholas noticed that beyond that one ducal banner, the walls were
devoid of personal mementos or trophies; only a large map of the Duchy
and another of the Kingdom graced the otherwise bare stone.  Martin's
desk was equally well ordered, with a solitary inkwell and quill, a bar
of red wax for the ducal signet, and a candle.  Two rolled parchments
hinted at some unfinished business, but otherwise there was a sense of
organization in this room, as if the present occupant was loath to
leave at the end of the day with any task unfinished or unresolved.
There was something familiar in that, Nicholas realized, as that drive
for order was also a hallmark of his rather.  He returned his attention
to his uncle, who was watching him closely.  Nicholas flushed.

Martin smiled and said, "You are with family, Nicholas,

never forget that."

Nicholas shrugged.  "I've heard Father tell of Crydee, and Amos has war
stories that never end, but .. ."  He glanced around once more.  "I
guess I didn't know what to expect,"

Martin said, "That's why you're here.  Arutha wished you to know
something of your heritage.

"We've a rough court, by Krondorian standards," he continued.  "Close
to primitive by the standards of Rilianon and the other eastern courts.
But you'll find it comfortable enough in the ways that matter."

Nicholas nodded.  "What exactly will I be doing?"  Martin said, "Arutha
has left that up to me.  I think for the time being I'm going to name
you my Squire.  You're a little old for the position, but that way you
can stay close, and perhaps after a while I'll find better use for you.
I'll assign your friend to Marcus."

Nicholas was about to object when Martin said, "Squires do not have
squires, Nicholas."  Nicholas nodded.

"Tonight we'll have a formal reception, with a troupe of players who
are in the town.  Then tomorrow you'll begin your duties."

"What will those be?"

"Housecarl Samuel will fill you in on some of your duties.  Swordmaster
Charles and Horsemaster Faxon will have others for you.  You will do
several things every day, mostly to make my time more efficient in
governing the Duchy.  You may have noticed new buildings above the
south bluffs and beyond.  Crydee is becoming quite the metropolis by
Far Coast standards.  There is much to be done.  Now I'll have a
servant show you to your rooms."

"Thank you, Uncle Martin."  Nicholas rose as Martin came around the
desk and opened the door, signaling for a servant to approach.

TH KING 's BUCCANES K

Martin said, "Beginning tomorrow, Your Highness, you will address me as
"Your Grace."  You will be addressed as "Squire."  "

Nicholas flushed, feeling embarrassed but not knowing why.  He nodded
and followed the servant to his quarters.

THAT NIGHT NICHOLAS sat between his uncle and his cousin Marcus.  The
food was hearty if plain, the wine was robust and flavorful, and the
entertainment adequate.  Nicholas spent the better part of the evening
glancing past his aunt and uncle to where Abigail sat beside Margaret.
The two girls seemed to have their heads together the better part of
the meal, and several times Nicholas found himself blushing without
quite knowing why.  The few attempts he made at speaking with Marcus
resulted in short answers and long silences.  Nicholas was beginning to
feel that somehow his cousin disliked him.

Amos, Nakor, and Ghuda Bul were all at the far end of the table, beyond
Nicholas's ability to speak to them.  They were obviously having a good
enough time swapping stories with Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster
Faxon.

Looking down the table, Nicholas saw Harry attempting to engage a quiet
young man in conversation.  The man seemed to speak quietly, as Harry
was constantly leaning over to hear him.  The man seemed not much older
than the boys, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties.  He had a
shock of blond hair that hung to his shoulders, and had bangs that
seemed to threaten his vision every moment, as he was constantly
brushing them back with his hand.  His eyes were blue, and Nicholas
imagined that if he ever smiled, he'd be a likable-enough-looking
chap.

"Cousin, who is that?"

Marcus looked to where Nicholas indicated.  "That's Anthony.  He's a
magician."

"Really?"  asked Nicholas, pleased that he had finally gotten more than
one sentence from his cousin.  "What's he doing here?"

"My father asked your far her to intercede with the masters of Stardock
to send a magician to us a few years ago."  Marcus shrugged. "Something
to do with Grandfather, I think."  He put down the rib bone he had been
gnawing, dipped his hands in the finger bowl, and wiped them on a linen
napkin.  "Did your father ever talk about having a magician at
court?"

Relieved chat they were at last engaged in something like a
conversation, Nicholas shrugged.  "A few stories.  About Kulgan and
Pug, I mean.  I met Pug on this journey."

Marcus kept his eyes upon the magician.  "Anthony is a good fellow,
I'll warrant you that, friendly when you get to know him.  But he keeps
to himself a great deal, and those few times Father asks him for
counsel, he tends toward the evasive.  I fear the magicians at Stardock
sent him here as something of a joke."

"Really?"

Marcus fixed Nicholas with a sour look.  "You keep asking 'really' as
if I'm making this up."

"Sorry," said Nicholas, blushing a little.  "It's just a habit.  What I
mean is, why do you think the masters of Stardock would do that, send
him here as a joke?"

"Because he's not a very good magician, from what I can tell of such
things."

Nicholas caught himself as he was about to say "Really?"  and instead
changed it to, "Interesting.  I mean, you don't see a lot of magicians
anywhere, but the few who've come to court don't do much by way of
magic, at least not anywhere you can see them."

Marcus shrugged.  "I guess he has his uses, but there's something about
him that makes me cautious.  He's got secrets."

Nicholas laughed.  Marcus turned to see if Nicholas was laughing at
him.  Nicholas said, "I think that's part of the act, you know. Lurking
in shadows and mysteries and the rest."

Marcus shrugged again, allowing himself a faint smile.  - "Perhaps.
Anyway, he's Father's adviser, though he doesn't do much of that."

Glad to be involved at last in something other than silence, Nicholas
pursued the conversation.  "You know, I knew Horse-master Faxon's
father.  I didn't know he'd bear such a resemblance to the old Duke."

Marcus grunted a noncommittal sound.  "Gardan was an old man when he
came back from Krondor.  I never noticed."  Feeling the conversation
slipping away, Nicholas said, "I was sorry to hear of his death last
year."

Marcus shrugged, his most expressive gesture, it seemed.  "He didn't do
much but fish and tell stories.  He was an old man.  I liked him
enough, but .. ."  Again he shrugged.  "You get old, then you die.
That's the way it works, isn't it?"

It was Nicholas's turn to shrug.  "I hadn't seen him for almost ten
years.  I guess he got older."  Realizing instantly that the remark was
inane, he let the conversation lapse into silence for the rest of the
meal.

At the finish of the meal, Martin rose and said, "We welcome to our
home our cousin Nicholas."  The gathered court and servants gave polite
applause.  "Beginning tomorrow, he shall be acting as my Squire."  At
this, Harry glanced at his friend with a questioning expression.
Nicholas shrugged.

Martin said, "And his companion, Harry of Ludland, will be Squire to my
son."

Harry made a lace that said, Well, that answers that.

"Now," said Martin.  "I bid you all a good night."

He extended his hand and Briana placed hers upon it, in ceremonial
fashion, and he led her from the table.  The ladies Margaret and
Abigail followed, and then Marcus rose.  Turning to Harry, he said,
"Well then, if you're to squire for me, I need you awake an hour before
sunrise.  Ask any servant where my quarters are and don't be late."
Turning to Nicholas, he said, "Father will want you ready, too."

Nicholas didn't care much for his cousin's tone, but he refused to be
anything but polite.  "I'll be there."

Marcus smiled and it was a shock, for it was the first time since
meeting him that Nicholas had seen any expression other than a neutral
frown.  "I expect you will."  Waving to the servants, he said, "Show
the Squires to their quarters."

The boys fell in behind two servants, and as they passed by the
magician, Harry said, "See you around, Anthony."

The magician muttered a reply.  When they entered a long hallway, Harry
said, "That's the Duke's magician."

"I know," answered Nicholas.  "Marcus said he wasn't very good at his
job."

Harry indicated he had no opinion on that topic, but added, "He seems a
right enough fellow, if a little shy.  Mumbles a bit."

The servants led the two young men to doors next to one another.
Nicholas opened the indicated one and entered what could only be
considered a cell.  It was barely ten feet in length and eight feet
wide.  A straw pallet lay on the floor and a small chest for personal
belongings took up one corner, of the room.  A tiny table, a chair, and
a rude lamp on the table were the only other features, Nicholas turned
to the servant, who was walking away, and said, "Where are my
things?"

The servant said, "In storage, Squire.  His Grace said you won't need
them until you're ready to leave, so he had them put down in the
sub-basement.  You'll find all you need in the chest."

Harry clapped his friend upon the shoulder.  "Well, Squire Nicky,
better turn in and get a good night's sleep.  We're up early
tomorrow."

"Don't let me oversleep," said Nicholas, with a sinking feeling in his
stomach.

"What's it worth to you?"

Nicholas said, "How about I don't knock you on your backside?"

Harry appeared to consider this for a moment, then said, "Seems fair to
me."  With a laugh he said, "Don't worry.  You'll get used to being a
squire.  Look at me; I've done right well being yours."

He entered his own room, and Nicholas looked heavenward, as if to say,
because you've never had to act like one.  With a reeling of deep
foreboding, he entered his cell, closed the door, and undressed.
Blowing out the lamp, he made his way in the dark toward the pallet,
and lying on the straw-packed sack, he pulled the single blanket up
over him.  The rest of the night was spent tossing and turning, with
only a little rest and a deep sense of dread.

NICHOLAS WAS AWAKE when the knock came.  He fumbled his way in the dark
and realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn't located any means to
light the lamp before he had blown it out.  He found the door handle in
the dark and opened the door.  Harry, who stood there, said, "You
planning on going like that?"

Feeling silly standing in only his under trousers Nicholas said, "I
forgot to locate the flint and steel."

"They're on the table, behind the lamp, where they usually are.  I'll
light it; you get dressed."

Nicholas opened the chest and found a simple tunic and trousers in
brown and green, which he took to be the uniform

THE

's BUCCANEER

of a Crydee squire, as Harry was garbed in like fashion.  He put them
on and found them a close enough fit.  Pulling on his own boots, he
said, "What is this business of awaking before dawn?"

Harry put down the now burning lamp, closed the door, and said,
"Farmers, I guess."

"Farmers?"

"You know.  Country people.  Always up before dawn, asleep with the
chickens."

Nicholas grunted a vague acknowledgment of the remark as he pulled on
his boots.  His left foot seemed slightly swollen, which made getting
the specially made boot on that more difficult.  "Damn," he said, "must
be damper here than at home."

Harry said, "You noticed!  You mean the mold growing on the stones next
to your bed didn't give you a hint?"

Nicholas swung a lazy backhand at Harry, which he avoided easily. "Come
on," he said with a laugh, "it wouldn't do to be late our first day."

Nicholas and Harry found themselves alone in the hallway and suddenly
Harry said, "Where are the servants?"

"We're the servants, you dolt," said Nicholas.  "I think I know where
the family quarters are."

By trial and error, the boys found their way through the castle to the
family's wing.  Modest quarters compared to what the Prince was used to
at home, they were nevertheless considerably more comfortable than the
cells the boys had inhabited the night before.  A pair of servants were
leaving two of the rooms, and Nicholas asked and was told that they
were indeed Lord Martin and Lady Briana's quarters and young Master
Marcus's.

Taking up their stations by the respective doors, the boys waited.
After a few moments, Nicholas ventured a quiet knock.  The door opened
and Martin looked out and said, "I'll be with you in a few minutes,
Squire."

Before Nicholas could answer, "Yes, Your Grace," the door was closed in
his face.

Harry grinned and raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles
could strike wood, the door opened and Marcus stepped through.  "You're
late," he snapped.  "Come along."  He hurried down the hallway, and
Harry almost had to leap to catch up with him.

A few minutes later, Martin emerged from his.  bedchamber and moved
down the hall without comment.  Nicholas fell in behind him and
followed along.  Instead of heading for the main hall, as the boy
expected, the Duke moved through the quiet keep to the main entrance,
where stable hands were bringing out horses.  Marcus and Harry could be
seen riding out the gate as a servant thrust reins in Nicholas's
direction.

Martin said, "You can ride?"

Nicholas said, "Of course .. . Your Grace," he added quickly,

"Good.  We've no shortage of green horses that need a firm hand out."

As he climbed aboard, Nicholas instantly found himself in a contest
with the horse.  A quick half-halt jerk to the mouth and a hard seat
brought the fractious animal under control.  The gelding was young and
probably had been cut late, given the stallion-like crest of his neck
and his aggressive behavior.  Nicholas also didn't care for the heavy
saddle, which made contact with the animal difficult.

But Martin gave him no time for consideration of the finer points of
horsemanship, having turned his animal and headed for the gate.
Nicholas put heels to the sides of his mount and found he had to use a
lot of leg to keep the horse moving forward.  Then the explosion came:
the animal bucked hard before trying to race through the courtyard.
Nicholas automatically gripped with his legs, sinking down in the
saddle and giving a quick and firm halt on the reins.  He guided the
horse into a circle, half-halting with the reins until the animal was
calmed down to a nice posting trot.  Then, when he was at the Duke's
side, Nicholas slowed the animal down to a walk to match the Duke's
mount.

"Did you sleep well, Squire?"

"Not really, Your Grace."

"Aren't the quarters to your liking?"  asked Martin.

Nicholas looked to see if he was being mocked, and saw only an
impassive face regarding him.

"No, they're adequate," he said, refusing to be baited into
complaining.  "It's the newness of all this, I guess."

"You'll get used to Crydee," Martin said.

"Does Your Grace usually not eat in the morning?"  asked Nicholas, his
stomach already noticing the absence of breakfast.

Martin smiled, a slight upturn of his mouth, much like

Nicholas's father's half-smiles, and said, "Oh, we'll break fast, but
there's always a couple of hours' work to do before we dine, Squire."

Nicholas nodded.

They entered the town, and Nicholas saw that the streets were already
busy.  Shops might still have their windows shuttered and their doors
locked, but workers were already on their way to the docks, the mills,
and other places of work.  Fishing boats could be seen heading out of
the harbor in the grey light of dawn, the sun not yet above the distant
mountains.  Rich smells filled the air as bakers continued the work
they had begun the night before, getting ready the day's wares.

A familiar voice cut the air as they reached the docks.  "Get those
nets ready!"  shouted Amos.

Nicholas saw that the Admiral was supervising the loading of some
stores from the dockside.  Marcus appeared around a corner, walking
along beside a slow-moving wagon, Harry a step behind him.  "That's the
last of it, Father," Marcus called.

Martin didn't explain to Nicholas what was happening, but the Prince
deduced that Martin was adding to the cargo bound to the new garrison
up north.  The Duke called, "Amos, are you going to make the morning
tide?"

"With minutes to spare," roared back Amos, "these ham-fisted monkeys
can get this cargo aboard in the next half hour!"

The dock workers seemed oblivious to the shouting, taking it as a
matter of course, while they efficiently went about the business of
loading the cargo nets.  When they were full, the crew on the hoist
raised up the cargo and swung it above the hold of the ship, lowering
it down without missing a beat.

Amos came over to where Martin and Nicholas watched.  "The hard part's
going to be unloading that mess.  I figure the soldiers at the garrison
can give us a hand, but it'll still take two or three weeks to get it
all off the ship by longboat."

"Are you going to have time for a visit on the way back?"

"Ample," Amos replied with a grin.  "Even should I be gone a month, I
can spend a few days here before we head back to Krondor.  If the
unloading goes quickly, I might give the men a week of rest before we
brave the straits."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it," said Martin.

As the net was quickly reloaded and the last of the cargo hauled away,
Martin said to Nicholas, "Ride back to the castle and tell Housecarl
Samuel that we'll be up for our meal in a half hour,"

Nicholas started to turn, then said, "Should I return here .. . Your
Grace?"

Martin said, "What do you think?"

Because he didn't know what to think, Nicholas's answer sounded awkward
in his own ear.  "I'm not sure."

Martin's tone was not scolding, but it wasn't warm, either.  "You're my
squire.  Your place is at my side until I tell you otherwise.  Return
as soon as you've done what I've told you."

Feeling somehow inadequate for not having known that, Nicholas blushed
furiously.  "At once, Your Grace."

He set heels to the gelding and let the horse stretch out into a canter
as he hurried away from the docks.  Nearing the busy streets of the
town he was forced to slow to a trot.  Any horseman was likely to be a
noble or a soldier, so most gave way as they heard Nicholas ride up
behind or saw him coming.  Still, he had to move cautiously.  Slowing
to a walk, he took in the sights around him.  Shops were now opening
and traders began setting their wares out in windows as costermongers
displayed their produce upon their wagons, and more workers made their
way to their places of employment.  A couple of young women, not more
than a year or two older than Nicholas, whispered to each other as he
passed.

Crydee was strange to Nicholas.  It was neither the rich quarters of
Krondor nor the slums of the city, it was something else.  The beggars
one found haunting the merchants' quarters in Krondor were absent, as
well as the thieves one didn't see, he suspected.  He also doubted he'd
find whores on the corner near the taverns in the evening, though he
didn't doubt there were ample ladies of salable affections in the
taverns near the docks.  The heavy industry, the large mills, the
dyers, the tanners, the wagon wrights and the rest, were not evident.
No doubt there were some dyers and tanners in Crydee, but the reek of
their trade didn't reveal them the way it did down by the harbor in the
Prince's city.

No, Crydee was a town A big, bus ding growing town, but not a city, and
as such it was a place both wondrous and fearful to Nicholas.  His
nervousness at being away from home

THE KING 's BUCCANEER 73 was offset by his curiosity about this new
place and the people in it.

Clearing the eastern edge of the town proper, he kicked his animal into
another canter and hurried toward the castle.  His desire to be
efficient doing Martin's bidding was secondary to a more basic
motivation: he was hungry.

SQUIfifc

(WJ icholas stumbled.

1.T Harry said as he passed his friend, "Huny, or Samuel will have our
ears!"

In the week since they had come to serve at Crydee, the boys had
discovered their bane: Housecarl Samuel.  The old steward, approaching
eighty years of age, had been in the service of the ducal household of
Crydee since Nicholas's grandfather's time.  And he could still wield a
stout switch.

The morning after Amos departed, Harry had stopped upon an errand to
make the acquaintance of some local girls, and had returned overly late
from his mission to find a tight-lipped Samuel waiting for him.  When
shown the switch, Harry had tried to joke his way past the punishment,
for he hadn't been whipped since leaving his father's estates.  When it
was evident the old man wasn't jesting, Harry had shrugged off the
punishment until he discovered that while Samuel was old, there was
nothing feeble about his switch.  Nicholas had tried to avoid the same
punishment, but on the third day had managed to make hash of a series
of tasks for the Duke.  For a while he had faintly hoped that his rank
would spare him the punishment, but all Samuel said was "In my time
I've switched your uncle the King, boy."

The two Squires were racing across the courtyard to meet

THE JC/NG 's BUCCANEER

with their supervisor at first light.  The Housecarl would inform them
if there were any unusual duties to perform instead of reporting to
their respective stations outside the Duke and Marcus's rooms. Usually,
they were to remain available to Martin and his son should they need
the boys, but sometimes the Duke thought of something for them to do
after they had gone to bed; he would pass instructions through the
Housecarl.

Reaching the hall that led to the old man's office, they found him
opening the door as they hove into view.  The rule was simple: if they
weren't there by the time he was seated behind the large table he used
as a work desk, they were late and would be punished.

Scrambling down the hall, the two boys were through the portal as the
reed-thin old man sat down.  Raising one nearly white eyebrow, he said,
"Cutting it a bit fine today, aren't we, boys?"

Harry tried to smile, but failed in the attempt.  "Anything special,
sir?"

Samuel's eyes narrowed a moment as he thought; then he said, "Harry, go
to the harbor and see if the mail packet from Carse came in during the
night.  It was due in yesterday, and if it still is not here, the Duke
wants to know."  Harry didn't wait to see if Nicholas had anything
special; when an order was given by the Housecarl, a lowly court page
or squire didn't dare linger.  Samuel continued, "Nicholas, attend your
master."

Nicholas hurried back toward the Duke's quarters.  Now that he was no
longer dashing through the still-dark corridors, he suddenly felt very
tired.  He was not an early riser by nature.  This business of being up
before sunrise was taking its toll.

From the morning after the welcoming banquet, the alien quality of
being in this frontier castle was slowly being replaced with a familiar
routine: either being in a hurry or standing around waiting.  And the
hours were from before dawn to after the evening meal.  The Prince had
expected things to be somewhat different, but the impact of just how
different things were was beginning to gnaw at Nicholas.

He reached Martin and Briana's chamber door and waited.  If the past
week's experience was any predictor, the Duke and Duchess would both be
awake and dressing and coming through that door in the next few
minutes.  Nicholas turned and leaned back against the wall.  He gazed
through a window that looked out over the courtyard and the town beyond
the wall.  The grey of morning was deep, and while Nicholas was
becoming used to the landmarks of Crydee, there was still barely enough
light to make out details.  Within the hour the sun would rise, and the
town would be bathed in morning brilliance or still grey with overcast.
The weather around here was very difficult to predict, Nicholas
observed.

He yawned and wished he were back on his pallet.  No, he corrected
himself, he wished he were back in his own bed in Krondor.  He had to
admit that fatigue made the straw-stuffed mattress tolerable, but he
would never think of it as comfortable.  Nicholas still grappled with
homesickness, but only in rare moments like these when he had a few
minutes to think about himself.  The rest of the time he was too
busy.

His uncle made Nicholas uncomfortable.  Before he came to Crydee, his
memories of Martin were of a large man with big, gentle hands who had
carried him on his shoulders for a time when visiting Krondor.  That
had been nearly fourteen years ago.  Martin had visited the Prince's
court once since then, but Nicholas had been ill in bed at the time and
had only had a five-minute visit from Martin.  Now the warm, gentle
memory of a large uncle was being replaced by the reality of a distant
man.

Unlike Samuel, Martin never seemed to lose his temper or raise his
voice.  But he had a way of looking at the boys that made them wish
they could crawl off into a hole and hide.  If Nicholas or Harry railed
in a task, he would say nothing, but turn away with unspoken
disapproval in the air.  It was for the boys to correct their errors.

Harry at least had Marcus, who was more than willing to inform him how
he was failing.  Some of the staff had made it clear that part of
Marcus's coolness toward the boys was due in part to the tact that
until shortly before Nicholas's arrival he had squired for his father,
so of course he was measuring everything they did by his own
performance.  Nicholas had once made the mistake of protesting that it
wasn't fair to chide them for not knowing where something was when sent
upon an errand, and Marcus had turned and coolly said, "Then you need
to find out where it is, don't you?"

The door opened and Nicholas came awake.  Briana pro If/ KlNC "S

BUCCANEEK

ceeded her husband from the sleeping room and smiled.  "Good morning,
Squire."

"My lady," Nicholas said, bowing to her.  His court manners always made
her smile, and it had become something of a little game between them.

Martin closed the door as he came through and said, "Nicholas, the
Duchess and I ride alone this morning.  Have our horses made ready."

"Your Grace," said Nicholas, and with that he was off down the hallway
at a run.  Samuel had informed Nicholas that when Brians and Martin
went riding at dawn, it was usually a two- or three-hour trip, so the
Squire knew they'd be stopping in the kitchen for some provisions.  He
decided a little initiative was called for and dashed for the
kitchen.

Reaching the kitchen, he found the servants hard at work readying the
meals for the nearly two hundred people who lived within the walls of
Castle Crydee.  Mastercook Megar, a solidly built old man, stood in the
center of the kitchen supervising every aspect of his crew's labors.
His old wife, Magya, hovered near the stove, her still-keen eyes fixed
upon what cooked there.  Nicholas slowed to a walk as he entered,
saying, "Mastercook, the Duke and his lady ride this morning."

Megar gave Nicholas a friendly smile and a wave.  The kitchen had
turned, out to be the only place in the castle where Harry and Nicholas
had found warm greetings, for the old cook and his wife seemed to have
a fondness for boys.  "I know, Squire, I know."  He pointed to a saddle
pack being filled with food.  "But it was a good thought," he added
with a grin.  "Now off to the stable with you!"

Friendly laughter followed Nicholas as he hurried from the kitchen,
dashing outside toward the stable.  Reaching the stabling area, he
found it still quiet and knew that Rulf, the senior stableman, was
still asleep.  How the man had gained his rank was a mystery to
Nicholas, although he had been told his father had held the position
before him.  As the boy hurried through the dark stable, the horses
nickered in greeting and some stuck their heads through the stall
doors, seeing if he might be arriving with something to eat.

At the far end of the breezeway, he almost ran into a still figure that
had been hidden in the gloom.  A dark face turned toward him and a soft
voice said, "Quiet, Squire."

Horsetnaster Faxon pointed through the door, and there upon his pallet
lay the stout figure of Rulf, snoring loudly enough to rattle the
heavens, thought Nicholas.  "Seems a pity to disturb such peace,
doesn't it?"  Nicholas cried not to grin as he said, "The Duke and
Duchess ride this morning, Horsemaster."

"Well, in that case .. ."  said Faxon, as he picked up a water bucket,
took one step across the small room, and emptied the contents upon the
reclining figure.  Rulf sat up with a gasp and uttered a cry of pure
aggravation.  "Agh!  What "

"You oaf!"  shouted Faxon, all friendliness vanishing from his manner.
"The day is half over and you're lying in your bed dreaming of town
girls!"

Rulf sat up sputtering, and when he saw Nicholas, for a moment his eyes
narrowed, as if the boy were the cause of his misery.  Then he came
fully awake and saw the Horsemaster, and his manner changed.  "Sorry,
Master Faxon."

"Duke Martin and Lady Briana need their mounts!  If the horses aren't
tacked up and ready by the time my lord and lady are upon the front
steps of the keep I'll have your ears upon the stable door!"

The heavyset man arose with a sour look, but said only, "At once,
Master Faxon."  Turning toward the loft, he shouted, "Tom!  Sam!  You
lazy boys!  Get up!  We have work to do and you didn't wake me as I
told you to!"

Sleepy grunts from the loft answered, and a moment later, two young men
scampered down the ladder from the hayloft.  They were about a year
apart in age, from their look, in their mid-twenties, and both bore an
unmistakable resemblance to Rulf.  He swore at them and sent them
scrambling to get the indicated horses.  Turning to Faxon, he said,
"They'll be ready in no time, Master Faxon."

Nicholas turned to see Faxon regarding the three of them.  "One would
never know it to look at them, Squire, but they're unusually good with
the horses.  Rul Ps father was Horsemaster Algon's stableman when I was
a boy."

"Is that why you keep Rulf on?"  asked Nicholas.  Faxon nodded.  "You'd
probably never guess, but he was very brave when the Tsurani besieged
the castle during the Riftwar.  Many times he carried water to the
soldiers myself

Tue KING 's BUCCANEER

being one of them right into the battle, armed with nothing more than
two buckets."

"Really?"

Faxon grinned.  "Really."

Nicholas blushed.  "I've got to stop doing that."

Faxon clapped him upon the shoulder.  "You'll get over it."  He looked
out through the breezeway to where Rulf and his sons were tacking up
the horses.  "And I feel sorry for Rulf since his wife died.  She was
the only gentle thing in his life.  He and his sons have only one
another and the stable.  They have quarters over in the servants' wing,
but they sleep here most of the time."

Nicholas nodded.  He realized at that moment he had always taken
servants for granted, and there were those who had served him at
Krondor of whom he knew nothing.  He had just assumed, somehow, that
they vanished into a servants' closet, keeping quietly out of sight
until they were needed.  Coming out of his reverie, he said, "I'd best
be back to the Duke."

"The horses will be ready," answered Faxon.

Nicholas hurried back to the kitchen and indeed found Martin and Briana
there, inspecting the provisions.  The Duke and his wife approved the
selection of food.  Briana motioned for a pair of servants to follow
her out of the kitchen.  Martin headed toward the armory.  Without a
word, Nicholas fell in behind him.  When they reached the armory, a
soldier on guard saluted and opened the door for Martin and Nicholas.

Inside, Martin waited while Nicholas quickly lit a lantern against the
gloom of the always dark room.  When the light flared, it was reflected
from a thousand angles, dancing across polished metal.  Racks of swords
and spears, shields and helms, covered every wall.  Nicholas hurried to
another door and opened it for Martin, anticipating his need.

Martin stepped into the small room where his personal arms were stored,
and selected a longbow that hung on one wall.  He handed it to Nicholas
while he himself filled a quiver with the long arrows called cloth yard
shafts, because they were thirty-seven inches long, the measure a
miller used to cut a yard of cloth.  Nicholas had never seen a
longbow's effects, as the soldiers at Krondor were all armed with
crossbows or the small horse bow used by the cavalry, but he had heard
tales of the weapon's fearful power: that a skilled bowman could punch
a steel-headed shaft through nearly any armor.

Nicholas knew that his uncle had served as their grandfather's
Huntmaster, back at a time when Martin's birthright had been hidden
from all but a few of the old Duke's most trusted advisers.  Just
before his death, Lord Borric had legitimized his eldest son, raising
him from the ranks of the common to become in time Duke of Crydee,
inheritor of his father's title.  But before then Martin was still
acknowledged as one of the finest bowmen in the Western Realm.

The Duke handed Nicholas the quiver of arrows.  He inspected a row of
blades upon a table, before choosing two large hunting knives and
handing them to Nicholas.  He then selected another bow, for Duchess
Briana, which he also gave to Nicholas.  A quiver of arrows for the
shorter bow was his last choice, and they departed.

They reached the courtyard to find Lady Briana standing next to a pair
of horses.  Nicholas didn't need to be told that this was not merely a
morning ride but a hunting trip, and the Duke and his wife would
probably be gone for the day or longer, if they decided to sleep in the
forest.

Harry raced into view and between gasps for breath said, "Your Grace.
No word yet on the packet boat from Carse."

Martin's expression darkened.  "Have Marcus pen a note for Lord Bellamy
in Carse, asking if the boat turned back to Carse for some reason, then
send it by pigeon."

Harry bowed and started to run off, but Martin stopped him by saying,
"And, Squire .. ."

Harry stopped and turned.  "Your Grace?"  "Next time you're sent to the
harbor on an errand, take a horse."

Harry grinned sheepishly and bowed.  "Your Grace," he said, and hurried
off to do Martin's bidding.

Briana mounted without waiting for any unnecessary assistance and
Nicholas handed her a bow, quiver, and knife.  After Martin was
mounted, Nicholas gave the remaining weapons to the Duke.

Martin said, "We may be gone until tomorrow sunset,

Squire."

Nicholas said, "Your Grace?"

"Today is Sixthday, if it's escaped your notice."  It had.

"You may have the afternoon to yourself.  See to Master Samuel for any
further instructions until we return."

"Yes, Your Grace."

As they rode out of the courtyard, Nicholas sighed.  Sixthday:
traditionally a half day of rest for the children of any castle or
palace.  Seventhday was a day of contemplation and worship, though
Nicholas had noticed there were always plenty of servants to do his
bidding back in Krondor on Seventhday.  He and Harry had arrived on
Seventhday the week before, so he had no idea what to expect with his
first free time since coming off the ship.

THE SOUND OF boys shouting echoed across the side courtyard, near a
small garden, which was called the Princess's Garden.  It had been the
province of Nicholas's aunt, the Princess Carline, when she had lived
in Crydee, and the name had stuck.

A rough game of football was under way, with one of the soldiers acting
as referee.  The teams were composed of the sons of the castle's
servants, a few pages, and two of the younger squires.  An area of the
approved size had been chalked out in the dirt, with a battered goal
net erected at each end.  It might not match the emerald-green grass
field of the professional stadium at Krondor, but it was a ball
field.

Looking on were Margaret, Abigail, and Marcus, from a vantage point of
seats on a low wall alongside the garden.  Nakor and Ghuda were
watching the game from the other side of the field, among a group of
soldiers, and both waved at Nicholas.  He waved back.

Nicholas had been running errands all morning for the Housecarl, and
had finally stolen into the kitchen to eat a quick lunch that Magya had
prepared for the Squires, and then had left to see what he could do
with his time off.  He was thinking about returning to his room for a
nap when the sounds of the game distracted him.

Marcus nodded at him and the girls both smiled.  He jumped up to sit on
the wall, next to Margaret, and leaned forward to return Marcus's
greeting.  He then looked at Abigail, who smiled warmly and said, "I've
not seen you around much, Highness, save when you were running from one
place to another."

Looking at Abigail caused Nicholas's ears to burn.  He said, "The Duke
keeps me busy, my lady," and turned his attention to the game.  What it
lacked in skill it more than made up for in enthusiasm.

"You play football in Krondor, Squire?"  asked Marcus, stressing the
last word.  As he spoke, he reached over and placed his hand upon
Abigail's.  The possessive gesture was not lost on Nicholas.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Nicholas said, "We have professional
teams in Krondor, sponsored by the guilds, merchants, and some
nobles."

"I mean do you play?"

Nicholas said, "Not much."

Marcus glanced at Nicholas's feet and nodded slightly.  Marcus's
gesture did not earn him Nicholas's thanks; Nicholas found himself
irritated by his cousin's manner.

Margaret glanced from her brother to Nicholas, and her expression
shifted slightly from neutral to dryly amused as Nicholas said, "But
when I had time, I was considered good."

Marcus's eyes narrowed.  "Even with your loot."

Nicholas felt his race flush and he was suddenly angry.  ""Yes, even
with my footl"

Harry appeared, a bit of bread and cheese in his hand, and Marcus only
glanced at him for a moment.  The Duke's son knew that Harry's time was
now his own until the next morning.  Harry gave the assembled group a
general wave and said, "How's the game?"

Nicholas jumped off the low wall and said, "We're playing

Harry shook his head.  "I'm eating."

With a smile, Marcus said, "I'll keep the sides even."

Harry grinned openly as he jumped backward to sit in the space Nicholas
had just vacated, next to Lady Margaret.  "Give 'em hell, Nicky," he
said cheerfully.

Nicholas stripped off his tunic, feeling the warm sun and cool ocean
breeze upon his skin.  He hardly knew any of the boys on the field just
two of the pages but he knew the game.  Feeling irritated by Marcus's
attitude, he needed to vent his anger.

A moment later, the ball went out of bounds.  Marcus reached over and
picked it up, saying, "I'll throw it in."

Nicholas ran out onto the field and glanced around.  He waved over a
kitchen boy and said, "What's your name?"

The boy said, "Robert, Highness."

Nicholas frowned and shook his head.  "I'm the Duke's Squire.  Who's
our side?"

Robert quickly pointed out the seven boys that made up the rest of the
informal team and Nicholas said, "I'll guard Marcus."

Robert grinned and nodded.  "No one will dispute you that privilege,
Squire."

Suddenly Nicholas was moving, cutting off a boy who was hurrying
forward to take the toss in from Marcus.  By throwing his body almost
out of bounds, he managed to kick the ball to a startled boy on his own
team.  After a brief hesitation, the fray was on.

Harry guffawed and said to the girls, "Nicholas is as good at stealing
inbounds as anyone I've seen."

Margaret watched her cousin pick himself up off the hard ground and
race to rejoin the game and said, "That must hurt."

He's tough enough," answered Harry.  Glancing at the two girls beside
him, he said, "Any bets?"

The two girls looked at each other.  "Bets?"

"On who will win," said Harry as Marcus deftly made a sliding tackle on
the ball, knocking it loose for one of his teammates to intercept.

Abigail shook her head.  "I don't know who's better."

Margaret gave an unladylike snort of contempt.  "Neither is 'better,"
but those two will kill each other trying to find out."

Abigail shook her head as Nicholas was slammed from behind by one of
Marcus's teammates, out of view of the referee, so that no penalty was
called.  The boy threw a forearm at the back of Nicholas's head that
had him seeing white lights for a moment.  Marcus shook his head in
sympathy as Nicholas pulled himself together and jumped to his feet.
The boy who had leveled Nicholas was somewhere down the field.  "Got to
keep your wits about you," shouted Marcus.  "Not a lot of subtlety in
this game."

Shaking his head to clear it, Nicholas said, "I've noticed."

Then both boys were off toward the ball.

Harry said, "Damn, they look alike out there, don't they?"

Abigail said, "They could be brothers, certainly."

In the middle of the fray, Marcus and Nicholas both angled for the
ball, attempting to kick it out of the mess, each leaning into the
other, elbows slamming into ribs.

Harry surveyed the two girls and said, "About the bet?"  Margaret
looked at Harry and her smile was wry.  "The stakes?"

"Easy," said Harry, attempting an offhand manner.

"There's a festival in two weeks, I've been told.  You'll need an
escort.

Margaret smiled and glanced at Abigail.  "Both of us?"

Harry guffawed.  "Why not?  It'll drive them both crazy."

Margaret laughed aloud.  "Some friend you are."

Harry shrugged.  "I know Nicholas, and if I'm not mistaken, he and
Marcus are only beginning a long and possibly colorful rivalry."
Looking directly at Abigail, he said, "I think they're both smitten, my
lady."  Abigail had the courtesy to blush, but her expression looked as
if the observation was not news to her.

"And what are your ambitions, Squire?"

Margaret's frank question caught Harry off guard.  "Why, none, I
think," he said in confusion.

Margaret patted him in familiar fashion on the leg and Harry found he
was now the one blushing.  "Whatever you say, Squire," said the Duke's
daughter.

Harry felt his body stir and warm at her hand on his thigh, and
suddenly wanted to be anywhere but sitting next to her.  He had never
had a problem talking to the younger women of the Prince's staff in
Krondor, either the serving women who were disadvantaged by their rank,
or the daughters of the court nobles who were disadvantaged by their
youth.  But there was nothing of the shy, inexperienced girl in
Margaret's manner.  There was something positively worldly about this
girl, who was almost the same age as Harry and Nicholas.

Abigail watched the game with obvious divided loyalties, but Margaret
showed little interest.  She glanced around and saw Anthony standing
behind them in the garden and waved for him to join them.

The young magician came to where they sat and bowed awkwardly. Margaret
smiled at him.  "Anthony, how are you?"

"Fine, my lady," he said softly.  "I thought I'd get some air and sun
and watch a bit of the game."

"Sit there next to Abigail," ordered Margaret with humor.  "She needs
support.  Two fools are shedding blood in her honor."

Abigail blushed furiously, and her tone was cold.  "That isn't funny,
Margaret."  They had never been particularly close; Margaret had spent
most of her childhood playing with her brother and his rough friends.
The few town girls- daughters of the richer merchants who had been
selected as her companions had been as appalled as Margaret's tutors
when the Duke's daughter had shown indifference to the training
reserved for young ladies of rank.  Her mother had lived her early life
as a warrior and had seen no benefit in much of what they attempted to
teach Margaret, save reading and writing, and often spared her daughter
punishment when she abandoned her needlework to go riding or hunting.

Abigail was just the most recent of a long line of companions for the
Duke's rugged daughter, no better matched to Margaret than the others,
save she got on her nerves less than most.  Abigail usually had a good
sense of humor, which was being sorely tested by her friend as, with a
cheery air, Margaret said, "I think it is."

Harry smiled, glad the attention was off" him for the moment.  As the
Duke's daughter watched the game, he studied her profile.  At first
glance, she was not a terribly pretty young woman, but there was
something almost regal in the way she held herself, erect and proud:
not the posturing of a vain court woman, but rather the same upright
bearing her mother showed, that of a woman who had no doubt of her own
ability or her place in the world.  Suddenly Harry felt deeply
inadequate.

The game moved up and down the field, and Harry observed that at some
time in the last five minutes Nicholas had acquired a bloody nose.
Scanning the field for Marcus, he noticed that the Duke's son was not
too far from Nicholas, and that his left eye was puffing.

Harry caught Nakor's attention across the field, and the little man
rolled his eyes heavenward and made a motion with his finger to his
head indicating someone was crazy.  Harry made a sign asking which one,
and Ghuda, who had followed the exchange, motioned that both were.
Harry laughed.  Margaret said, "What?"  "They play rough here, don't
they?"  Margaret laughed a very unladylike laugh, slightly more
delicate than a honk, and said, "Only when they think they have
something to prove, Harry."

Harry had never seen Nicholas play so aggressively.  The boy had always
used his head and his natural quickness in whatever sport he undertook,
but he was hurling himself around the field with abandon, his play
reaching previously unmatched heights of madness.

Marcus pushed himself away from Nicholas, and made a running
interception of a pass, breaking toward the goal set up at the far end
of the field.  Nicholas was hot after him, and those looking on cheered
loudly at the spectacle.

Margaret laughed and Abigail sat with her hands clenched in her lap, an
expression of open concern on her face.  Harry started to cheer, but
the sound died in his throat.  Nicholas was limping and Harry knew that
he couldn't overtake Marcus.  Nicholas strained and forced himself, but
there was something wrong in the way he moved.

Harry jumped from the low wall, and Margaret asked, "What?"

Ignoring her, he raced toward the far end of the field as Nicholas fell
to the ground, ignored by the other players as Marcus deftly scored the
winning goal.  The referee shouted time and the match was over.  As the
winners gathered around Marcus, Harry reached Nicholas's side.

Kneeling next to his friend, he said, "Nicholas!  What is it?"  The
Prince's face was contorted and drained of color, while tears ran down
his face.  He gripped his left leg and could barely speak as he gasped,
"Help me up."  "No, damn it, you're hurt."

Nicholas grabbed Harry's tunic and said, "Help me to my feet."  His
voice was an angry whisper, thick with pain.  Harry gripped Nicholas's
arm and helped him to his feet.

Marcus and the other boys approached, with Nakor and Ghuda crossing
from the other side of the field.  The Duke's son said, "Are you all
right?"

Nicholas forced a smile and said, "I twisted my ankle, that's all." His
voice was nearly unrecognizable to Harry, and the Squire looked at his
friend to see his face was chalky.  "Harry will help me back to my
room.  I'll be all right."

Before Marcus could say anything, Nakor fixed him with a narrow stare.
"You broke something?"

Nicholas said, "No, I'm fine."

Ghuda said, "I've seen finer-looking corpses, son.  Better let me help
you back to your room."

Before the old mercenary could move, Anthony took Nicholas's other arm,
saying, "I'll help him."

The girls had come up beside Marcus, and Margaret regarded her cousin,
all sarcasm forgotten.  "Are you all right?"

Nicholas forced a smile.  "Yes."

Abigail stood silently beside the Duke's daughter, but her eyes showed
her concern as Nicholas was helped away, supported on Harry's and
Anthony's shoulders.

He hobbled between them until they rounded the perimeter of the garden,
when he promptly fainted.

NICHOLAS REVIVED AS they reached his room.  Anthony and Harry eased him
down upon his pallet and Harry said, "What happened to you?"

Nicholas said, "Someone stomped on my bad foot and I felt something
break."  His face was still drawn, and sweat streamed off it.

Anthony said, "The boot will have to come off."

Nicholas nodded and gritted his teeth as they removed the boot.  His
head swam from the pain but he remained conscious.

Anthony examined the deformed foot and said, "I don't think there are
bones broken, but something's dislocated.  Look at this."  Nicholas
levered himself up on his elbows and saw what Anthony was pointing at:
a nasty-looking purple bruise that covered frilly half of the top of
the foot.  Anthony pushed his thumb firmly into the bruise, and
Nicholas exclaimed in pain.  The magician kept pushing.  An audible
popping sound was accompanied by a grunt of surprise from Nicholas.
Then he moved his foot, wiggling his vestigial toes.  Anthony set the
foot gently down and Nicholas fell back with a great sigh.

Anthony said, "I'll send one of the servants down to the harbor for a
bucket of salt water.  Soak in it for a half hour, then keep the foot
elevated and warm for the rest of the evening.

You're going to be sore, but I think you'll be able to get around. I'll
ask the Duke to excuse you from work tomorrow, and take things easy for
a while.  You're going to have a nasty limp for a few days, my friend."
The young magician stood up and said, "I'll take a look in on you
tomorrow, first thing."

Harry said, "Are you the Duke's healer, as well as adviser?"

Anthony nodded.  "Yes, as a matter of fact."

Harry said, "I thought healers were priests."

Anthony smiled.  "Mostly, but some magicians are skilled at healing.
I'll see you tomorrow, Nicholas."

As the magician moved toward the door, Nicholas said, "Anthony."

The magician paused and looked down at Nicholas.  "Yes?"

"Thank you."

For a moment Anthony paused, then he smiled, looking no older than
either Nicholas or Harry.  "I understand."

After he left, Harry turned to his friend and said, "He understands
what?"  He pulled over the little stool and sat.  From somewhere in his
tunic he produced an apple, which he broke in half, giving a piece to
Nicholas.

Lying back as he chewed on the apple, Nicholas said, "He understands
that Marcus and I are going to be knocking heads and thumping on each
other for a while."

"That wasn't a game out there, Nicky.  That was war.  You took more
blows in one half today than I've seen you take in all last season, and
that was thirteen matches.  And I've never seen you throw as many
elbows and shoulders either.  You two weren't playing ball, you were
trying to kill each other."

Nicholas sighed.  "How did I get to this point?"

"You had the bad manners to want the same girl as Marcus, and while
you're playing at Squire, he knows you're a Royal Prince of the Kingdom
and he's only a Duke's son."

"Only a Duke's son?"

Harry shook his head.  "You can be thick at rimes, my friend."  Waving
his hand, he said, "If Marcus came sailing into any city but Krondor or
Rillanon, the local girls would he falling all over him for attention.
Here on the Far Coast, he's the most eligible bachelor, related to the
King and everything.  But you, my bashful boy, are the most eligible
lad north of the

Empire of Kesh, now that your brothers are married, and you're the
brother of our next King.

"The lovely Lady Abigail could be head over heels about Marcus, but the
moment you walk in, she's got to stop and take a long look."  With a
shrug, he added, "It's the sort of thing people do."

At mention of Abigail, Nicholas sighed.  "Do you think she is?"

"Is what?"

"In love with Marcus."

Harry shrugged.  "I don't know."  Then, with a grin, he said, "But I
can find out."

Nicholas said, "No, don't do anything.  If you start poking around and
asking questions, she'll find out."

"Ha!  You're afraid she'll find out you like her!"  Harry laughed at
Nicholas's discomfort.  "Don't worry about that, my friend.  It's too
late."

Nicholas groaned.  "You think?"

Harry said, "Certain of it.  You look like you're going to feint every
time you see her looking at you.  How do you think Marcus knew?  He's
not amused."

"He's a cool one," said Nicholas, an observation that was half
admiration, half dislike.

Harry nodded.  "You two are a lot alike, but he keeps things closer in
than you do."

Nicholas said, "Well, everyone keeps saying we're alike, but I don't
see it."

Harry stood up.  "Well, soak the foot and wrap it, and have a good
night.  I'll bring you some food from the kitchen tonight."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm heading back to the garden to find Abigail."

"Not you too!"  groaned Nicholas.

Harry waved his hand.  "Not a chance.  I'm interested in Margaret."

"Why?"  said Nicholas as Harry paused by the door.

"Well, for one thing, Marcus is her brother, and while marriages
between royal cousins aren't unheard of, in your case, I seriously
doubt it.  Besides, I think I love her."

Nicholas's eyebrows shot up in skeptical surprise.  "Right."

"No, I mean it.  She gives me a stomachache."  Saying no more, he left
Nicholas alone.

Nicholas fell back, laughing, but soon his mirth fled, as he understood
exactly what Harry was saying.  Abigail gave him the most desperate
twist in the stomach he had ever experienced.

INSTfiUCTION

Nicholas winced.  I He had been laid up all the previous day, and while
his foot still hurt, he could move around.  So before the sun rose, he
was standing at his post outside the Duke's door, almost motionless.

Marcus's door opened and he emerged into the hall, motioning for Harry
to follow.  A moment later, Martin's door opened and Briana and Martin
came through.  The Duchess said, "How is the foot, Nicholas?"

He managed a wry smile as he said, "I'll live.  It's a little tender,
my lady, but I can get around."

Martin said, "Accidents happen.  You're not going to be much use for
running errands; go back to the Housecarl and see if he can find
something you're suited for today."

Nicholas said, "Your Grace," and limped off.

As he wandered through the halls toward the servants' wing, where
Samuel had his office, he felt thoroughly disgusted with himself.  The
Sixthday game had been a debacle.  As he had brooded over it all day,
lying on his pallet, he realized he had looked like a fool.

Over the years, being the youngest son of the Prince of Krondor had
forced Nicholas into many situations where he would rather have held
back; there was no escaping public scrutiny when protocol dictated one
be upon the balcony at a festival, or in attendance at court.  But in
most areas, Nicholas preferred to let others, like Harry, take the
lead.  In football, Nicholas had developed a justified reputation as a
wicked defender, able to steal a ball and pass it off before the other
side knew what had happened, but when it came to scoring, he always let
others take the glory.  Two days before had been the first time he had
ever propelled himself to the fore, demanded the ball at every
opportunity, and attempted to dominate by force of will alone.  And
every step of the way Marcus had shadowed him.

There had been scant satisfaction in realizing that he had been as
effective at blocking Marcus's efforts as Marcus had been at blocking
his; the game had been more or less a stalemate, save for the injury
done his foot, which finally allowed Marcus to score.

As he gingerly moved down a flight of stairs, Nicholas was more
sensitive to his birth defect than usual.  Like most of those born with
such a deformity, he had adapted to it and compensated for it without
much thought.  Being Arutha's son had saved him from much of the
childhood taunting children of lower rank would have had to endure, but
he had still experienced some of it, as well as more than his share of
stares and whispers.  But today was the first day he felt as if his
foot was a true handicap.  Had it not been for that, he was certain, he
would have bested Marcus.  He swore softly, being angry with everyone,
himself most of all.

He reached Samuel's office door and said, "Housecarl?"  Samuel motioned
him to enter.  Nicholas had been in the office only a half hour earlier
and had been told there were no unusual duties.  The Housecarl looked
around as if seeking inspiration, then said, "I have nothing that needs
doing, Squire.  Why don't you return to your room and rest that injured
foot?"

Nicholas nodded and departed, not feeling very much like lying abed
another day.  He returned to his room and threw himself onto his straw
mattress.  Having slept most of the previous day, he felt little like
resting, and the straw itched.  Besides, he was hungry.

After a few minutes he heaved himself off his pallet and headed for the
kitchen.  By the time he reached it, the smell of

THE KING 's BUCCANSEA

food in the hallway had his mouth watering.  Magya was busy supervising
the kitchen staff, walking behind the cooks like a general overseeing
her troops.  She smiled at Nicholas and waved him over.

"Are you feeling better today, Squire?"  asked the old woman.  Tending
toward the plump, she nevertheless moved about the kitchen quickly and
efficiently, despite her age and weight.

"Yes, but not quite fit for duty, according to the Duke."

She chuckled.  "But fit enough to be hungry?"

He smiled back "Something like that."

Patting his shoulder, she said, "I think we have something we can spare
before the Duke and Duchess break fast."

She pointed to a tray, which Nicholas picked up.  She spooned out a
thick porridge that was bubbling in a pot, sprinkled some cinnamon on
it, put a large dollop of honey in the middle, and poured milk over it
all.  She placed the bowl on the tray, cut a slab of hot bread and a
thick slice of ham, and motioned for Nicholas to carry it over to a
small table in the corner.

Megar entered with two kitchen boys following behind, each carrying a
basket of eggs.  He waved the boys about their tasks and came over to
sit at the table with his wife and Nicholas, who had taken to the old
master cook, a large man with an open smile and kind manner, the first
time they had met.  "Morning, Squire," said Megar, a friendly smile on
his open, lined face.

Nicholas said, "Have you seen Ghuda and Nakor?  I've not caught a
glimpse of either since the game."

Megar and Magya exchanged glances.  "Who?"  asked Megar.

Nicholas described them.  "Those two," said Magya.  "I've seen the
short fellow talking to Anthony a few times in the last week.  The big
soldier went out with a patrol, for the fun of it, he said.  Left
yesterday morning."

Nicholas sighed.  They weren't real friends, but he knew them better
than anyone in the castle save Harry.  While the cook and his wife were
nice enough, he didn't know them well and knew that they were only
sparing a few moments out of courtesy, and that as soon as he was
finished eating, they'd be about preparing the rest of the day's
meals.

As Nicholas ate, they talked.  They inquired how he was adjusting to
life in Crydee, and then about this trip.  At mention of Pug, they both
smiled wistful, half-sad, half-pleased smiles.  "He was like our son,"
said Megar.  "He was our fosterling, you know, so many years ago."

Nicholas shook his head to show he hadn't known, and Megar started
telling him a little of Pug, and of Megar and Magya's own son, Tomas,
who had been Pug's closest friend.  As the story of their lives
unfolded a mixture of reminiscence and spirited argument about who
remembered what correctly a picture formed in Nicholas's imagination.

He had heard tales of the Riftwar from Amos, and once in a while his.
father could be persuaded to reveal something of his own part in it,
but Megar and Magya's simple retelling was by far the most compelling
he had heard.  The manner in which they related everything that
occurred in their own references, how many buckets of water the kitchen
staff carried to the walls, how many extra rations needed to be cooked,
how they made do without this or that, when meals were cold because the
cooking staff was tending the wounded all wove a far more vivid picture
in Nicholas's mind than even Amos s most colorful boasting.

Nicholas asked one or two questions, and suddenly a picture of Pug as a
boy emerged.  Nicholas smiled as Megar explained at great length how
difficult it was for him as a child, being the smallest boy for his age
in the keep, and how Tomas had become protective.  By the time the
stories were finished, Nicholas had eaten all that had been put before
him.  Magya's eyes were shining as she explained how Tomas had looked
on the day he had become a man, at the Choosing that ancient rite where
all the boys are given over to the masters who would train them.

There was something familiar about the name Tomas, but Nicholas
couldn't quite make it fit.  He said, "Where is your son nowr

Instantly he regretted asking, as a look-of sorrow passed over both
their faces.  He thought the young man must have died in the war.

But to his surprise, Megar said, "He lives with the elves."  Suddenly
Nicholas made the connection.  "Your son is the Elf Queen's consort!"

THE KfNc's BUCCANEER 95

Magya nodded.  With resignation she said, "We don't see him much. We've
had one visit since the child was born, and we get a message from time
to time."

"Child?"

"Our grandson," answered Megar.  "Calls."

Magya brightened.  "He's a good boy.  He visits once or twice a year.
He's more like his father than those elves he lives with," she said
with conviction.  "I often wish he'd come to live here at Crydee."

The conversation died, and Nicholas excused himself and left through
the door to the courtyard.  He recollected what his uncle Laurie had
told him about the last days of the Riftwar and what bits Amos had told
him.  Tomas wasn't human.  At least, that was the impression Nicholas
had been left with; he was some ming else, related to the elves, but
different.  Nicholas thought that if he had human parents, especially
ones as warm and open as Megar and Magya, he must have been much like
the other keep children.  What could have changed him?  wondered
Nicholas.

Nicholas wandered over to the Princess's Garden, faintly hoping to find
Abigail and Margaret there.  Given the hour, they were probably in the
hall, dining with Duke Martin, but Nicholas hoped anyway.

Instead of the young girls, Nicholas was astonished to find Nakor and
Anthony, lying flat on their stomachs, staring at something under a
stone bench.

"There, you see?"  said Nakor.

"That one?"  asked Anthony.

"Yes."

They dusted themselves off as they rose.  Nakor said, "You must be sure
it is the one with those tiny flecks of orange.  If they are red, it is
deadly.  If it is any other color, it is useless."

Anthony took notice of Nicholas and bowed slightly.  "Highness."

Nicholas sat upon the bench they had just been peering under, taking
the weight off his foot.  "Squire," he corrected.

Nakor grinned his lopsided grin.  "For the present, Squire, but Prince
always.  Anthony knows this."

Nicholas ignored the observation.  "What were you two doing?"

Anthony seemed embarrassed.  "Well, there's a small mushroom-like
growth that you can find in dark, damp places "

"Under the bench," injected Nakor.

" and Nakor was showing me how to identify it correctly."

"For magic potions?"  asked Nicholas.

"As a drug," snapped Nakor.  "To induce sleep if prepared irrectly.
Very handy when you have to cut an arrow out of a >ldier, or remove a
bad tooth."

Nicholas indulged himself.  "I thought all you magicians ave to do is
wave your hand and put someone in a trance.

Anthony shrugged, as if to say that he wasn't much of a lagjcian, but
Nakor said, "See, that's what comes of letting children grow up
uneducated."  He opened his bag and took ut an orange.  "Want one?"  he
asked.

Nicholas nodded and Nakor tossed the fruit to him.  He ave another to
Anthony.  Then he handed the bag to Nicholas.  Look inside."

Nicholas examined the large rucksack.  He found it simple: lack
material, feeling like common felted wool.  A leather Irawstring had
been sewn around the mouth of the bag, and a rood en frog and loop
served as a clasp.  The bag was empty, landing it back, Nicholas said,
"There's nothing in it."

Nakor reached in and withdrew a writhing snake.  An-hony's eyes widened
and Nicholas scooted backward on the >encn, until he hit the wall
behind.  "That's a viper!"

With a wave of his hand, Nakor said, "This?  It's just a tick."

In his hand was a simple piece of wood, which he put back n the bag;
then again he tossed the bag to Nicholas.  Nicholas examined it closely
and said, "It's empty."  He handed the bag o Nakor.  "How did you do
that?"

Nakor grinned again.  "It's easy if you know the trick."  Anthony shook
his head.  "He does some very impressive :hings, yet insists there is
no magic."

Nakor nodded.  "Maybe I'll explain it to you someday, ma-;ician.  Pug
knows."

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at the walls above the :ourtyard and
said, "I've been hearing a lot about Pug today, it seems.

Anthony said, "He is something of a legend here.  At Stardock, too.  He
left before I joined the community there."

Nicholas said, "Well, you can't have been a member for long; he's only
been gone from there about eight years."

Anthony smiled.  "I'm afraid I'm a very junior magician.  The masters
felt "

"Masters!"  snorted Nakor.  "Those overblown fools Korsh and Watum!"
Shaking his head, he sat down next to Anthony.  "They were the reason I
left Stardock."  He pointed to Anthony as he looked at Nicholas.  "This
boy was quite gifted, but he is what those fools call a 'lesser'
magician.  If I had stayed, I would have made him one of my Blue
Riders!"  Grinning at Anthony, he said, "I sure made some trouble
there, didn't I?"

Anthony laughed, and Nicholas saw him look as young as Harry and
himself.  "That's the truth.  The Blue Riders are the most popular
faction at Stardock, and there are some very bitter fights "

"Fights!"  exclaimed Nicholas.  "Magicians fighting?"

Anthony said, "Student brawls, really.  There are some older
apprentices, who call themselves the Hands of Korsh though he doesn't
care for that who often start trouble in the taverns at Stardock.  No
one causes serious damage the masters wouldn't allow that but it can
result in a cracked head now and again."  He sighed, remembering.  "I
wasn't there long enough to become seriously involved with all that
politics.  I was having too much trouble with my studies.  That's why
they sent me here, at Duke Martin's request, because I'm not much of a
magician."

Nakor shook his head and made a race.  "If you're not much like them,
that's a good thing."  He stood up.  "I'm going to the woods to look
for some things.  I'll see you at supper."  He pointed to Anthony. "Put
some salve on the boy's foot, so it'll be better tomorrow."

Anthony said, "I have some things that might help."

Without further word, Nakor scampered from the garden, leaving the
young magician and Squire alone.

Nicholas was the first to speak.  "I don't think I've ever known a
stranger person."

Anthony said, "I've met a few strange ones at Stardock, but no one to
rival Nakor."

"Was he one of your teachers at Stardock, before he left?"

Anthony shook his head and sat in the spot Nakor had just vacated. "Not
really.  I'm not sure what he was doing there, except causing trouble
for Watum and Korsh.  The story is he showed up one day with a letter
from Prince Borric and some claim that Pug told him to come to
Stardock.  He stayed about three or four years, and did some strange
things, mostly converting a lot of students to the notion that everyone
could learn magic or what he calls 'tricks' and that magicians were not
very bright for not being able to understand this."  Anthony sighed. "I
had problems of my own at the time, and didn't pay too much attention. 
I was a new student and saw Nakor only two or three times, around the
island."

Nicholas said, "Is it true that they sent you because you weren't very
good?"

Anthony said, "I suspect as much.  There were many more girted students
than I, and no small number of accomplished master magicians living at
Stardock."

Nicholas's face darkened.  "That's close to an insult, you know."

Anthony's face flushed.  "I didn't."

Nicholas said, "I don't mean to belittle you, Anthony.  You may be more
talented than you think.  At least, Nakor says you are," he added
quickly.  Both knew it sounded a weak attempt to smooth over the
remark.  "But the King's brother requested a magician, to fill a post
once held by Pug's teacher.  They should have sent one of their
best."

Anthony stood up.  "Perhaps."  His manner was stiff, caught between
embarrassment and insult.  He flushed a little as he said, "Stardock
doesn't feel it owes much allegiance to the Kingdom, I'm afraid.  If
Pug were still there, that might be one thing, him being a cousin to
the King and all, but as it is today, Korsh and Watum have a great deal
of influence among the masters and they are from Kesh.  They'd like to
keep Stardock out of politics on both sides of the border, I think."

Nicholas said, "That might not be a bad idea, I guess, but it's still
rude."

Anthony said, "If you come with me, I have some salves that may hasten
your recuperation; at the least, they won't cause any problems even if
they don't help."

Nicholas followed the young magician.  Glancing around the garden, he
again regretted that the girls were nowhere in sight.

THE WEEKS PASSED with surprising speed.  Each day was full of duties
from dawn to dusk, and Nicholas discovered that the hectic pace was to
his liking.  Being busy kept him from brooding, a trait inherited from
his father.  The strenuous routine of constantly being on the move, of
having to pitch in with much of the physical labor, was hardening his
youthful frame as well.  Always fit from riding and sword practice, he
was now gaining strength to go with his speed.  After his first day
hauling arms and armor out for cleaning and having to lug it all back
into the armory, he thought he was going to die.  Now he could carry
twice the load and feel little strain.

The work seemed to agree with Harry, too, though he reveled in
complaining whenever he had the chance.  In the three weeks since
coming to Crydee, both boys had found little time to spend with
Margaret and Abigail, though Harry had found a bit more than Nicholas.
He delighted in playing upon Nicholas's anxiety over the young
lady-in-waiting, sometimes teasing him to the point of anger.  But most
of their time was caught up in the seemingly endless routine of the
court of Crydee.  So far the only time Nicholas had found to pay court
to Abigail was on Sixthday afternoons, and to his chagrin Marcus was
always nearby.

The people of Castle Crydee took on individual identities to the boys
from Krondor, The kitchen staff" was friendly, the other servants
respectful and distant.  The younger serving girls viewed Harry with a
mixture of amusement and wariness, while a few watched Nicholas with
open admiration, attention he found somewhat disquieting.  Swordmaster
Charles was interesting but always formal in speech and manner.  Faxon
was open and friendly, and Nicholas found him a good listener.  Nakor
and Ghuda were rarely in evidence, always seeming to find something in
town or the nearby woods to occupy their time.  Slowly the alien
quality that had overwhelmed Nicholas upon first arriving was wearing
off, and while Crydee would never feel like home, it was becoming
familiar.  And Abigail occupied more of Nicholas's thoughts than any
girl he had previously known.  On those rare occasions he could find
her without Marcus hovering by she was warm and attentive, and left him
with conflicting feelings that he was making a total ass of himself and
that she really cared for his company.

Nearly a month after the reception dinner, Nicholas and Harry dined
with the Duke's court once again.  Since they were members of the
household, it was not an unexpected event, but it was the first time
since they had come to Crydee that the boys had been free enough from
duty to eat at the same time as everyone else.  They sat at the foot of
the table, removed enough from the Duke and his family that only faint
snatches of conversation reached them.  Not only was the household in
attendance, but several important members of guilds and crafts from the
town were seated at the Duke's table, while some visiting merchants and
traders were seated around the hall.

Nicholas sat staring across the hall at Abigail, who seemed to be
listening somewhat distractedly to something Marcus was telling her.
She glanced at Nicholas with regularity and occasionally flushed and
lowered her eyes when he caught her gaze.  Harry said, "The girl likes
you."  Nicholas said, "How do you know?"  Harry grinned as he sipped at
a goblet of wine.  "She keeps looking over here at you."

"Maybe she thinks I look funny," Nicholas said with a note of fear.

Harry laughed.  "Given how much you and Marcus resemble each other, and
that you're obviously the only two chaps she pays the least bit of
attention to, I'd say she has a preference for a certain type." Tapping
his friend upon the shoulder, he said, "She likes you, dummy."

Dinner passed with the boys engaging in trivialities with the two young
men who sat beside Nicholas.  One was a gem dealer seeking to
underwrite an expedition into a region of the Grey Tower mountains; he
claimed there were gem deposits still untapped by dwarves or human
miners.  He was to be disappointed, Nicholas knew, for the Kingdom made
no claims over the Grey Towers beyond the foothills; the gem dealer
would have to treat with Dolgan, the King of the western dwarves, at
village Caldara, a week's travel or more inland.

The other man was a traveler from Queg, a merchant in fine silks and
rare perfumes, who had occupied most of the girls' afternoon showing
them his wares, which was why Nicholas had not caught sight of them all
day.  Margaret was more given to hunting leather and simple tunics,
like her mother, it seemed, though she wore the proper gowns and
jewelry in court; but Abigail and most of the daughters of the town's
richer merchants had purchased enough of the merchant's fineries to
guarantee him a profitable trip before he visited Carse and Tulan on
his way home.

The merchant was named Vasarius, and something about him irritated
Nicholas.  Perhaps it was the way Nicholas had caught him staring at
Margaret and Abigail, in a manner Nicholas could only consider
covetous.  When Nicholas caught him at it, he merely averted his eyes
from the girls, or smiled at Nicholas as if he were but glancing around
the room.

After dinner the merchants gathered before the Duke and his lady and a
short period of socializing followed, before they were escorted out of
the cas de  Nicholas noticed that while the other merchants were
attempting to get Martin's attention, Vasarius was chatting amiably
with Charles and Faxon.

Nicholas was on the verge of saying something about this to Harry when
Marcus approached.  "We're going hunting tomorrow," he said.  "You two
begin laying out everything we're going to need.  Have a couple of
servants go with you."

Nicholas nodded, while Harry barely suppressed a groan.  They hurried
off and motioned for a couple of the servants to follow.  Nicholas
glanced over his shoulder and noticed Abigail watching his departure.
She waved to him, wishing him a silent good night, and Nicholas turned
to see Marcus looking at her with a sour expression.  Smiling slightly,
Nicholas felt better than he had since coming to Crydee.

IT WAS LATE when Nicholas and Harry finished organizing the equipment
for the hunt.  They would be gone only two or three days, but there
would be a half dozen in the party Martin, Marcus, Nicholas, Harry,
Ghuda, and Nakor so a fair amount of equipment and provisions needed to
be readied.  After a minute of standing around in confusion, not
knowing where to begin, the boys had allowed the experienced servants
to take charge and had mostly observed, save when it came to choosing
weapons.  Both squires knew they were responsible for those choices,
and by now both had a good idea of what Martin and Marcus would
require.  Like his father, Marcus was an excellent bowman and favored
the longbow.

When everything was ready, Nicholas and Harry returned to the banquet
hall.  Nicholas left his friend and went up to the Duke.  Martin
finished his conversation with one of the local merchants and said,
"Yes, Squire?"

Nicholas said, "All is ready for tomorrow, Your Grace."  "Good.  I have
no further need for you this evening, Squire.  We leave at first
light."

Nicholas bowed and departed, leaving Martin to his guests.  Harry was
likewise on his own, from all appearances, as he hurried across the
hall to Nicholas.  "Where are you going?"  "I thought I'd turn in. It's
an early start tomorrow."  "Lady Margaret mentioned that she'd be
taking a stroll through the Princess's Garden."

"Well, there you go," said Nicholas.  "Now's your chance."  Harry
grinned.  "Abigail went with her."  Nicholas grinned in return.  "What
are we waiting for?"  With a single lack of decorum, the boys hurried
out of the Duke's great hall just a stride short of a full run.

As THE BOYS leaped the three steps up to the Princess's Garden,
Margaret and Abigail exchanged glances and smiles.  Margaret's was
confident and amused; Abigail's was shy and pleased.

Both boys came to an abrupt halt and bowed with a fair amount of
courtly dignity.  Grinning seif-consciously, Nicholas said, "Good
evening, ladies."

"Good evening, Squire," replied Margaret.

Abigail spoke softly.  "Good evening, Highness."

The two boys fell in, Nicholas next to Abigail and Harry next to
Margaret.  The boys were silent for a moment, then both started to
speak at the same time.  The girls laughed and the boys had the good
grace to look embarrassed.  Again there was a silent moment, then Harry
and Nicholas began to speak again.

Margaret said, "I know you two can't seem to live a moment apart, but
why don't you come over here with me, Squire Harry."

Harry glanced at Nicholas and his expression was a mix of surprise,
pleasure, and panic as Margaret took him firmly by the hand and led him
off toward a small bench beside the blooming roses.

Nicholas and Abigail walked slowly to the far end of the small garden,
to another bench, where they sat.  Softly Abigail said, "You seem to be
adjusting to living with us, Highness."

Nicholas said, "It's "Squire' here, my lady."  He flushed a little and
said, "I .. . think I like it.  Some of it."  He stared at her, amazed
at how delicate her features were, almost doll-like.  Her skin was
clear and smooth and without the usual blemishes girls her age endured.
He was certain he had never seen eyes as big or blue, almost luminous
in the faint light of the torches upon the wall.  Her hair was gathered
back, encircled with a silver ring, then fell to her shoulders in a
cascade of golden silk.  He glanced down and said, "Some things I find
a great deal more appealing here than others."

She flushed a little, but smiled, then said, "Is His Grace overworking
you?  I hardly ever see you in the castle.  We've spoken lit de more
than a dozen words in weeks."

Nicholas said, "I have a lot to do, but in truth I find it more
interesting than going to lessons, or attending my father's court and
being a fixture at the parades, presentations, and receptions that go
on all the time in Krondor."

"I would have thought that a wonderful life," she said.  Her tone was
disappointed.  "I can't imagine anything more thrilling than being
presented in your father's court, or the King's court."  Her eyes were
wide and her expression earnest as she spoke.  "The great lords and
beautiful ladies, the ambassadors from distant lands it all sounds so
wonderful."  She positively glowed to Nicholas's eyes as she said
this.

Trying not to sound too blas , Nicholas said, "It's often colorful." In
fact, he found the entire demands of court pomp an unrelenting bore.
But he was sure Abigail didn't wish to hear that, and at this
particular moment causing her any sort of disappointment was the last
thing he wished.  She looked at him with eyes so wide he felt he could
fall into them; he forced himself to inhale, as somewhere in the last
moments he had forgotten to breathe, "Perhaps someday you can visit
Krondor or Rillanon."

Her expression turned from wondering to resigned.  "I'm the daughter of
a Far Coast Baron.  If my father has his way, I'll be pledged to marry
Marcus soon; I'll be an old woman with children before I have a chance
to visit Krondor, and I'll never see Rillanon."

Nicholas didn't know what to say; all he knew was that a tightening in
his throat and stomach seemed to reach painful proportions when she
spoke of marrying Marcus.  At last he said, "You won't have to."

"Have to what?"  she asked, a faint smile upon her lips.

"Marry Marcus if you don't want to," he said awkwardly.  "It's not as
if your father can command you to."

"He can make it very hard for me to say no," she said, lowering her
eyes and looking at him from beneath lashes that were impossibly
long.

Feeling as if his hands were slabs of wood, he reached out and took her
hands in his own.  Holding them awkwardly in one hand and patting them
with the other, he said, "I could .. ."

Softly, her eyes fixed upon his own, she said, "What, Micky?"

Feeling as if he were choking upon the words, he said, "I could ask my
father "

Abigail said, "Nicley, you're wonderful!"  She reached out and put her
hand behind his neck, pulling his face to hers.

Nicholas suddenly found himself being kissed.  He had never known a
kiss could be so soft, sensual, and pleasant.  Her lips rested
perfectly upon his, and her breath was as sweet as roses.  His head
swam as he began to return the kiss.  He felt his body warming as he
drew her to him, feeling her softness beneath his hands.  She moved in
such a way it seemed she melted into him, fitting perfectly within the
circle of his arms.

Abruptly she pulled away.  "Marcus!"  she whispered and before Nicholas
could gather his wits she was gone.  He blinked in confusion, feeling
as if someone had poured icy water over his head.  A moment later,
Marcus came into view, entering the garden from the rearmost steps, the
ones by the football field.  Nicholas had been so caught up in the kiss
he had not heard his cousin approach.

When Marcus saw Nicholas sitting upon the bench, his expression
darkened.  "Squire," he said coldly.

"Marcus," answered Nicholas, feeling thoroughly irritated.  "I don't
suppose the Lady Abigail is here."

Nicholas discovered that he didn't like the way in which Marcus was
looking at him, and even more to the point, he disliked hearing him
mention her name.  "She's not here."

THE KING 's BUCCANE R

Marcus glanced around.  "But unless you've taken to wearing her
cologne, she was here moments ago."  With narrowed gaze he said, "Where
is she?"

Nicholas stood.  "Over there, I think."

Marcus moved away, and Nicholas had almost to jump to catch up to him.
They both crossed to the other side of the Princess's Garden, where
they found Harry sitting on the bench.  The Squire from Ludland was
flushing furiously.

Standing, he nodded to Marcus and Nicholas.

Marcus said, "I suppose you were entertaining my sister."

Harry's flush deepened to a blush of heroic proportion.  "I'm not
sure," he said.  Looking off toward the castle in the direction the
girls had obviously gone he added, "She is a most remarkable girl,"

Marcus stepped away and turned to face them both.  "I hoped you two
would figure things out for yourselves, but obviously you haven't.
Well, here's how it's going to be."  Pointing at Harry, he said, "My
sister can take care of herself, but she's slated for bigger things
than a meaningless romance with the son of a petty Earl."

Harry's face burned scarlet, and his eyes flashed anger, but he kept
his silence.

Looking at Nicholas, Marcus said, "And you, cousin .. . Abigail doesn't
need any fancy court boy sweeping her off her feet, then leaving her
behind when he goes home.  Is that clear?"

Nicholas stepped forward, "What I do, Marcus, when your father doesn't
have duties for me, is my business.  And who Abigail chooses to spend
her time with is her business."

Appearing to be on the verge of coming to blows, the two cousins were
separated by Harry, stepping between them.  "It won't do anyone any
good if you two start brawling," he said, his anger making his voice
hard and scolding.  Looking as if he would welcome any excuse to brawl
himself, he turned a challenging gaze at Marcus.  "The Duke would be
displeased, wouldn't he?"

Marcus and Nicholas both looked at Harry in momentary surprise, then
locked gazes.  Marcus said, "We leave at first light, Squire.  See that
everything is ready."  He turned and marched away, his back as straight
as a poll arm.

Nicholas said, "He's going to cause trouble."

"You're the one who's already caused trouble," answered Harry.

"She doesn't love him," said Nicholas.

"Oh, she told you this?"  asked Harry.

"Not in so many words, but "

"Tell me on the way to our rooms.  We've got to be ready for
tomorrow."

As they walked, Nicholas said, "She doesn't want to stay here with
Marcus, that's certain."

Harry nodded.  "So you think you'll take her back to Krondor?"

"Why not?"  said Nicholas with an edge of anger in his tone.

"You know why," answered Harry.  "Because you're going to marry some
Princess from the court of Roldem, or a Duke's daughter, or a Princess
of Kesh."

With anger in his voice, and the memory of Abigail's kiss still fresh
in his thoughts, he said, "What if I don't want to?"

Sighing, Harry said, "What if your King commands you to?"

Nicholas's jaws tightened, but he said nothing.  He ached with
frustration, the frustration of the interrupted embrace and the
frustration of wanting to plant his fist in Marcus's face.  At last he
asked, "What did Margaret do that got you so flustered?"

Harry blushed again.  "She's .. . amazing."  He drew a deep breath and
blew it out theatrically.  "She started by asking me how the men in
Krondor kiss, then asked me to show her.  One thing led to another." He
stopped as if catching his wind.  With red cheeks, he said, "She got
very bold, and .. ."  He paused, then blurted, "Nicholas, she asked me
if I'd ever been with a woman!"

"She didn't!"  exclaimed Nicky, half laughing, half groaning.

"She did!  Then .. ."

"What?"

"Then she asked me what it was like^

"She didn't!"

"Will you stop saying that.  She did."

"So what did you say?"

"I told her what it was like."

THE

BUCCANEEK

"And?"

"She laughed at me!  Then she said, "When you know what you're talking
about, Squire, come let me know.  I'm curious."  Then she went back to
kissing me, and moving around against me so I thought I was going to
burst!  Then Abigail came running over and said Marcus was coming, and
they hurried off."

"Amazing," observed Nicholas, his anger and frustration vanishing
before his astonishment at his unusual cousin Margaret.

"She's that," Harry said.

"You still think you're in love?"  Nicholas asked jokingly.

"My stomach hurts worse than ever, but .. ."

"What?"

"Your cousin Margaret is really scary."

Nicholas laughed and bade Harry good night.  As he returned to his own
quarters, he lapsed into a memory of soft lips, warm perfume, and the
most incredible eyes he had ever beheld.  His body warmed at the
memory.  And his stomach hurt like mad.

Martin signaled.  The party halted as he turned and said, "All of you
wait here a bit.  There's something ahead."

The two boys were glad for the halt.  They were footsore and tired.
They had left the boundary of Crydee town at dawn.  Martin had been
teaching the two city boys something of wood lore, so they were moving
on foot the entire way.  Their destination was another day's walk away,
the banks of the river Crydee.  They waited with Nakor and Ghuda while
Martin and Marcus moved into the woods, vanishing silently.  "How do
they do that?"  asked Nicholas.

Huntmaster Garret said, "Your uncle was raised by the elves as much as
by the monks at Silban's Abbey who found him, and he's taught Marcus
and myself everything we know."  Nicholas had met the Duke's Huntmaster
Garret for the first time the night before.

Nakor waved absently at the woodlands and said, "We're being
watched."

Ghuda, his hand resting absently on his sword, said, "For about half an
hour."

Neither sounded concerned.  Nicholas glanced around, while Harry said,
"I don't see anything."

"You have to know where to look," said a voice from their left.

A young man emerged from the woodlands, his movements as stealthy as
Martin's and Marcus's.  "And it's been closer to an hour," he added. He
was dressed Jn leather tunic and trousers dyed deep green.  His hair
was blond, but rather than the pale straw color of Anthony's, it was
nearly sun-golden.  It hung to shoulder-length, but was cut at the
sides, revealing lobe less but otherwise normal ears.  His eyes were
blue, but almost too pale, and his movement hinted at tremendous power,
despite his slight frame.

Then with a grin that made him look years younger he said, "This is a
game with Martin and us."

"Us?"  asked Nicholas.

The boy signaled and another three figures emerged from the woodlands,
and Nicholas said, "Elves!"

The young human said, "I am Calls."

The three elves stood silently nearby, then one turned suddenly as
Martin and the others appeared.  With a half-smile, Marcus said, "You
didn't think we were fooled by that false trail, did you?"

Martin made what looked to be slight gestures to the elves, who nodded
slightly, or raised an eyebrow.  Garret whispered to Nicholas and the
others, "They have a subtle speech with few words when they want."

Then Martin spoke aloud.  "This is Nicholas, son of my brother, Arutha,
and his companions, Harry of Ludland, Nakor the Isalani, and Ghuda Bule
from Kesh."

Calls bowed and said, "Greetings.  Are you bound for El-van dar

Martin shook his head.  "No.  Garret returned to the castle yesterday,
carrying news that you were south of the river, so I thought it a good
excuse to have you meet my nephew while we hunted.  Perhaps in the
future I'll bring Nicholas to your court."

"And me," said Nakor.

Calls smiled and scratched his temple, his hand brushing back his long
hair.  Nicholas was surprised that Calls looked and sounded entirely
human.

Martin frowned slightly, but Nakor said, "I have never talked to a
Spellweaver before and would like to."

no

Calls and Martin exchanged glances, but it was Nakor who continued to
speak.  "Yes, I know about your Spellweavers, and no, I am not a
magician."

The three stood seemingly motionless for a moment, then Calls grinned.
"How do you know so much?"

Nakor shrugged and said, "I pay attention when other people are
babbling.  You can learn a lot when you shut up."  Reaching into his
ever present bag, he said, "Want an orange?"  Producing four pieces of
fruit, he tossed them to Calls and the elves.  Calls bit into the fruit
and tore away a bit of peel, then sucked the juice.  "I haven't had an
orange since the last time I visited Crydee."

The other elves sampled the fruit and nodded their appreciation to
Nakor.  Harry said, "I wish I could figure out how you can fit so many
oranges into that bag."

Nakor began to speak, but Nicholas interrupted: "I know.  It's a
trick."

Nakor laughed.  "Maybe someday I'll show you."  Martin said, "Why has
your Queen sent you south of river Crydee?"

"We're growing lax in our patrols, Lord Martin.  Things have been
peaceful too long on our borders."  "Trouble?"  said Martin, instantly
alert.  Calls shrugged.  "Not to talk about.  A moredhel band crossed
the river to the east of our borders a few months ago, heading south at
great speed, but they did not trespass upon our lands, so we left them
in peace."  Nicholas knew of the elves' dark cousins, called the
Brotherhood of the Dark Path by humans.  Their last rising had been
broken at the Battle of Sethanon.  "Tathar and the other Spellweavers
speak of vague echoes of dark powers, but they can sense nothing that
threatens us directly.  So we mount more active patrols and venture
farther from home than we have for years."  "Anything else?"

Calls said, "One report of a strange sighting near your new fortress up
at Barran, near the river Sodina.  Someone beached a longboat in the
mouth of the river one night a few weeks ago.  We found marks in the
mud and tracks of men coming and going."

Martin's face reflected his consideration as he was silent for a
moment.  "No smuggler would be willing to come that close to a
garrison; besides, there's no one to trade with that far to the
north."

Marcus said, "Scouts?"

"For whom?"  asked Nicholas.

Martin said, "We've no neighbors to the north, save goblins and
moredhel.  And they've been quiet since Sethanon."

"Not too quiet," said Calls.  "We've had a few skirmishes along the
northern borders of Elvandar."

Marcus said, "Are they preparing to invade again?"

Calls said, "There's no pattern to it.  Father rode out and thinks it's
nothing more than migrations due to failed crops or clan wars.  He sent
word to the dwarves at Stone Mountain that they may have unwelcome
neighbors soon."

Suddenly Nicholas made the connection: this was Megar and Magya's
grandson!  His father was Tomas, the legendary warrior from the
Rifrwar.

Martin nodded.  "We'll send word to Dolgan that they may be returning
to the Grey Towers as well.  It's been more than thirty years since the
great migration; the moredhel may be returning to their abandoned
homelands."

"Thirty years is not very long as elvenkind counts time," observed
Garret.

Marcus said, "To have the Dark Brothers in the Grey Towers and the
Green Heart again would mean serious trouble."

"We send word to the commander at Jonril as well," said Martin.  "If
the Dark Brothers establish villages in the Green Heart, every caravan
and mule train from Carse to Crydee is at risk."

Marcus glanced around.  "We should make camp, Father.  The light is
failing."

Martin said, "Calls, will you join us?"

Calls glanced at the sky, noticing the fading light, then at his
companions, who seemed to Nicholas to remain motionless, but after a
moment he said, "We'd be pleased to share the fire with you."

Turning to Nicholas and Harry, Martin said, "Better start gathering
firewood, Squires.  We make camp."

Harry and Nicholas glanced at each other, but both knew it was futile
to ask where one finds firewood.  They moved away from the clearing and
began looking about.  Many fallen branches and some dead trees were in
sight.  As Nicholas started to pick out a deadfall, a hand touched him
upon the shoulder.  Nearly jumping straight up, he turned to find
Marcus behind him, holding out a hatchet.  "This might be easier than
trying to chew through the branches," he said.  He handed another to
Harry.

feeling foolish, Nicholas watched his cousin return to the others.  He
said, "Sometimes I could really learn to hate him."

Harry began chopping at the deadfall.  "He doesn't seem overly fond of
you, either."

"I have half a mind to take Abigail and return to Krondor with Amos."

Harry laughed.  "Oh, what I'd give to be a fly on the wall when you
explain that to your father."

Nicholas fell silent as he continued to hack away at the wood.  When a
full armload was ready, they gathered it up and returned to the
clearing.  Martin had already begun a fire with twigs and some moss,
and fed the branches into the flames.  "Good, this is a fine start.
Bring us three rimes that, and we'll have wood for the night."

With a barely hidden groan, the dirty and sweating Squires returned to
the deadfall and resumed hacking.

THE SENTRY LEANED out of the tower.  Something was moving across the
water into the harbor mouth.  His station at the top of Longpoint
lighthouse was the most vital post in the Duchy, as Crydee was more
vulnerable from the sea than from any other quarter, a lesson hard
learned during the Riftwar.  The Tsurani had burned half the village
with fewer than thirty men.

Then he saw: six low shapes gliding across the water.  Each shallow
boat was rowed by a dozen men, with another dozen standing in the
middle, armed and ready.

The soldier had orders to toss a pot of special powder on the fire that
would turn the flames bright red; then he was to strike gong.  Reivers
were entering the harbor!  As he turned, a line snapped out, weighted
at one end, and before he could take another step, his neck was
broken.

The assassin had concealed himself beneath the window of the tower,
crouching low upon a support beam, barely two inches of which protruded
beyond the stone.  He quickly pulled himself into the window and
removed the metal hooks he had used to climb the wall by embedding
their points in the mortar between the stones.  He hurried down the
winding stairs, killing two more guards along the way.  Three men
served each night in the tower, with another three in a small guard
shack at the base.  As he reached the shack, the assassin saw three
bodies slumped over a table, while a pair of black-clad forms moved
away.  He quickly overtook them, and the three killers hurried along
the causeway of land called Longpoint that led from the town to the
lighthouse.  One of the black-garbed killers glanced toward the harbor.
Another dozen pinnaces followed the first six, and the raid would soon
begin in earnest.  Still no alarm sounded, and all was proceeding as
planned.

Longpoint broadened, with a low dock on one side and shops and storage
buildings on the other.  Silent ships rested alongside the quay, with
half-alert sentries dozing upon their quarterdecks.  A door opened as
the three assassins passed, and the last patron of a dockside inn
stumbled out.  He was dead before he took two steps, as was the
innkeeper who had shown him the door.  One of the three killers glanced
through the door, and the innkeeper's wife died from an expertly thrown
knife before she realized it was a stranger in the doorway instead of
her husband.

They would fire the docks and destroy the ships at anchor, but not yet.
It would alert the castle, and if the raid was to succeed, the garrison
must not be roused until after the keep gates were opened.

The three killers reached the main docks.  They passed one last ship in
its berth and saw movement at the bow.  One assassin drew back a
throwing knife, ready to kill any who might give alarm too soon, but a
familiar black-clad figure waved once, and climbed over the rail,
shinnying down the bowline to join his three companions.  The guards on
that ship were now all dead.  They continued south along the docks, to
where they found the small boats pulling in.  Two other black-garbed
men waited.  They kept their distance from the armed men who now
silently climbed up from the shallow boats tied off below.  This was a
murderous crew, men of no loyalty and one goal: killing and booty.  The
six men in black felt no kinship with these brigands.

But even the se hardened men stepped away in dread to clear a path for
the hooded and robed figure who climbed up from the last boat.  He
motioned toward the castle, and the six dark assassins sped up the road
toward the keep.  Their task was to climb the walls and open the gates.
All other considerations were to wait for the breach of the final
defense of Crydee.

The robed man beckoned and a small group stepped away from the main
force.  This band he had picked to be the first through the gate.  They
were the men he judged most likely to keep their wits and follow orders
during the first frenzied moments of combat.  But to drive home their
instructions, he said, "Remember, your orders.  If any man breaks my
commands, I will personally cut out his liver and eat it before life
fades from his eyes."  He smiled, and even the hardest of these men
felt a chill, for the man's teeth had been filed to points, the mark of
a Skashakan cannibal.  The leader threw back his hood, revealing a head
devoid of hair.  His massive brow was close to a deformity, as was his
protruding jaw.  Each earlobe had been pierced and stretched until long
loops of flesh hung to his shoulders, with gold fetishes tied to the
loops.  A golden ring decorated his nose, and his fair skin was covered
in purple tattoos, which made his blue eyes even more startling and
terrifying.

The captain glanced back into the harbor, where the third wave of
pinnaces should be approaching, another three hundred men.  Silence was
less a problem for the third wave, as he fully expected the alarm to
sound before the third band of raiders reached the docks.

Another man approached and said, "Captain, everyone is in place."

To the group nearest to him he said, Go, the gates will be open when
you reach them.  Hold or die."

To the man who had approached he said, "Does everyone understand the
orders?"

The man nodded.  "Yes.  They can kill the old men and old women, and
any children too young to survive the journey, but everyone who is
young and healthy is to be captured, not killed."

"And the girls?"

"The men don't like it, Captain.  A little rape is part of the caper.
Some say it's the best part," he added with a smirk.

The captain's hand shot out and gripped the man's shirt.  Pulling him
close enough so his sick-sweet breath filled the man's nostrils, he
spoke in tones of low menace.  "Vasarius, you have your orders."  He
pushed the man roughly away and pointed to where a half-dozen men stood
silently observing.  Cross-gartered sandals too light for these cooler
climates were all the protection afforded their feet, and except for
the black leather harnesses that formed an H on back and chest, and
leather masks covering their faces, they wore no clothing save black
leather kilts.  They stood motionless in the cool night air, ignoring
whatever discomfort the other men might have felt.  They were slavers
from the guild in Durbin, and their reputations were enough to cow even
as hard a crew as Captain Render's band of cutthroats.

Render said, "Well enough I know who put that complaint in the men's
minds.  You're too hungry for the feel of young girls' flesh to make a
good slaver, Quegan, so mark this: if one of these maidens is violated,
I will kill the offending man and take your head for good measure. With
your share of the gold you can buy yourself a dozen young-girls once
you reach Kesh.  Now see to your men!"  He shoved the Quegan pirate
away and turned to the remaining rei vers who stood ready to attack.

He held his hand aloft, signaling the men on the docks to be quiet.
They waited for the sound of battle to reach them.  Long moments
passed, then suddenly an alarm sounded from the keep.  The pirate
captain signaled and the assembled throng of cutthroats roared as one
and sped into the town.  Within minutes, flames were lighting the
night, as torches were put to strategic buildings.

Captain Render howled a delighted laugh, knowing that the once peaceful
town of Crydee was dissolving into chaos.  He was in his element, and
like the master of ceremonies at a grand palace gala, he delighted in
every aspect of the event unfolding as planned.  Pulling his own sword
from its scabbard, he turned and raced after his charging men, intent
on getting his fair share of the murder.

BRIANA'S EYES OPENED.  Something was wrong.  A child of .  Armengar, a
city of constant warfare, she had learned to sleep in armor with a
sword in her hand before reaching womanhood.  Past sixty years of age,
she still moved out of her bed with the fluid grace of a woman half her
age.  Without thought, 'she drew her sword from the scabbard that hung
from the wall peg closest to her dressing table.  Clad only in a thin
nightshirt,

her grey hair tumbling around her shoulders, she moved toward the door
of her suite.

A scream echoed down the hail and Briana hurried toward the door.  It
opened as she reached for it, and she leaped back, her sword coming up.
Before her stood a stranger, holding a sword leveled in her direction.
A rough voice shouted from down the corridor and the distant sounds of
fighting came from somewhere else in the keep.  The figure in the door
showed no features, as another stood behind him holding a torch,
rendering the first man in silhouette.  Briana brought her sword up,
shifted her stance, and waited.

The shadowy figure stepped forward: a short man with close-cropped
blond hair, his blue eyes half-mad under heavy brows as he grinned at
her.  "Just a grandmother with a sword," he complained, his voice
almost a whine.  "Too old to sell.  I'll kill her."  He lashed out with
his sword.  The Duchess parried easily, slipping her blade around his
and running up inside his guard to catch him under the arm in a swift
killing blow.

"She's killed Little Harold!"  cried the man holding the torch.  Three
men rushed forward past the torchbearer, fanning out.  Briana stepped
back, keeping her eyes on the center most while remaining aware of the
other two.  She knew the center opponent was likely to feign attack,
while the true attack would come from one or both of the men on the
flanks.  Her only hope was that these men were not practiced in
fighting in a coordinated fashion and would inconvenience one
another.

As she anticipated, the center swordsman leaped forward and then back.
The man on her left, her weakest side, was moving toward her, his
massive cutlass held high for a slashing blow.  Briana ducked under his
blade, impaling him on her sword point.  As the man's legs went
rubbery, she gripped his free hand with her own.  Swinging him to her
right, she propelled him into the path of the attacker on the right.

The center attacker was the next to die, as he fully expected her to be
occupied by his companions and did not anticipate her attack.  Briana's
sword lashed out, taking him in the throat, and he stumbled back,
unable to make a sound as blood fountained from the gaping wound under
his chin.  The last man died as he tried to free himself from the body
of his companion, a slashing blow to the back of his exposed neck
killing him instantly.

Briana reached down and freed a long dagger from the belt of the last
man to die, as she knew she would have no time to don armor or find a
shield.  The raider who stood before the door holding the torch was
watching down the hall, expecting the other three to have finished the
lone woman in her chamber.  He died before he had time to turn and see
if the murder was done.

The dying man fell atop his torch, extinguishing it.  Briana turned in
shock as the hallway remained lighted.  Angry red and yellow light
illuminated the corridor, and she saw that the far end of the hall was
ablaze.  A scream caused Briana to turn from the flames and run as fast
as she could toward her daughter's rooms.

Bare feet slapped on flagstones as the Duchess of Crydee raced to the
far end of the hall.  There Abigail crouched in a doorway, her
nightgown half torn from her shoulders.  Her eyes were wide with fear
and she screamed again.  At her feet lay a dead raider, and at her side
Margaret crouched, a long dagger held ready to defend herself.  A
wounded man eyed her warily, and Margaret never acknowledged her
mother's approach, so as not to give the man warning.  He died a second
later as Briana struck him from behind.

Margaret grabbed the fallen man's sword and felt its balance.  Abigail
rose, and Margaret thrust the dagger at her, hilt first.

Abigail looked down at the bloody weapon and reached to take it, then
clutched at falling fabric as the nightdress slipped down off her
shoulder.

"Damn it, Abigail, worry about your modesty later!  If you live long
enough!"

Abigail took the dagger, and the torn nightgown fell to her waist.  She
covered her breasts with her left arm and awkwardly gripped the bloody
hilt.  Then she grabbed the fabric of her gown and tried to cover
herself.

Briana pointed down the hallway, saying, "For them to be here, they've
already killed our soldiers on the lower floors.  If we can hold at the
tower until the rest of the garrison fights its way from the barracks
to the keep, we may survive."

The three women headed toward the for door, to the southern tower of
the keep.  But before they were halfway to the door, a half-dozen men
came into view.  Briana halted and

U8 Raymond E. Feist motioned for her daughter and Abigail to move back
toward their quarters, as she stood ready to defend them.

Margaret took one step and halted as more men came into view behind
them.  She spun, back to back with her mother, and said, "We can't."

Briana glanced behind her, then said, "Try to hold as long as you
can."

Margaret pushed Abigail to her left, saying, "They will try to come at
me from my weak side."  When Abigail looked confused, she said, "My
left side!  Don't worry about your right.  Stab at anything that moves
on your left."

The frightened girl awkwardly held the blade out, her knuckles white
from holding it so tight.  Her left arm pressed hard across her chest,
holding up the top of her tattered nightdress.  The men at both ends of
the hall approached warily.  They stopped out of sword range and
waited.

Then those facing Margaret and Abigail moved aside, to let three large
men Jn black masks come to the fore.  The leader of the three looked at
the women a long moment and said, "Kill the old one, but do not harm
the two young ones."

With unexpected speed, one of the three men lashed out underhand with a
heavy black whip.  The slaver's strap snaked toward Margaret's sword
arm.  She instinctively twisted her wrist in a downward parry, but this
was not a blade she attempted to block.  The cord turned over in a
serpentine and suddenly snapped around her arm, the stinging impact
bringing a gasp from her.  Rough leather closed down on her forearm as
the large slaver pulled hard on the whip.  Margaret was a strong young
woman, but she was pulled off balance, yelline as she fell.

Briana spun around to see what was wrong with her daughter, and found
Abigail staring, eyes wide with terror, as Margaret was dragged along
the floor by the big slaver.  Briana leaped forward, blade slashing
down, trying to sever the whip.

Margaret rolled on her back, yefring to Abigail, "Cut it!"

Then she saw Briana's eyes widen.  Behind her stood a raider, and
Margaret knew he had seized the moment to strike from behind.  "Abby!
Cut the cord!"  screamed Margaret, but her companion could only huddle
in fear, pressing her back to the wall.

"Mother!"  screamed Margaret as Briana fell to her knees.

Another man stepped up behind the first and grabbed the Duchess by her
hair, pulling her head back for a killing blow.  Briana reversed her
sword and da rust backward hard.  The man holding her hair screamed in
agony, doubling over as blood fbuntained through his fingers while he
clutched at his groin.

The man who had struck Briana first didn't hesitate.  He drew back his
sword and plunged it hard once again into her back.  Rough hands
grabbed Margaret's arm and twisted it cruelly, forcing her to release
the sword.  "Mother!"  she screamed again as Briana's eyes went vacant
and she fell forward onto the stone floor.

The third slaver rushed forward and grabbed Abigail by the hair,
yanking her roughly up, forcing her to stand on tiptoe.  She screamed
in terror and the dagger fell from her hand as she reached upward to
relieve the pain of being pulled up by her tresses, and her gown fell
to her waist.

The men howled and laughed in delight at the sight of her bare breasts.
One started to move toward her, stepping over the still body of the
Duchess, and the first slaver shouted, "Touch her and die!"

Two men hauled Margaret, kicking and clawing, up off the floor and
quickly tied the girl's wrists, then hobbled her feet so she couldn't
kick out.  The slaver who had used his whip on her slid a wooden rod
through the cords around her wrists and ordered the two men to hold her
up.  Margaret, like Abigail, had to stand on tiptoe, which gave her
little opportunity to resist.  The leader of the slavers reached out
and ripped the bodice of Margaret's gown.  She spat at him, but he
ignored the spittle upon his black mask.  Gripping the waistband, he
tore away the remaining cloth and she stood naked before him.  With a
practiced eye, he inspected her.  He touched her small breasts and ran
his hand down her flat stomach.  "Turn her," he commanded.  The two men
turned Margaret to face away from the slaver.  The slaver ran his hand
down her back; there was nothing intimate in the touch.  He inspected
her the way a horse trader inspected a potential purchase.  He fondled
her buttocks and ran his hand down long legs that were welt muscled
from riding and running.  With a satisfied grunt, he said, "This one
isn't pretty, but she is steel under that velvet skin.  There's a
market for strong girls who can fight.  Some buyers like them mean and
rough.  Or she may earn her life fighting in the arena."

He then looked back at Abigail.  He motioned and another slaver tore
away all her gown.  The men laughed appreciatively at the sight of the
rest of her body, and several complained openly about not being able to
take her right there.

The slaver's eyes lingered over Abigail's full young form, and he said,
"That one is unusually beautiful.  She will fetch twenty-five thousand
golden ecus, perhaps as high as fifty if she's a virgin."  Some of the
men laughed and others whistled at the amount; it was more wealth than
they could imagine.  "Wrap them both so there are no marks on their
skin.  If I see so much as a scratch that wasn't here this moment, I'll
know they were not cared for and I will kill the man who marks them."

The two other slavers produced soft shapeless robes that were fashioned
so they could be tied over the shoulders and around the neck, so the
captives could be covered without their arms and legs being freed.
Abigail wept openly and Margaret continued to struggle as rough hands
lingered while they covered the girls.  One of the men still fondled
Abigail even after the robe was properly tied.

"Enough!"  shouted the slaver.  "You'll be getting ideas before long,
and then I shall have to kill you!"  Pointing at the men who had
blocked the way to the tower, he said, "Finish your search."

The man on the floor moaned in pain, and the slaver glanced back at him
as Abigail had her hands tied to a pole above her head.  "Nothing can
be done.  Kill him."

One of his companions said, "Sony, Tall John.  We'll use your share of
the gold to hoist a drink in your name," and cut the man's throat
expertly.  As life fled from the dying man's eyes, the one who killed
him wiped his blade on the dead man's tunic and said in a friendly way,
"See you in hell someday."

A man ran from the far end of the hallway, shouting, "The fire's
spreading!"

"We leave!"  commanded the slaver.  He led the band and their two
captives away.  Tied to a pole, the ends carried upon the shoulder of a
man in front of and one behind her, and with her feet hobbled, Margaret
still refused to come along meekly.  She gripped the pole and kicked
with Both feet at the man behind her, sending him to the floor.  She
lost her footing and found herself sitting upon the flagstone staring
backward.  The lead slaver shouted, "Carry her if you must."  Quickly
her feet were tied to the pole, and she was hanging like a trophy
animal.  As she was picked up, she could see back into the hall.
Through eyes filled with tears of rage and sorrow she saw her mother
lying facedown on cold stones, her blood pooling around her.

A GRUNT OF irritation woke Nicholas, and then he was aware of a
questioning voice.  "What?"

The boy rose, and in the dim moonlight he saw Nakor standing over
Martin, shaking his shoulder.  "We must leave.  Now!"

Marcus and the others were also waking and Nicholas reached over and
gave Harry a shake.  Harry's eyes opened instantly and he said, "Huh?"
in a cross tone.  Martin said, "What is it?"

Nakor turned his back, gazing to the southeast.  "Something bad.
There."  He pointed.

In the night sky a faint glow could be seen.  "What is it?"  asked
Harry.

Martin was on his feet, quickly gathering his belongings.  "Fire" was
all he said.

Calls spoke quickly to the three elves.  One nodded and all three
hurried off into the early morning darkness.  Calls turned to Martin.
"I'll come with you.  This may have something to do with those odd
sightings."

Martin only nodded, and Nicholas was suddenly aware that he was almost
ready to travel, as was Marcus.  Poking Harry, Nicholas said, "We're
going to be left behind if we don't jump!"

; The two Squires quickly gathered up their belongings, and by the time
they were ready to move, Martin and Marcus had , already left the
clearing, Calls at their side.  Garret said, "I'll '-,;.  make sure you
get back safely, but Lord Martin couldn't wait."  "I Nicholas
understood; there had been a grim focus of purpose in Martin's reaction
to the light in the sky.  For a fire to be $ that large, to illuminate
the heavens enough to be seen a half 'jfV' day's march away, would mean
terrible destruction, either to the woodlands near the town, or to the
town itself.

Ghuda and Nakor waited for the boys, then the five remaining members of
the hunting party headed off.  Garret said, "Keep in a single line
behind me, all of you.  I'll stay on the trail, but there are still
many places to hurt yourself in the dark if you're not careful.  If I
go too fast for any of you to keep up, call out."

"Want a light?"  asked Nakor.

"No," answered Garret.  "A torch or lantern won't light far enough to
help and would make it harder to see ahead into the woods."

"No, I mean- a good light!"  said the little man.  He opened his bag
and pulled out a ball that he tossed into the air.  Rather than come
down, the ball spun and began to glow, first faintly, then with
increasing brilliance.  As it grew brighter, it rose until it hung
fifteen feet above their heads, illuminating the woodland trail for a
hundred yards ahead and behind.

Garret glanced at the blue-white object, shook his head, and said,
"Let's go."

He set off at a fast trot, not quite a run, and the others kept pace.
They hurried through the woodlands, illuminated to stark contrast and
absolute black shadows by the alien glow.  Nicholas expected they would
overtake Martin and the others quickly, but they never did.

The journey became a series of seemingly unconnected images of a
brilliantly lit pathway leading into the blackness, with occasional
obstacles, a deadfall to climb over, a small stream to be leaped, or a
rock outcropping to be skirted.  Still tired from the previous day's
march and interrupted sleep, Nicholas fought back the urge to ask for a
halt.  His nerves jangled with fatigue and tension; Martin's and
Marcus's faces had been grim masks, expressions he had never seen
before, and he felt his stomach knotting in dread anticipation.

The minutes ground away to hours, and at some point Nicholas became
aware that Nakor's light was gone, and the entire woodland was
illuminated by the grey dawn.  This close to the coast, the light from
the east was diffused by ocean-born mists carried inland through the
valleys and dells surrounding Crydee.  Nicholas knew that the haze
would burn off around midmorning if the day did not remain overcast.

Later, Garret called a halt and Nicholas leaned against a tree.  He was
drenched in perspiration, and his left foot

THE KJNG 's BUCCANEE K

throbbed from exertion and changes in the weather.  Absently, he said,
"There's a storm coming."

Garret nodded.  "My joints ache.  I think you're right, Squire."

As they caught their breath in a small clearing, the haze burned away
and Harry said, "Look!"

To the southwest, a giant plume of black smoke rose into the sky, a
terrible sign of destruction.  The old mercenary said, "At least half
the town, from the look of it."

Without comment, Garret resumed his trot and the others fell in
behind.

IT WAS HEARING midday when Nicholas crested a hill with the others,
putting them in sight of the keep and the town below.  As they drew
near, the size of the column of smoke appeared to grow.  When they
gazed down on Crydee, their worst fears were confirmed.

The castle stood a gutted, fire-blackened shell of stone, with smoke
still pouring from the central keep.  What had been the peaceful
seaside town was a charred landscape of smoking timbers interspersed
with fires still out of control.  Only in the distant hills to the
south could a few untouched buildings be seen.

"They've destroyed the entire town," whispered Harry, his voice hoarse
from exertion and the bitter smoke that stung eyes and lungs.

Garret forgot the others as he ran toward the town.  They moved at half
his speed, Harry and Nicholas almost in shock from the sight of the
destruction ahead.

Nakor shook his head and muttered to himself, and Ghuda searched all
quarters for signs of troubles.  It was a full five minutes before
Nicholas noticed that the Keshian had his sword out and ready.  As an
afterthought, Nicholas drew his hunting knife.  He didn't know what
else to do, but having a weapon in his hand made him "feel somehow more
prepared to deal with whatever they might find.

At the edge of the town, on a road between what had once been modest
houses belonging to workers and their families, Nicholas and the others
found the bitter stench of blackened wood almost too strong to endure.
With eyes tearing, they hurried along, until they reached one of the
smaller market squares leading to the main square at the center of
town.  Here they stopped, for more than a score of bodies littered the
ground.

Harry took a moment to absorb the sight of the blackened and hacked
bodies, then turned away and vomited.  Nicholas swallowed hard to keep
his own stomach from rebeling, and Harry looked as if he might taint.
Ghuda reached out and steadied the young Squire with a firm grip on his
arm, while Nakor said, "Barbaric."

"Who did this?"  whispered Nicholas.  Ghuda let go of Harry's arm and
examined the bodies.  He moved among them, inspecting how they lay, and
then looked at the surrounding buildings.  Finally he said, "These were
some cruel bastards."  He pointed to where the houses stood.  "They
fired those buildings and waited out here.  Those that ran out first
were hacked to bits, and those that stayed inside finally ran out when
the fire became too hot to endure."  He wiped perspiration from his
face.  "Or were roasted alive."

Nicholas found tears in his eyes.  He didn't know if it was from the
smoke or the terror.  "Who were they?"

Glancing around, Ghuda said, "They weren't regular soldiers."  Looking
at those bodies nearby and others down the street, he said at last, "I
don't know."

"Where were our soldiers?"  asked Harry in disbelief.  Ghuda said, "I
don't know that, either."  They began moving among the corpses toward
the town market and the castle entrance.  A sick, sweet smell assaulted
Nicholas's senses, and suddenly he knew he was smelling burnt flesh.
Unable to retain control over himself, he turned and lost the contents
of his stomach as Harry had a moment before.

Harry still stumbled along, half in a daze, as if his mind couldn't
accept what lay around him.  Ghuda said firmly, "Come along.  We're
going to be needed."

Shaking his head to keep from blacking out, Nicholas turned and
followed the mercenary.  Along every step of the way they encountered
devastation.  Nicholas was struck by the occasional odd item that
somehow survived intact.  A blue clay bowl lay in the middle of the
road, and without knowing why, he stepped over it, leaving it
untouched.  A child's doff fashioned of rags and straw sat upright
against a portion of intact brick wall, as if silently observing the
insanity.

Nicholas looked at Harry and saw his ashen face was streaked with
tears, cutting white trails down his sooty cheeks.  Glancing at Ghuda
and Nakor, he saw that their faces also were now grey from the haze of
smoke that hung in the air.  Nicholas examined his own hands and saw
that they were covered in fine dark soot, and he touched his own cheek;
his fingers came away wet and he almost quit moving, so overwhelmed was
he by helplessness.

As they neared the castle, it got worse.  Most of the townspeople had
fled for the expected safety of the Duke's keep, only to be cut down
near their failed sanctuary.  Three men lay on the ground where two
streets met, their bodies riddled with arrows.

Nicholas and Harry saw their first signs of life as they passed through
the remains of the town's main market.  A small child sat in stunned
silence next to the body of his mother.  His eyes were round with mute
terror and his face was caked with dried blood.

Nakor scooped up the child, who seemed not to notice.  "Scalp wound."
He clucked at the boy, who reacted by gripping Nakor's ragged blue robe
with both hands.  "Not bad.  Looks worse.  Probably saved his life:
they thought he was already dead."  The child, who could not have been
more than four, kept his eyes fixed upon Nakor, who at last placed his
free hand upon the child's face a moment.  When he removed it, the
child's eyes closed and he slumped against the Isalani's chest.  "He'll
sleep.  It's better for him.  He's too young for such horror."

Harry choked out, "We're all too young for this, Nakor."

Carrying the still child, the iitde man continued toward the keep.
Sounds alerted them to other survivors, some weeping loudly, others
groaning.

Reaching the main gate of the keep, Nicholas and the others halted.  In
a scene from the lower depths of hell, the central keep was a blackened
skeleton of stone, lit from within by still-furious flames.  In the
central courtyard before it, the wounded lay wherever there was space,
while the few remaining survivors able to move attempted to provide
what comfort they could.

Nicholas and Harry picked their way through the tableau of injured and
dying humanity and caught sight of Martin,

Marcus, and Calls.  Martin knelt above a figure who lay upon the
ground.

Hurrying to where they were gathered, Nicholas found Swordmaster
Charles lying upon the ground, his nightshirt stiff with his dried
blood.  The former Tsurani soldier's race was drenched in perspiration
and almost devoid of color from pain and injury.  Nicholas didn't have
to be told he was dying.  The lifeless twist of his legs below the
nightshirt and the still-crimson stain in the center of his shirt told
the young man that the Swordmaster of Crydee had taken a killing wound
to the stomach.

Martin's face was a stone mask, yet his eyes betrayed his pain.  He
leaned over Charles and said, "What else?"

Charles swallowed and in a ragged whisper said, "Some of the raiders ..
. were Tsurani."

Marcus said, "Renegades from LaM ut  "No, not soldiers from the war.
Brimanu Tong."  He coughed, then gasped.  "Assassins.  Hired murderers.
They .. . are without honor..  .."  His eyes closed a moment and then
he opened them again.  "This was .. . not honorable .. . combat.  This
was .. . slaughter."  He groaned and his eyes closed and his breathing
became shallow.

Anthony came into view, limping, his left arm in a sling.  In his right
hand he carried a water bucket.  Harry hurried over and took the bucket
from him.  The magician knelt painfully next to Charles and examined
him.  After a moment he looked at Martin and shook his head.  "He will
not awaken."

Martin stood slowly, his eyes not leaving his Swordmaster.  Then he
said, "Faxon?"

Anthony said, "Died in the stable with some of the soldiers; they were
trying to hold the stable while Rulf and his sons got the horses out.
They died as well, fighting with blacksmiths' hammers and pitchforks."
"Samuel?"

"I haven't seen him."  Anthony looked around and for a moment Nicholas
thought he was about to break down, but the young magician swallowed
hard and continued.  "I was asleep.  I heard sounds of fighting.  I
couldn't tell if they came from in the keep or outside.  I hurried to
the window and looked out."  He glanced around at the carnage.  "Then
someone broke into my room and threw something at me ... an ax, I
think."  He frowned as he tried to remember.  "I fell out the window. I
landed on ... someone."  He seemed almost embarrassed as he added, "He
was dead.  I didn't break anything, but I was senseless for a time. I
remember reviving and feeling this terrible heat.  I dragged myself
away from it.  I don't remember much after that."

Nicholas said, "Marcus, your family?"

His cousin said in flat tones, "My mother is still in there."  He
pointed to the raging fire that had been the family keep the day
before.

Grief was quickly followed by anger, then alarm.  "Margaret!
Abigail?"

Anthony said, "Someone said the girls were carried off.  Some of the
young men, too, I think."  He closed his eyes as if suddenly pained,
then added, "From the town, as well; girls and boys were dragged
away."

A nearby soldier, leaning on a broken spear, said, "I saw them leading
some of the captives away, Your Grace."  He indicated the wall and
said, "I was on duty there.  I heard someone in the courtyard and
looked, then was struck from behind.  When I revived, I was hanging
halfway out of one of the crenels someone tried to throw me off the
wall, I guess.  I got cut some, but I pulled myself back."  He said,
"There were a couple of dead men nearby, and the castle was already in
flames.  I looked out at the town and I saw men herding boys and girls
toward the harbor."

Ghuda said, "Did you see who they were?"

"It was lit up like day; more than half the town was fired by then.
There were maybe four or six of them; big men, they wore these
harnesses, kilts, and masks of black leather and they all had whips."

Ghuda said, "Durbin Slavers' Guild."

Martin said, "We'll sort this out later, but now we've injured to look
after."

Nicholas and Harry nodded and moved off, and in minutes they were
hurrying with buckets of water.  As the day dragged on, they helped aid
those who could move to shelter in the eleven buildings that had
escaped damage at the south end of town.  Others were carried to the
fishing village a mile farther down the coast.

Slowly the shocked and shattered population of Crydee that remained
began the torturous task of reviving.  More people died and they were
carried to a pyre that was being erected in the town marketplace.

Nicholas helped a soldier with a bandaged head lift another corpse atop
the mass of dead, piled on some wood that had been dragged in from the
forest, and noticed that somehow it had become night.  Another soldier
stood nearby with a torch and said, "That's the last of it.  We'll
probably find more of them tomorrow, but it's time to quit."

Nicholas nodded mutely and stumbled away as the torch was applied to
the wood.  As the flames rose up to consume the dead, he plodded to the
far end of Crydee, to the welcoming lights and the sound of voices.  He
thought the reservoir of anguish had dried, but as he dragged himself
through the burned-out remains of a once thriving town he found himself
choking back tears.  His mind had rejected the grotesque images, the
partially burned bodies that had to be carried to the pyre, the
children that had been hacked to death, dogs and cats with arrows in
them for no reason.  The bitter comment that one soldier had made that
the raiders had saved them from a lot of work, for half the population
had been cremated already, hit Nicholas as he stood alone in the middle
of an empty patch of earth, a small market square.  He leaned forward,
hands on his knees, and began to shiver, though the night was only
cool.  Trembling to the point where his teeth began to chatter, the boy
sucked in a bitter lungful of smoky air and gave a low, angry groan.
Forcing his right foot ahead, he pulled himself erect and commanded his
body to move forward.  He had a feeling that if he stopped again before
reaching the place where Martin and the others waited, he might never
move again.

He plodded along until he reached the largest building still standing.
It was to have been a new inn once construction was finished.  The
walls rose up into the darkness, and the second floor covering only
half of the common room had been raised, but the roof was still
missing, so part of the commons was exposed to the sky.  A score of
townspeople huddled under the second-floor overhang, while Martin and
his companions ate quietly under the stars, around a small fire pot
that burned brightly.  Some of the fishing folk had provided a hot fish
stew and bread from their meager resources.

Nicholas stumbled over to where Harry sat at Marcus's

side, and shook his head when offered a bowl of stew.  He had no
stomach and thought he'd never get the smell of smoke out of his
nose.

Garret was saying, "A dozen trackers and foresters have reported in so
for, Your Grace.  The rest should be in by dawn tomorrow."

Martin said, "Send them out again.  I want as much game caught and
brought in as they can manage in the next week.  We have almost no
food, and in less than two days we'll have a great many hungry people.
The fishermen can catch only so much with most of the boats gone."

Garret nodded.  "Some of the soldiers could help in the hunt."

Martin shook his head.  "I have fewer than twenty able men left in the
garrison."

Marcus said, "We had over a thousand men-at-arms here, Father."

Martin nodded.  "Most died in the barracks.  The raiders killed nearly
everyone on the wall, opened the gate, barred the barracks doors at
both ends, and fired the roof.  Then they threw earthen jars of naphtha
through the windows.  It was an inferno inside before most of the
soldiers were awake.  A few managed to get out the windows, and they
were cut down by bowmen.  Others in the keep were killed in the
room-to-room fighting.  We've another hundred walking wounded, and when
a few of those are mended we can spare some to hunt.  Fall is fast upon
us, and the game is moving south.  We'll need to depend on Carse and
Tulan to get through the winter."  Martin chewed a mouthful of bread
and said, "Another hundred or so lie near death.  I don't know how many
will survive.  Anthony said those most badly burned will surely the, so
by the first snowfall we may have a hundred and fifty men-at-arms
left."

Marcus said, "There are the two hundred men at Barran."

Martin nodded.  "I may call them back.  But let's see what Bellamy can
send us before then."

Harry handed Nicholas a torn chunk of bread, thick with butter and
honey, and without thought Nicholas began eating it.  Suddenly he was
ravenous, and he motioned to the woman passing out the stew that he
would take a bowl after all.

Nicholas said nothing as he ate, listening to the grim surmises as to
what happened the night before.  During the day someone had mentioned
that the Duchess had killed as many as a half-dozen raiders before she
was at last overwhelmed, cut down trying to rescue her daughter and the
other young girls.  A wounded soldier had seen her lying dead before
Margaret's room as he had escaped the fire in the keep.  The flames had
been too hot and he had been too injured to bring the Duchess out of
the conflagration.

Nicholas waited for mention of the girls' fate, but Martin and the
others spoke only of immediate concerns.  As people came to report and
left again, a picture of the destruction formed in Nicholas's mind.  Of
a prosperous town with nearly ten thousand citizens, fewer than two
thousand lived, and many of those would not survive another week
because of their injuries.  Of a thousand soldiers, one man in five
might live to serve the Kingdom again.  Every building from Longpomt
Lighthouse to the south end of the old town was destroyed, and half the
new buildings were gone.  No business survived intact.  Of the assorted
Craranasters, only one blacksmith, two carpenters, and a miller lived.
A half-dozen journeymen and a score of apprentices would be able to
help rebuild.  Most of those who had survived were fishermen and
formers.  They would be pressed into service where needed, but for the
foreseeable future, Crydee was reduced to a rude village, a primitive
enclave on the Far Coast of the Kingdom.

Nicholas heard Martin saying, "And we'll have to ask Bellamy and
Tolburt down in Tukn to send us craftsmen.  We need to start rebuilding
the castle at once."

Nicholas couldn't stand it any longer.  Softly he asked, "What about
the girls?"

All talk halted, and every eye in the circle turned to look at him.
With ill-hidden bitterness, Marcus said, "What do you propose we do?"

Nicholas could say nothing.

Marcus said, "They burned every ship in the harbor.  They burned most
of the boats.  Shall we take a fishing skiff and row to Durbin?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "Send word " "To your father?"  asked Marcus
bitterly.  "He's halfway across the Kingdom!  Is there a carrier pigeon
alive?  Is there a horse fit to ride to Carse?  No!"  His pain and
anger at his loss were turned on the only target available, Nicholas.

Martin put a restraining hand on his son's shoulder, and Marcus fell
silent.  "We'll talk about this tomorrow."

Nicholas didn't ask permission to leave, he just stood and moved away
from the warmth of the small fire.  He found a relatively sheltered
place beneath the stairs leading up to the second floor and huddled
there.  After a few minutes, he was struck by the need to be home, with
his own mother and father and his sister and brothers, his teachers,
and those who had always protected and loved him.  For the first time
in years he felt like a very small boy again, afraid of those boys who
taunted him and mocked him when his protectors were absent.  Feeling
sick and ashamed, Nicholas turned his face to the wall and wept.

THE KING 's BUCCANSE s

1 CHOICES

The storm struck.  Nicholas was awakened by wetness on his face.  His
sleep had been deep and dreamless; he awoke stiff and still exhausted.
There had been a brief moment of disorientation as he had come awake,
then all too quickly he knew exactly where he was and what had
happened.

Despair struck him as rain came pounding through the opening above the
common room.  Those who slept along the wall or under the stars quickly
moved in with those huddled under the second-floor overhang.  The wet
chill was accompanied by a deeper, more profound chill as the memories
of the previous day's horrors returned.

Nicholas saw that it was growing light, despite the rain, and knew it
must be past sunrise.  Harry picked his way carefully among those who
tried to keep dry, his hair already matted to his head.  "Come on, we
have work to do."

Nicholas nodded and awkwardly stood up.  His foot hurt and he limped as
he forced himself to walk into the downpour.  Within seconds he was
soaked to the skin.  The only relief in the storm was that the burning
sunk of the night before was diminished.

Reaching the open door of the inn, the boys walked outside to where
Martin stood.  His only concession to the rain was an oilskin cover
that protected his longbow and another on his quiver of arrows.  "We
need to find as much useful wood as we can, Squire," he said to
Nicholas.

Nicholas nodded and turned to where three men huddled under a small
overhang, offering only the illusion of protection against the weather.
"You three," Nicholas shouted over the tattoo of the rain, "are you
injured?"

The three men shook their heads, and one said, "But we're wet,
Squire."

Nicholas waved for them to join him.  "You're not going to get any
wetter for working.  I need you."

One of the men glanced at Martin, who nodded once, and the three men
got to their feet and followed after Nicholas.

For the rest of the day they picked their way through the wreckage of
Crydee, finding a timber here, a few planks of wood there, carrying the
manageable items back to the inn.  The location of the larger pieces
was noted for future use.

By midday the storm had lessened.  Nicholas and his three companions a
farmer whose house on the far edge of town had been burned, and two
brothers who had worked in the mill had managed to find a half-dozen
barrels of nails, some un-damaged carpentry tools, and enough wood to
erect a dozen rude shelters.  The carpenter who had survived the raid
had inspected the tools and announced that should lumber be found and
cut, he could finish the roof on the inn within a week with the help of
three able men.  Martin said they would see if enough cutting equipment
had survived to fell trees.

One fact presented itself to Nicholas through this day: the ancient
tradition of having each boy in the keep practice a variety of crafts
before finally being selected at the Choosing for his trade was proving
a boon.  While these men were not carpenters or masons, they did know
the fundamentals of those trades, and showed amazing retention of the
things learned while boys.

By nightfall, Nicholas was again exhausted and starving.  Food was
going to be a problem soon, but' for the second night the fishing
village provided enough for all to eat.  A soldier, limping as he used
a rude crutch, entered the inn as Nicholas was eating and reported to
Martin that a half-dozen horses had been found near the river.  Martin
seemed pleased at the prospect of being able to mount a small patrol
and send word to

Baron Bellamy by fast rider.  A fishing boat had been dispatched toward
Carse that afternoon, but it would take many days to get down the
coast.

Harry came over to sit by his friend, and he dug into the bowl of hot
stew.  Between spoonfuls, he said, "I never knew fish stew could taste
so good."  Nicholas said, "You're hungry."  Bitterly, Harry said, "No,
really?"

Nicholas said, "I'm in no mood for this either, but don't take your
nasty temper out on me, Harry, and I won't take mine out on you."

Harry nodded and said, "Sorry."

Nicholas stared off into space for a moment.  He said, "Do you think
we'll ever see them again?"

Harry signed.  He didn't have to ask whom Nicholas meant.  "I heard
Martin and Marcus earlier today.  They say if Bellamy can get word to
Krondor fast enough, our fleet can blockade Durbin before the raiders
return there.  They think your father can force the Governor of Durbin
to turn over all the captives."  Nicholas sighed.  "I wish Amos was
back.  He knows about this sort of thing.  He was a Durbin captain
once."

Harry said, "I wish he was here, too.  A lot of this doesn't make any
sense.  Why would they kill so many and burn down everything?"

Glancing around the miserable company in the inn, Nicholas was forced
to agree.  Then something struck him.  "Where's Calls?  I haven't seen
him since Charles died."

"He went back to Elvandar," answered Harry.  "He had to tell his mother
what happened, he said."

Alarm struck Nicholas.  "Gods.  What about his grandparents?"  Nicholas
hadn't seen Magya or Megar among the survivors.

"I think I saw Megar down at the other end of the fishing village
earlier today.  It looked like him.  He was supervising the cooking of
this food for everyone."

Nicholas had his first laugh since they had left to go hunting.  "That
had to be him."

Robin, a page who had worked for Housecarl Samuel, picked his way
through the crowded room and sat next to the two Squires.  The three
boys compared notes on what they saw during the day, and the picture
was as bleak as they had feared.

The entire castle staff except for Megar and Magya, another cook and a
scullery boy, two other Squires, and a handful of pages and servants
had been killed during the raid or died from wounds shortly after.
During the night and morning, another dozen soldiers had died from
wounds, and many of the townspeople were sick or injured.

After the meal, Nicholas, Harry, and Robin went to where Martin spoke
with Anthony and Marcus.  Seeing the boys arrive, Martin said, "Have
you eaten?"

The three nodded, and Martin said, "Good.  The rain has ended the
fires, so at first light head up to the castle and help me see what can
be salvaged.  Now get some sleep."

Nicholas and Harry looked around the room for some clear space in which
to sleep and saw a small opening near the far wall.  The three boys
picked their way over sleeping townspeople and crowded their way into
the mass.  Nicholas found himself sleeping between Harry and an old
fisherman who snored loudly.  Rather than minding the noise, he was
comforted by the closeness and the warmth.

DAYS PASSED, AND life began again in Crydee.  The carpenter and his
helpers finished putting the roof on the inn, and that became the
Duke's headquarters, though Martin refused to sleep in any of the rooms
on the second floor, giving them over to the injured and sick most in
need of shelter and warmth.  Another hundred or so townspeople and
soldiers had died from wounds or sickness, despite all of Anthony's and
Nakor's skills.  Somehow word of the tragedy had reached the distant
Abbey of Silban on the edge of Elvandar, and a half-dozen monks of that
order had arrived to lend aid.

Harry had become the unofficial innkeeper, as the man who was building
the new inn had died in the raid.  He passed out what food there was,
settled arguments, and kept an orderly establishment.  Despite his
irreverent attitude before the raid, Harry displayed an unexpected gift
for negotiation and mediation.  Given how short-tempered and
emotionally battered everyone in Crydee was, Nicholas was impressed
with his skills.  Harry had the knack of bringing out the reasonable in
people who were in no mood to act rationally.  Nicholas made a mental
note that someday, when they had returned home to a world less mad than
this, Harry would make a valuable administrator in the Prince's
court.

Nicholas had accompanied Martin and Marcus to the keep, finding nothing
left intact.  Between the naphtha used to start the fires and the
combustibles in the keep, the flames had become so hot they scoured
everything in their path.  The fire had reached such intense heat that
many of the century-old stones had cracked or exploded, and even the
metal holders in the torch sconces on the walls had melted.

Wending their way through the blackened halls, they had found the top
floor burned clean of anything recognizable.  Martin and Marcus had
both lingered for a long time near the door to Margaret's room, looking
down at the scorched and cracked flagstones, and the fragments of
melted hinges where doors had hung.  Those who had died left no
remains, as the intense flames had even reduced their bones to black
ash.  A few puddles of metal, now hardened to the stone, showed where
weapons had been dropped and left behind.

Down in the lowest basement, a few usable stores survived: some cloth,
cloaks, and blankets that reeked of smoke, and several trunks of old
clothing, as well as old boots, belts, and dresses.

Harry discovered battle stores; Martin inspected the food.  He observed
that it must have been there since the Riftwar.  The jerked beef was
now blackened and hard as ancient leather; the hard bread crumbled like
dried clay.  But three barrels were of more recent vintage, and were
sealed with paper and wax.  When one was opened, it contained
still-edible dried apples.  And to everyone's amusement," a half-dozen
casks of fine Keshian brandy were uncovered as well.  All were marked
to be carried to the town, under Nicholas's supervision.

As they left the castle, Nicholas was silent; he had waited for some
remark by Martin or Marcus about the Duchess's death, but neither
husband nor son said a word.

THE DAYS DRAGGED by and slowly the town began to heal itself.  A
second, then a third building was repaired, and as the injured returned
to health, they joined in the hard work, speeding the recovery.

Later in the week, Calls returned, with a dozen elves carrying game.
Three deer were dressed out and carried on -poles,

while quail and rabbits were carried in bunches tied at the feet.  The
hungry people of Crydee thanked the elves and set to cooking everything
offered.

Calls spent an hour with his grandparents, then joined Martin's group
for supper.  Nicholas and Harry ate venison steaks as the young el
fling said, "My mother and father were very disturbed by this raid, and
I have more bad news.  Your fortress at Barran was hit as well."

Martin's eyes widened.  "Amos?"

Calls nodded.  "His ship as well, though he fought off those who tried
to burn it.  He's made repairs and should be here in a day or two."

Martin said, "This makes less sense as we uncover more information. Why
would slavers strike a garrison of soldiers?"

"My father thinks it may be to prevent you from following after,"
ventured Calls.

Marcus shook his head.  "Why would we spend weeks chasing those slavers
to Durbin when we can get word to Krondor with Bellamy's pigeons and
cut them off?"

Calls's gaze narrowed in an expression of concern as he said, "Has any
word from Carse reached you yet?"

Martin put down the rib he had been eating and said, "Gods!  The packet
boat from Carse.  It never did arrive."

Marcus said, "If Bellamy's been raided .. ."

Martin rose and looked around the room.  Seeing a familiar face, he
called one of the garrison's soldiers to him.  "At first light I want a
pair of riders off to Carse.  If they should encounter any men of Carse
bringing news of a raid down there, have them continue down to Bellamy,
change horses, and then on to see Tolburt at Tulan.  I want full
reports on what has happened as soon as possible."  The soldier saluted
and left.  The remaining horses were staked out in a picket outside the
inn, and there had been enough odds and ends of tack found to outfit a
pair of riders.

Martin sat again.  Ghuda and Nakor entered the inn and came to where
Martin sat brooding.  The little man said, "I think most of those who
live now will recover."

Marcus said, "At last a little good news."

Martin motioned for them to sit and eat, and after a while said, "I
have a very bad feeling that we've only seen the start of me thing far
more significant than a raid."

Ghuda said, "I've seen Durbin slavers' handiwork before, my lord, and
this is nothing like it.  This was butchery."  He shook his head.  "For
sport, if you can believe it."

Martin closed his eyes a moment, as if he had a headache, then opened
them and said, "I haven't felt this uneasy since the Riftwar."

Marcus said, "Do you think the Tsurani are again turning their eyes
toward us?"

Martin shook his head.  "No.  The Mistress of the Empire has too firm a
hand on things for that.  She's proven a shrewd trading partner since
her son became Emperor, but a fair one.  A few unlicensed merchants,
slipping though the rift somehow to trade for metals, I might accept
that.  But this" his hand described an arc indicating the entire town
"makes little sense if it was Tsurani renegades."

"But Charles said some of the raiders were Tsurani, Father," Marcus
pointed out.

"What did he call them?"  asked Ghuda.  "Tong?"  Nakor said, "Brimanu
Tong.  That means "Golden Storm Brotherhood."  "

Martin said, "You speak Tsurani?"

Nakor nodded.  "Enough.  Those were assassins.  Tsurani Nighthawks if
you prefer: guild killers who are paid for death.  The Mistress of the
Empire destroyed the most powerful Tong, the Hamoi, fifteen years ago,
but there are others."

Martin shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "What does
it all mean?"

"It means you've got serious trouble, my friend," said a familiar voice
from the door of the inn.

Everyone turned and saw the bulky outline in the doorway as he stepped
forward.

"Amos!"  said Martin.  "You're here sooner than I thought."

"I piled on every inch of canvas I could and worked the men to
dropping," said Trask as he moved across the common room, removing a
canvas foul-weather coat.  He tossed it on the floor and sat next to
Martin.

"What happened at Barran?"  asked the Duke.

Amos removed his wool cap, stuffed it in his pocket, and took a mug of
hot tea offered him by Harry.  Where Harry had found the tea no one
knew, but in the cool of the evening,

everyone welcomed its pungent comfort.  "We were hit seven nights back,
which means the night before you were, I think."  Martin nodded.  "Ever
since my run-in with the Tsurani during the war, I've kept an extra
watch up during the night when I'm at anchor.  Good thing, because most
of the watch died before the alarm was raised.  One of my men got us up
in time, though, and we killed all the bastards who tried to burn my
ship."  He sighed.  "The garrison wasn't as lucky.  We'd just finished
unloading most of the arms and stores one more day would have seen us
done.  Your Knight-Lieutenant, Edwin, halted work on the stockade to
help get the ship unloaded, so the gate wasn't finished.  The raiders
were inside killing men in the barracks before the alarm was sounded.
Still, we bled the bastards before they fired the fort."

"The fort burned?"  asked Marcus.

"To the ground," Amos confirmed.

"The garrison?"  asked Martin.

"I had no choice.  I brought them back with me."

Martin nodded.  "How many survived?"

Amos sighed.  "A little fewer than a hundred, I'm sorry to say. Edwin's
getting them off the ship now.  He'll give you a full report when he
gets here."

"We managed to get some goods out of the wreckage, and there was the
little that hadn't been unloaded, but most of the weapons and stores
were destroyed.  There was no fortress, and winter's heading our way,
so it seemed prudent to abandon the entire project until next spring."
Amos ran his hand over his face.  "From the looks of Crydee, you need
every able hand you can find down here, anyway."

Martin said, "That's the truth."  He filled Amos in on what they knew
about the raid, and as he recounted facts, Amos's face clouded over.

When he reached a description of the raiders' boats, provided by one of
the fisherman, Amos said, "This makes no pi"

sense!

Marcus said, "You're not the first one to say that, Amos."  Amos said,
"No, not just the raid.  Anyway, go on."  Martin continued his
recounting of the raid, gleaned from reports gathered from eyewitnesses
since the Duke returned.  It took another half hour to finish the
narrative.

Amos stood and attempted to pace around the crowded floor of the inn,
his hand rubbing his bearded chin as he thought.  At last he said,
"From what you've told me, there must have been close to a thousand men
involved in just this part of the caper."

"Caper?"  asked Harry.

"job, undertaking, endeavor," supplied Nakor with a grin.  "Criminal
idiom."

"Oh," said the Squire.  "So?"  asked Marcus.

Amos turned to look at him.  "That would mean at least six, probably
eight Durban captains working together.  That's not happened since I
left."

"Really?"  said Martin dryly.  Amos's distant past was known to him; he
was once the most feared raider on the Bitter Sea, Captain Trenchard,
the Dagger of the Sea.  As the years had passed, Amos's personal
history had changed as he told it, so that by now he was fond of saying
that he had been a privateer, working for the Governor of Durbin.

q "Yes, really!"  said Amos.  "The Captains of the Coast are a
fractious lot and don't cooperate in much of anything.  The only reason
they're allowed to remain in the city is that they keep Queg at bay,
and that's fine with Kesh, for the Empire doesn't wish to pay money to
provision a fleet there."  Looking at Martin, he said, "And as your
brother's Admiral, I'm a lot more comfortable with a dozen
argumentative pirate captains I can personally bully in Durbin than an
Imperial Keshian squadron.  Politics, my dear Martin, can make almost
anything respectable."

"So they put aside their usual differences and banded together for one
haul?"  said Ghuda.

Amos shook his head.  "Not likely.  A raid on Carse and Crydee?  And
the new fortification up at Barran as well?  I'll bet there's not one
deep-water ship left in Tulan, either."  He struck his hand on the bar,
which he leaned against.  "What I would give for a brandy," he
muttered.

Harry said, "Well, I was saving this for Anthony and Nakor to use with
the sick," as he reached under the bar and produced a small bottle of
Keshian brandy.  He poured a cup and Amos lifted it.

Smacking his lips, Amos said, "Heaven will remember you for this, boy."
Returning to Martin's circle, he knelt.  "Look, this wasn't any raid
out of Durbin."

"The slavers " protested Marcus.

Amos held up his hand.  "I don't care.  It's a false trail, son.  /
Slavers will slip up on a village and hit it, stealing healthy children
and fit men and women.  They don't go burning everything in sight. They
don't conduct wholesale warfare, and they don't go kidnapping the
nieces of Kings.  Tends to bring too much trouble down upon them."  He
rubbed his chin.  "If I knew who was in on this, which of the captains
..."

"One of the soldiers says the leader was a tall, fair-skinned man with
tattoos all over his face."

"With teeth filed to points and blue eyes?"  asked Amos.

Nicholas nodded.

Amos's eyes widened and he whispered.  "Render.  I thought he was
dead."

Martin leaned forward.  "Who is this Render?"

Amos spoke softly, a note of astonishment in his tone.  "A foul son of
a demon.  He was lost in the western archipelagoes when he was a
seaman.  He and the rest of his crew were captured by Skashakan
Islanders.  Render somehow gained their trust and they adopted him into
their tribe.  He was the only one of his crew to survive.  He's covered
from head to toe with clan tattoos and his teeth were filed to points
in the ritual that made him one of the clan.  To be initiated, he had
to eat one of his shipmates.  The Skashakan Islanders are cannibals."

Amos sat.  "I first met him in Margrave's Port.  He was first mate on
Captain Mercy's ship."

"Mercy?"  asked Nicholas with a disbelieving laugh.

"Most of the Captains of the Coast are known by false names," said
Amos.  "I was Trenchard, and Trevor Hull was White-eye; Gilbert de
Gracie was Captain Mercy; he'd once been an initiate in the Temple of
Dala the Merciful.  He obviously didn't have the calling, but the name
stuck."  Amos turned away, a small frown on his face.

Martin said, "What is it, Amos?"

"Render knew the slave trade, for that was one of Mercy's pastimes, but
he was never a Durbin captain, Martin.  He wasn't even a captain when I
knew him; last I heard, he was part of John Avery's crew, and Avery
betrayed Durbin to a Quegan raiding fleet.  Render's a dead man if he
ever sets foot in Durbin again."

One of the soldiers nearby said, "Begging your pardon, Admiral, but did
you say Quegan?"

Martin turned to the soldier.  "What is it?"

"My lord, I didn't recall until this moment, but there was one other
man who looked familiar, though I barely noticed in all the chaos.
Remember that Quegan trader who visited a few nights before you left to
hunt?  He was with some of the raiders

"Vasarius," said Nicholas.  "I didn't like the way he kept looking at
Abigail and Margaret."

"And he asked the Swordmaster and Horsemaster a lot of questions about
the castle and how we were garrisoned," said the soldier.  "Friendly
like, but probably measuring the defenses."

Amos said, "This grows more complicated by the moment.  Durbin raiders
wouldn't pull this sort of caper.  It's declaring war.  Their
reputation is partially due to picking their prey carefully, and
avoiding those capable of retaliation.  The only reason for a raid of
this scale would be to keep anyone from following, because it's obvious
that's the only thing they fear."  Martin looked confused.  "What do
you mean?"  "Your people reported Durbin guild slavers among the
raiding party.  What if they weren't teal?  What if the raiders wanted
you to think they were heading for Durbin?  They should know you have
means to send messages faster than they could return to the Bitter Sea.
You could get riders over the mountains and to the Free Cities and have
a fast ship take you to Krondor and have the fleet at sea ambush off
the Durbin coast by the time they could get down the coast and through
the Straits of Darkness this time of the year.  No, they're not heading
for Durbin, and they don't want us following after them."

Nicholas said, "How could we follow?  I mean, there's no trail on the
sea."

Amos grinned.  "Because I know where they're going first, Nicky."

Martin sat up straight at this.  "Where are they taking my daughter,
Amos?"

"Freeport.  Render's a Sunset Islands man at least, that's the last I
heard of him and from what you've told me about those boats that they
used, that's about as far as they can travel."

THE K/NG 's BUCCANESn

"I don't understand," said Marcus.  "What about the boats?"

To Martin, Amos said, "Remember when I said it didn't make sense?"

Martin nodded.

Amos said, "I was speaking of the' boats  They were pinnaces.  They're
small, narrow craft with a single mast that can be taken down.  No
large ship could have come close enough to Crydee to unload such a
force and not have been spotted by your lookouts on Longpoint and down
at Sailor's Grief.  From what you've said, nearly a thousand men struck
here, and we had another two hundred on our necks up at Barran.  The
only place those sorts of boats could have come from without the scum
manning them starving to death in transit is the Sunset Islands."

Marcus said, "But the Sunset Islands pirates have been quiet for
years."

Amos nodded.  "Someone's stirred them up.  That's the other thing that
bothers me."

"What?"  said Martin.

"If every black heart who lived in the Sunset Islands since I was a boy
came ashore, and they brought their grannies and their grannies' cats
with them, they couldn't mount a force of more than five hundred. We're
talking more than twice that, including some trained Tsurani assassins
and maybe some genuine Durbin slavers and a Quegan renegade."

Martin nodded.  "So where did all those raiders come from, and who sent
them?"

"Could this Render be behind it?"  asked Nicholas.

Amos shook his head.  "Not unless he's changed more than I think he has
in the last thirty years.  No, this caper was put together by someone
with bigger ideas than Render's.  And it cost money, too.  Getting
those Tsurani assassins through the rift from Kelewan .. someone was
bribed, probably people on both sides.  And the'Durbin slavers demand
guarantees.  If every pretty girl and boy taken was sold at the top of
the market, they'd probably not break even on what it cost to
underwrite this venture."

Martin said, "We need to leave."

Amos nodded.  "It will take a few days to ready the ship."

"Where are we going?"  asked Nicholas.

Amos said, "The Sunset Islands.  That's where we'll pick up their
trail, Nicholas."

LATER THAT NIGHT, Martin asked Harry and Nicholas to come outside with
Marcus and Amos.  When they were clear of casual listeners, Martin
said, "Nicholas, I've decided that you and Harry will stay here in
Crydee.  Knight-Lieutenant Edwin will need help, and when a ship gets
here from Tulan or Krondor, you can return to your father's court."

Martin turned away as if that was the end of it, but Nicholas said,
"No."

Martin said, "I wasn't asking you for agreement, Squire."

Nicholas paused a long moment, holding his uncle's gaze, then took a
deep breath and said, "Highness, or Prince Nicholas, Lord Martin."

Marcus snorted and said, "You'll go where Father sends you "

Nicholas didnVshout, but his tone was cold and angry as he said, "I
will go where I please, Master Marcus."

Marcus stepped forward as if about to strike Nicholas, when Amos said,
"Stop this!"  Marcus halted and Amos said, "Micky, what are you
thinking of?"

Nicholas looked from face to face, then, fixing his gaze on Martin,
said, "Uncle, you swore an oath, and so did I. When I was given my
office on my fourteenth birthday, I vowed to protect and defend the
Kingdom.  How could I claim to have upheld that vow if I ran home
now?"

Martin said nothing, but Amos said, "Nicholas, your father sent you
here to learn something about the differences between the frontier and
the royal court, not to go chasing slavers across the ocean."

Nicholas said, "My father sent me out here to learn to be a Prince of
the Kingdom, Admiral.  I am as much a Prince of the Blood Royal as
Borric and Erland, and I am bound as much as they are to see to the
safety and well-being of our subjects.  At my age, Borric and Erland
had already been fighting a year on the frontier with Lord Highcasde."
Looking at Martin, he said, "I wasn't asking your permission to go with
you, my lord Duke.  I was giving you a command."

Marcus's mouth opened and he was about to speak, but

Martin's hand upon his shoulder restrained him.  Softly he asked, "Are
you certain, Nicholas?"

Nicholas looked at Harry.  The once fun-loving boy from Ludland was
dirty from days of working in the sooty town, and his eyes were dark
with fatigue circles, but he nodded once.

"I am certain, Uncle," said Nicholas.

Martin gripped Marcus by the shoulder and quietly said, "We are bound
by our oath..  .."  Then he added, "Your Highness."

Marcus's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he turned to follow his
father.  Amos waited until they were gone, then snapped, "I thought I'd
raised you to be smarter than this, Nicky."

Nicholas said, "Margaret and Abigail are out there somewhere, Amos, and
if there is any way to find them, I will."

Amos shook his head.  Glancing around the destroyed town in the
moonlight, he sighed in resignation.  "I love you like my own grandson,
Nicky, but given a choice, I'd rather have a little magic than a
wet-behind-the-ears Prince giving orders on this voyage."

Nicholas said, "Pug!"

Amos said, "What about him?"

Reaching inside his tunic, the boy said, "He gave me this in case we
needed him."

Amos said, "Well, I can't think things could be much more needy than
they are now."

Nicholas gripped the talisman in his right an<3 repeated Pug's name
three times.  The little metal amulet warmed in Nicholas's hand, but
that was the only sign magic was being employed.

A moment later, Nakor came out of the inn.  "What are you doing?"  he
asked.

"You felt that?"  asked Harry.

"Felt what?"

"The magic."

"Bah.  There is no magic," he said with a dismissive wave.  "I saw
Martin and Marcus come into the inn, and they did not look happy."

Amos said, "The correct military term is 'pulling rank."  Our young
Prince here has decided he's going with us, no matter what his uncle or
I say."

Raymond E. Fetst

"He's supposed to," said Nakor.

"What?"  asked Harry.

The Isalani shrugged.  "I don't know why, but without Nicholas,
whatever waits for us out there will prevail."

"He is the son of the Lord of the West," said a voice from behind.

They all turned to see Pug step out of shadows.  He was dressed in a
dark brown robe with a hood, which he pulled back to reveal a face
etched with concern.  "I was going to ask why you've summoned me."  He
glanced around the charred landscape.  "But I think that's obvious."

PUG AND MARTIN spoke for along time, out of earshot of the others. Amos
had called Martin back out of the inn at Pug's request.  Now he and the
others who had witnessed Pug's arrival waited to see what would happen
next.

Harry said, "Do you think he can wish them back here?"

Nakor said, "He is a very powerful man.  But I don't think wishes have
much to do with it.  We shall see."

Pug and Martin returned to where the others were standing and Pug said,
"I am going to attempt t locate Margaret and her friend."  He glanced
around.  "I need some space around me.  Please stay here."

He moved away from the inn toward a large open area in front of it that
had been earmarked a* a new marketplace.  Now it was merely a
weed-covered lot," with a large rock protruding from the middle.  Pug
supped up on the rock and held his hands up over his head.

A faint sensation, like a distant humming, struck Nicholas and he
glanced at Harry, who nodded that he also felt it.  After a long
minute, Anthony came from inside the inn and joined the others.  Softly
the young magician said, "Is that Pug?"

Nakor nodded.  "He's looking for (he girls.  It's a very good trick if
he can do it."

The sense of vibration increased, until Nicholas felt as if something
were crawling over his skin.  He resisted the urge to scratch.

Anthony said, "What's that?"

Nicholas squinted toward where the magician pointed and he saw a taint
red light in the distance, about a hand span above Pug's head.  It
seemed to be growing brighter.

THE KING 's BUCCAN K

After a moment Nakor shouted, "Get down!"

When Anthony hesitated, Nakor pulled on his sleeve, forcing him down,
and then he was likewise yanking on Nicholas's arm.  "Get on the
ground!  Cover your eyes!  Don't look!  Now!"

They did as he asked, and Nicholas looked up to see the red light
approaching at terrifying speed.

Nicholas felt Nakor's hand upon his head, forcing his face into the
soil.  "Don't look!  Cover your face!"

Suddenly, in the darkness, Nicholas felt heat.  A searing sensation
struck his head and shoulders, as if he lay before a suddenly opened
furnace or oven.  The impact of the heat sucked the breath from his
lungs.  He almost opened his eyes, save for Nakor repeating his
warning.

Then the heat passed.  "Look!"  Nakor shouted.

Pug stood transfixed, surrounded by a sizzling nimbus of red energies,
white sparkles of lightning seeming to explode along the surface as
tiny flecks of silver danced inside.  Nakor was on his feet and running
toward him.

The others were only a few steps behind.  When Nakor was an arm's
length from Pug he halted and held out his arms in warning for the
others not to get too close.

Pug was immobilized inside the red energies, a statue with his arms
upraised.  Nakor walked completely around the strange envelope of red
light and shook his head.

Amos said, "What is this?"

Anthony said, "Very powerful magic, Admiral."

Nakor made a dismissive gesture with his hand.  "Ha!  There is no
magic.  This is a very loud warning: stay away!"  He nodded, and said,
"And more."

Martin said, "What else?"

"You have more trouble than we thought."  He started walking back
toward the inn.

"Are you going to leave him there?"  asked Harry.

"What do you want me to do?"  said Nakor.  "There's nothing I can do
for Pug that he's not already doing for himself.  He'll be fine.  It's
just going to take some time for him to get out of that trap."

"Shouldn't we wait?"  said Nicholas.

"You can if you want," answered Nakor.  "But I'm cold and I want
something to eat.  I'm sure Pug will cor rte inside when he's done."

"Done with what?"  asked Amos, following after.

"Whatever it is he's doing in there.  It wouldn't take him so long to
get free if that's all he wanted to do.  He's doing something else, I'm
certain."  With that, the little man reached the door to the inn and
opened it.  The others followed behind, save Anthony, who elected to
wait nearby and observe.

PUG MOVED THROUGH shadow.  He had extended his senses to the southwest,
toward those islands Amos had claimed would be the most likely place
for Margaret and her companions to be held.  He had (bund the islands
quickly, for there was a large town, and the energies of the people
there were like a bonfire on an otherwise deserted beach.

Then an alarm had sounded.  Some warning sense told him he was under
attack.  He put up his mental defenses as the red energies struck.  The
defenses were more than equal to the task.  Pug did not resist the
attack, beyond protecting himself.  He could have destroyed the
imprisoning magic, but to do so would have clearly warned the caster
mat he was free.  He chose to investigate instead.

As with all such sendings, Acre was a trail of magic from source to
target.  Pug examined the feel of it, the direction from whence it
came, and how it was constructed; then he created his shadow.

It was not really a shadow, bat that was how Pug envisioned it, how he
conceived the entity.  The shadow was a construct of magic, a non-real
creature that existed only as a conduit for Pug's.consciousness.  He
suspected his intuition had him think of shadow, for he would hide this
creature in those dark and formless places along the track of magic,
where the caster of the hostile spell would be unlikely to notice such
a being.

Once the shadow was formed, he sent it creeping up the trail of magic,
hiding in non-places, blending into dark voids along the trail.  The
search would take time, but he would be more likely to discover the
source and identity of this attack.

Pug began his search.

IT WAS NEAR dawn when Pug suddenly stepped free of the light.  Anthony
dozed nearby, a cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders and over his
head.  He quickly came fully awake as he saw Pug stagger away from the
light.  The cocoon remained in place, the white sparkles flashing
across the red; inside, a shadow, resembling Pug as he had stood there
moments before, remained.

Anthony rose and gripped Pug by the arm.  "Are you all right?"

Shutting his eyes a moment, he said, "Just tired."  He took a deep
breath and opened his eyes.  Inspecting the red energies that still
stood like a ruby obelisk, he asked, "Where are the others?"

"Inside," said Anthony.

Pug nodded, touching the red light with a finger as he studied the
shadow form of himself.  "This will do for a while," he said.  He
turned and began walking toward the inn.

As Anthony fell in beside him, Pug asked, "Do I know you?"  Anthony
introduced himself and Pug said, "So then you're my replacement?"

Anthony blushed.  "No one can replace you, master."

"Call me Pug," said Pug.  "If time permits, remind me to tell you what
a miserable failure I was when I lived here in Crydee."  Anthony could
only smile weakly, his expression showing he didn't believe it.  "I'm
serious," Pug said.  "I was a terrible magician at first."

Pug opened the door and Martin was instantly awake.  Marcus and the
others roused quickly with a shake or word.  Harry got up stretching
and yawning and said, "I think I still have coffee.  I'll see."  He
moved sleepily toward the bar.

Pug squatted next to Martin and said, "I think Amos's surmise is
correct.  The raid was a mask for something else."

"What was that red light out there?"  asked Martin.

"A very clever trap."

Nakor nodded.  "A warning, no?"

Pug said, "Yes, that as well."

Martin said, "Margaret and the others?"

"They are where Amos suspects," observed Pug.  "I can't say exactly,
because I was attacked just as I located them.  I can only say that
it's a large room, and dark.  Perhaps a warehouse.  I had a sense of
their mood.  They are all terribly frightened and there's a strong
sense of despair."  Then Pug smiled.  "Though your daughter has a great
deal of anger, too."

Martin couldn't hide his relief.  "I had feared .. ."

Pug nodded.  "At least last night she was well."

"Who tried to trap you?"  asked Nakor.

"I don't know."  Pug looked thoughtful.  "The attack didn't come from
where the girls are.  It came from someplace a great deal farther away,
and it was fashioned by someone of no mean skill and power.  It was
sent in response to my looking for the captives."

Nakor sighed.  "So whoever sent it is telling you to mind your own
business."

Pug nodded.  "My shadow construct outside will collapse soon.  I plan
on being far from here when it does, so when they attack again, I will
not draw their wrath on anyone else.  I can defend myself, but I'm not
sure how many of you I can protect if they broaden or intensify their
assaults."

Nakor chewed his lip.  "So we shall have to go without you."

Martin narrowed his eyes.  "I don't follow."  "The warning," said
Nakor.  "Pug is being circumspect.  He doesn't want to upset you
further."  Looking at the bearded magician, he said, "You'd better tell
him."  "Tell me what?"  asked Martin.

Pug shook his head as Harry approached with a tray of mugs filled with
hot coffee.  He passed them out, and after a sip, Pug said, "I don't
know how our colorful friend here could know, but there was a warning
attached to this attack: if I try to follow the prisoners, if I use
magk to aid their escape, if anything should reveal pursuit from the
Kingdom, the girls and boys will be killed, one at a time until those
who follow withdraw.  They are not merely captives; they are also
hostages."

Amos blew out his cheeks as he exhaled slowly.  "Which means that if
they see a sail on the horizon and a Kingdom flag, they'll start
cutting throats."  Pug said, "Exactly."

"How did you know?"  Harry asked Nakor.  The Isalani shrugged.  "I
didn't.  I assumed.  It was logical they would know Pug was kin to the
Duke and might come after his daughter.  Threatening to kill the
prisoners is a logical choice."

Anthony said, "But who cast the spell?"

Pug said, "It is alien.  I've never seen its like."  Looking at

Martin, he added, "If anything proves Amos is correct that this is no
mere raid for slaves, that spell does."

Nakor nodded, and his usually bright face turned glum.  "These slavers
have very powerful allies, Lord Martin."

The room fell silent.

Then Amos's face slowly brightened as a truly impressive grin
manifested itself in the grey and black of his beard.  "I have it," he
said with obvious glee.

"What?"  asked Martin.

"I know how we can sail into Freeport and not have the prisoners
harmed."

"How?"  asked Pug.

Now grinning like a boy who had just found a new toy, Amos said,
"Gentlemen, as of today, you're all buccaneers."

WORKERS FURIOUSLY CRAWLED over the Royal Eagle.  Following Amos's
instructions, they were doing everything he could imagine to change the
appearance of the ship.  Amos worried that some of those who had
escaped the attack on the ship up at Barran might remember her, and if
she was recognized before reaching the safe haven of Freeport, the
enterprise might end in disaster.

A pair of carpenter's apprentices were altering the figurehead,
changing the eagle to a hawk.  Amos had yelled at them for hours until
they were ready to quit, but at last he judged the bird different
enough to serve.  He then ordered the white and gold figurehead painted
an ominous black, with red eyes.  The name Royal Eagle had been scraped
off the bow and stern, and a painter was trying to hide all signs of
the removal.

Yards were relocated wherever possible, and spars were shifted.  A
false rail was added amidships; it wouldn't stand close inspection, but
Amos was not planning on having visitors aboard.  From the dockside, it
looked like part of the original structure, as did a pair of ballista
platforms that had been located in the bow and were now placed one on
each side of the ship.  Archers' platforms had been removed from the
masts, as only Kingdom warships used them.  In their place, rope and
canvas slings where cross bowmen could sit and fire down upon enemy
crews were hung between the masts.  The bowsprit was hoisted and
reblocked, so a man could now stand in the bow under it.

Another band of workers were hard at work "dirtying her up," as Amos
called it.  Loath to see the beauty and discipline of the Royal Kingdom
Navy put aside, many of the sailors had to be bullied into scratching
off paint, allowing the sea air to turn metal to rust, and generally
making the ship look as if only minimal effort had been put into
keeping her seaworthy.  Amos had no doubt that from any reasonable
distance the ship looked very different from the way it had before the
overhaul.

Martin, Pug, and Nicholas stood at the top of the wharf, the only place
they could watch without interfering.  There was still a great deal of
debris and litter along the quay from the damage done by the raiders.
Amos waved as he approached.  "How goes it?"  asked Martin.

Amos said, "She's starting to look like a rough bitch instead of the
fine lady she is."  He turned and inspected the work, rubbing his chin
as he studied her.  "I could really disguise her if I had another week,
but considering that those raiders who saw her were around at night ..
. this should do."  "It had better," said Martin.  "When do we leave?"
asked Nicholas.  Amos shook his head.  "I know you've decided to come
along, Nicky, but I wish you would change your mind."  "Why?"  he
challenged.

Amos sighed.  "You know I love you like a grandson, boy, but you've got
to think like a Piiace and not a love-sick child."  He held up his hand
before Nicholas could speak.  "Spare me.  I saw the way you looked at
the Lady Abigail the first night you were here.  Normally, I'd wish you
well and tell you to get the girl bedded as last as you can.  but now
it's serious stakes, Nicky."  He put his hand upon the boy's shoulder.
"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"  Nicholas said, "Why?" 
"Because you're the image of your father.  He's not exactly an obscure
fellow, you know.  He's been Prince in Krondor for nearly thirty years,
anct mote than one of those cutthroats out in the Sunsets will have
clapped eyes on him."

Nicholas frowned.  "I can alter my appearance.  I'll let my beard
grow...."

Amos looked pained as he softly said, "Look down, Nicky."

Nicholas looked down and suddenly knew what Amos meant.  The misshapen
boot, with the foot it compensated for, was a banner heralding his
identity.  Amos almost whispered as he said, "That foot is nearly as
famous as your father, Nicholas.  It's no secret Arutha's youngest son
is his sire's get, save for the deformed left foot."

Nicholas felt his ears and cheeks burn.  He said, "I can " Martin put
his hand upon Nicholas's other shoulder.  "You can't hide it,
Nicholas."

The boy pulled away from the contact.  He looked first at Amos, then at
Martin, then at last at Pug.  Something in the magician's expression
caught Nicholas's attention.  "What?"  he demanded.

Pug looked from face to face, then looked Nicholas in the eyes.  Firmly
he said, "I can help."

There was a pregnant pause, and Nicholas said, "What else?"

Pug said, "I can help, but only if you have more courage than I think
you do."

Nicholas bristled.  "Show me what to do!"  he demanded.

Pug said, "We will need privacy."  He put his hand on Nicholas's
shoulder, pulling him away from the others.  To Martin he said, "I am
going to take him to the castle.  I'm going to need help.  Will you ask
Nakor and Anthony to join us there?"  Martin nodded and Pug firmly led
Nicholas away.

The Prince followed the magician silently, until they were almost back
at the burned-out castle.  Nicholas had a chance to consider his rash
demands and the fact that his deformed foot had often been a trigger
for unreasonable displays of temper.

At the gate, Pug turned and said, "We'll wait for the others."

Nicholas was silent for a while, then let out a long breath as his
anger faded.  After another silent minute, Pug said, "How do you
feel?"

Nicholas said, "The truth?"

Pug nodded.  Nicholas looked away at the distant harbor, where little
remained that resembled the lovely town he had seen his first evening
in Crydee.  "I'm scared."

"Of what?"  asked Pug.

"Of failure.  Of coming along and causing better men than me to fail.
Of getting the girls killed.  Of ... many things."

Pug nodded.  "What do you fear the most?"

Nicholas thought a long moment.  "Of not being as good as

I should be."

Pug said, "Then you stand a chance, Nicholas."  Nothing more was said
until Anthony and Nakor approached, walking steadily up the hill.  When
they reached the gate, Anthony said, "Duke Martin said you asked us to
join you."

Pug nodded.  "Nicholas is going to try something, and he'll need our
help."

Nakor nodded, but Anthony said, "I don't understand."

Nicholas said, "Pug's going to fix my foot."

Pug said, "No."

Nicholas said, "But I thought "

Pug held up his hand.  "No one else can fix your foot,

Nicholas."

Nakor added, "Except you."

Pug nodded.  "All we can do is help.  If you really want us to."

Nicholas said, "I don't understand."  Pug said, "Come along, and we'll
explain."  They entered the burned-out entry hall and moved down the
hall to the northern tower, then climbed the charred stone stairs.  At
the first doorway, Pug said, "This was once my room, and my master
Kulgan lived above me."

Anthony said, "This is my room ... or was until last week.  I took it
rather than the one above because of the odd chimney" he pointed to a
hole in the wall where metal had run down the wall "there.  Kept the
room warm."

Pug nodded, "I had it built."  He glanced around the room, and for a
moment Nicholas, Nakor, and Anthony could see that memories were
returning to him.  At last Pug said, "Then it's doubly fitting."  He
motioned for Nicholas to enter and said, "Sit by the window.  Take off
your boots."

Nicholas sat on the blackened floor and removed his boots.  Pug sat
opposite him, ignoring the soot that clung to his robe and llano's;
Nakor and Anthony stood on either side.  Pug spoke.  "Nicholas, you
must understand something about your own nature, something you share
with most people,"

"What?"

Pug said, "Most of us move through life with little chance to learn
much about ourselves.  We know some things we like and some things we
dislike, we have a few ideas about what makes us happy, and we die in
ignorance regarding anything profound within ourselves."

Nicholas nodded.

Pug continued.  "There are reasons things happen like your foot being
deformed at birth, reasons that are often impossible to understand.
There are a lot of theories, especially when you speak with the priests
of the various temples, but no one knows for certain."

Nakor said, "It may be your foot is a lesson for you in this lifetime,
Nicholas."

Pug nodded.  "So many believe."

Nicholas said, "What can I learn from a deformed foot?"

Pug said, "Many things: limits, overcoming adversity, humility,
pride."

Nakor added, "Or nothing."

Pug said, "I know your father tried to have your foot cured when you
were a small child.  Do you remember?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "A little, but not much.  Only that it
hurt."

Pug put his hand upon Nicholas's.  "I thought so."  His brown eyes made
contact with Nicholas's and his voice became soothing.  "You must know
that you are the only one with the power to heal what is flawed within
you.  Do you understand fear?"

Nicholas felt his eyes growing heavy and he said, "I don't know..  ..
Fear?"

"Fear ho ids us and binds us and keeps us from growing, Nicholas."
Pug's voice took on an insistent quality.  "It kills a small piece of
us each day.  It holds us to what we know and keeps us from what's
possible, and it is our worst enemy.  Fear doesn't announce itself;
it's disguised, and it's subtle.  It's choosing the safe course; most
of us feel we have 'rational' reasons to avoid taking risks."  He
smiled reassuringly.  "The brave man is not the one without fear but
the one who does what he must despite being afraid.  To succeed, you
must be willing to risk total failure; you must learn this."

Nicholas smiled.  "Father once said something like that."  His words
were becoming slurred, as if he were drunk or half-asleep.

"Nicholas, had you wished to be healed as a child, the priests and
magicians and healers would have made your foot well.  But something in
you held to your fear; something in you aves your fear and binds it to
you as a mother or lover.  You must confront that fear and banish it;
you must embrace it and et it devour you.  Only then will you know your
fear; only then an you heal yourself.  Are you willing to try?"

Nicholas found he couldn't speak, so he nodded as his eyes grew too
heavy to keep open.  He let them close.

From a distance, Pug said, "Sleep.  And dream."

NICHOLAS FLOATED IN a dark, warm place.  He knew he was safe.  Then a
voice came into his mind.

Nicholas?

Yes?

Are you ready?

A sense of puzzlement.  Ready?

Ready to know the truth.

A stab of panic and the dark place was no longer warm.

After a time he said, Yes.

Blinding light seared him and he floated in a room.  Below him he saw a
little boy sobbing in the arms of a redheaded woman, and her lips
moved.  He couldn't hear her, but he knew what she said; he had heard
it before.  She said that as long as she was there, nothing would ever
hurt him.

A flash of anger struck him.  She lied!  Many times he had been hurt.
The image faded and suddenly there was the boy again, this time a few
years older, walking awkwardly down the long hall that led to his room.
Two pages walked by, and when he had passed, they whispered.  He knew
they were speaking about him, mocking his deformity.  He ran to his
room, tears flowing down his cheeks.  He slammed his door behind him
and vowed he would never leave his room again.  He was consumed with
anger, rage, and pain, and he cried alone until a page came to tell him
that his rather was coming.

Pulling himself off his bed, he washed his face in the basin on the
nightstand.  By the time the door opened again, the boy had composed
himself; he knew his father didn't like to see the boy cry.  Arutha
beckoned for the boy to come along for some function in the great hall,
and the boy complied.  An affair of state demanded his attendance, and
he forgot his vow never to leave the room.  But it was a vow he had
made hundreds of times and would make hundreds of times again, since he
was only six years old.

The image faded and he stood before two tail young men, with hair the
same color as his mother's.  They mocked him, teasing, pretending they
couldn't see him or calling him "monkey," and he fled from them, again
stabbed by chilling pain.

Other pictures presented themselves: a sister too consumed with the
business of being a young princess to have time for a younger brother.
Parents whose time was dictated by politics and protocol, who couldn't
always be there for a shy and frightened child.  Servants who were
dutiful, but who felt no affection for the youngest son of their liege
lord.

Over the years many images had etched themselves in Nicholas's mind,
and as he returned to the present, he heard Pug's voice.  "Are you
ready to face your pain?"

Panic struck Nicholas.  He mumbled, half-asleep, as he said, "I thought
.. . that's what I was .. . doing."

Pug's voice was soft and reassuring.  "No.  You were remembering.  Your
pain is with you now.  You must root it out and face it."

Nicholas felt a tremble run through him.  "Must I?"

"Yes," answered a voice, and he fell deeper into the dark emptiness.

A voice came to him.  It was soft and warm and familiar.  He tried to
open his eyes, but couldn't, then suddenly he could see.  A young woman
with golden hair moved toward him, through a vaguely defined hallway.
Her gown was translucent, hinting at a ripe fullness beneath the thin
cloth.  Her features resolved as she reached out to him, and he said,
Abigail?

She laughed, and he felt the sound rather than heard it.  I'm whoever
you wish me to be.  The sensual feel of her voice sent a thrill through
him.  Then he felt like crying, for something about the young womah was
terrifying as well as seductive.

Suddenly his mother stood before him, but as he had known her when he
was very little.  Soft white arms reached down to pick him up, and she
cradled the little boy to her bosom, murmuring reassuring sounds in his
ear.  He felt her warm breath on his neck and he felt safe.

A warning note sounded, and he pushed away.  I'm no child!  he shouted,
and under his hand a firm breast filled his palm.

Soft blue eyes stared into his and ripe lips parted.  He shoved Abigail
away and shouted, What are you?

Suddenly he was alone in the darkness, a chill running through his
body.  No answer was forthcoming, but he knew there was another
presence in the murk.  He tried to see, but there was nothing in the
gloom, yet he knew he was not alone.  By force of will he steeled
himself and his voice rang in his own ears: What arc you?

From a great distance away, he heard Pug's voice.  "It's your fear,
Nicholas.  It's your reason for holding to it.  See it as it really
is."

Nicholas felt a constriction in his chest and felt afraid.  "No," he
whispered.

Suddenly something was close to him; that distant presence was now a
hovering menace.  Something was coming that could harm him; something
was approaching that was able to rip away his defenses and destroy
him!

A gathering darkness surrounded him, pressing in and confining him.  He
pulled one way, then another, but as he struggled, the pressing in on
all sides restricted his movement, until he was rendered immobile.

A suffocating sensation visited 'him and he gasped, but no air filled
his lungs.  A sensation of helplessness overwhelmed him and he choked
on it.  A scream died in his throat and a soft sob came out as tears
ran down his face.

Nicholas, said the warm and reassuring voice.  Soft hands reached for
him and he saw the beautiful features of his mother .. . no, Abigail,
approaching.  Just reach for me, said the soft voice.

Then Pug's voice came to him.  "What is it really, Nicholas?"

The women before him vanished, and he was alone in the room in the
tower.  Behind him the day was gone and the night was upon him, cold
and indifferent.  He was alone.

He stood and paced around the room, but he couldn't find the door.
Looking out the window, he saw that Crydee was no more.  Not even the
ashes of the town remained, nor did the rest of the castle; only this
single tower stood.  Below was a blasted plain of rock and sand,
lifeless and without hope.  The sea was black, oily waves rolling
listlessly to crash with indifference on rocks so sterile that even
moss did not grow on them.

THE K/KG 's BUCCANEE K

"What do you see?"  came the distant voice.

Nicholas struggled to speak, and at last he found his voice.
"Failure."

"Failure?"

"Complete and utter failure.  Nothing survives."

"Then go there!"  commanded Pug's distant voice.

Immediately he was out on the blasted plain, and the mournful sound of
the lifeless waves rang in the still air.  "Where do I go?"  he asked
the dead sky.

"Where do you wish to go?"  asked Pug.

Suddenly he knew.  Pointing across the bay toward the west, he said,
"There!  I want to go there!"

"What's stopping you?"  asked Pug.

Nicholas looked around and said, "This, I think."

At once Pug stood beside him.  "What is your fear, Nicholas?"

Nicholas looked around and said, "This.  Utter failure."

Pug nodded.  "Tell me of failure."

Nicholas breathed deeply and said, "My father .. ."  He found his eyes
tearing and his voice tightening.  "He loves me, I know."  Letting his
pain wash through him, Nicholas said, "But he doesn't accept me."

Pug nodded.  "And?"

"And my mother, she is afraid for me."

"And?"  asked Pug.

Nicholas looked out across the blackened sea.  "She scares me."

"How?"

"She makes me think I can't .. ."  He fell silent.

"Can't?"

"Can't ... do what I need to do."

"What do you need to do?"

Nicholas cried openly.  "I don't know."  Then suddenly something he had
been told by Housecarl Samuel struck him, and his tears turned to
laughter.  "That's it!  I need to find out what I need to do!"

Pug smiled and suddenly a weight left Nicholas.  He looked at Pug and
repeated, "I need to discover what it is I need to do."

Pug motioned for the young man to follow him.  "Why do you fear failure
so much, Nicholas?"  ,

Nicholas said, "Because my father hates it more than anything else, I
think."

Pug said, "We haven't much time.  Things move apace and I must leave
soon.  Will you trust me to teach you something?

Nicholas said, "I guess so, Pug."

Suddenly Nicholas stood upon a ledge, high above the sea.  Below, rocks
beckoned and waves slammed against the cliff face.  A dizziness struck
him and his knees buckled, and Pug's voice said, "Step forward."

"Will you catch me?"  he asked and his voice sounded very young to his
ears.

"Step forward, Nicholas."

Nicholas did, and suddenly he was falling.  He screamed.

The rocks raced to embrace him and he knew he would cue.  Numbing pain
struck him and he groaned as he lay on the unyielding rocks, the waves
washing over him.

Gasping as he spit out bitter water, he said weakly, "I'm alive."

Pug was on the rocks before him, extending his hand.  "Yes,

you are."

Nicholas gripped it and suddenly he was back upon the ledge.  "Step
forward," Pug said.

"No!"  said Nicholas.  "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Step forward!"  commanded Pug.

Hesitating, Nicholas closed his eyes, and stepped forward.  Closing his
eyes didn't help, as he sped through the air to slam against the rocks
once again.  Stunned a moment, he was astonished to discover himself
still conscious.  Pug was again kneeling before him.  "Are you
ready?"

"What?"  he asked groggily.

"You have to do it again."

Sobbing, he asked, "Why?"

"You have to learn something."

Nicholas gripped Pug's hand and suddenly he was on the ledge.  "Step
forward," Pug said softly.

Nicholas stepped forward, but his foot was fused into the rock of the
ledge.  An emptiness hit his stomach as he lurched into the void, but
his left foot held him firmly to the ledge.

Wrenching pain visited his leg as he hung there, upside down and
backward.  Pug suddenly appeared before him.  "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"What's happening?"  Nicholas asked.

"This is your pain, Nicholas."  Pug pointed to the foot in the rock.
"This is your mother love and your mistress.  This is your excuse.
Because of it, you can't fail."

Nicholas said bitterly, "I fail all the time."

Pug's smile was unforgiving.  "But you have a reason for falling, don't
you?"

Nicholas felt a cold stab to his stomach as he said, "What do you
mean?"

"You fail not because you're lacking but because you're the lame
child."  Pug floated in the air before Nicholas.  "You have two
choices, Prince of the Kingdom.  You can hang here until you grow old,
knowing that there are all manner of great things you might do: save
innocents, find the woman of your dreams, protect your subjects ... if
only you didn't have a lame foot.  Or you can cut yourself free from
your excuse."

Nicholas tried to pull himself upright but couldn't gain any
leverage.

Pug pointed an accusing finger.  "You've hit the rocks!  You know what
it is."

"It hurts!"  cried Nicholas.

"Of course it hurts," chided Pug, "but you get over it.  It's only
pain.  You're not dead, and you can try again.  You can't succeed
unless you're willing to risk failure."  Pointing at the place where
ankle was fused to rock, Pug said, "This is an excuse.  We all have
them if we wish.  You have gifts that advantage you far more than this
trivial deformity handicaps you!"

A powerful certainty struck Nicholas.  "What must I do?"

Pug stood.  "You know."  And he was gone.

Nicholas reached up and gripped his left leg.  The blood pounded in his
head and he felt the muscles of his left leg tearing as he pulled
upward.  Forcing himself to bend forward, he scraped his fingers on the
rock, gaining inches as he cried in agony and frustration.

Suddenly he was sitting on the ledge, his foot still fused to the rock.
At his side a knife hung, where none had been a moment before.

He understood.  He took the knife and hesitated a moment, then slashed
at his own ankle.  Pain shot up his leg and his foot burned.  Gasping
at the pain, he forced himself to cut.  The ankle cut like thick bread,
not like bone and sinew, but the pain shot through him like lightning
flashes.

As he cut through the last fiber of his own flesh, Nicholas found
himself standing.  He held the knife to the throat of his own mother.
Blinking, he pulled back.  The figure of Anita, Princess of Krondor,
said, "Nicholas!  Why do you hurt me?  I

love you."

Then Abigail stood before him, wearing a diaphanous gown.  With hooded
eyes and sensuous lips, she said, "Nicholas.  Why do you hurt me?  I
love you."

Terror struck the young man, and he stood rooted a moment, then he
shouted, "You are not Abigail!  Or my mother!  You are an evil thing
that binds me!"

A sad expression crossed the vision's face and she said, "But I love
you."  Nicholas shouted incoherently and lashed out.  The knife cut
through the woman, turning her to shadow and vapor.

Pain exploded behind Nicholas's eyes and he screamed.  Something
precious was torn from within his chest and he felt a terrible sense of
loss.  Then suddenly a weight left him and with giddy relief, he passed
into darkness.

NICHOLAS OPENED HIS eyes, and Nakor and Anthony helped him sit up.  He
rested his back against the cold black stones of the tower wall.  It
was gloomy as the sun set.  "How long have I been here?"  he asked. His
voice was raw and his throat scratchy.

Anthony said, "A day and a half."  He held out a waters king and
Nicholas found he was parched.

He drank deeply and said, "My throat is sore."  "You were shouting and
screaming a long time, Nicholas," said Anthony.  "You've endured a
terrible struggle."

Nicholas nodded and his head spun.  "I'm dizzy," he said.

Nakor handed him an orange and said, "You're hungry."

Nicholas tore a section of peel away and bit deep into the fruit,
letting the sweet juice run down his chin, and chewed the soft pulp. He
swallowed and said, "I feel as if I lost something."

Anthony nodded and Nakor said, "Men love their fears.

That is why they hold on to them so tightly.  You've learned something
very young, Prince, something that even older men rarely understand.
You've learned that fear isn't a terrible-looking thing but something
lovely and seductive."

Nicholas nodded and finished the orange.  Nakor handed him another.  As
he tore the peel off that one, he said, "I killed my mother, or Abigail
or something that looked like them."

Nakor said, "It was neither.  You killed your fear."

Nicholas closed his eyes.  "I feel like crying and laughing at the same
time."

Nakor laughed.  "You just need food and sleep."

Sighing, Nicholas said, "Pug?"

Nakor said, "His shadow construct collapsed and the red thing vanished.
Pug said bad things were going to come after him soon, and he didn't
want to be around people.  He took your talisman and gave it to
Anthony."  Nicholas reached up and found the thong and dolphin charm
missing.  Anthony reached into the neck of his robe and showed Nicholas
he now wore it.

"I don't know why, but he said I must keep it for a while, but not to
use it again unless there was no other choice."

Nakor nodded.  "Then he said good-bye and went away."

In the gloom, Nicholas peered down his left leg.  Something alien rose
up from his left ankle.  He experimented and found he could wiggle his
toes.  Tears welled up in his eyes as he said, "Gods!"  He looked at
the healthy, well-formed foot that matched its mate for the first time
in his life.

Anthony said, "The transformation was difficult.  I don't know what Pug
did, but you and he were in a trance for many hours.  I watched the
bones and flesh stretching and moving as it healed.  It was
astonishing.  But the pain must have been extreme, for you cried and
screamed yourself hoarse."

Nakor stood up.  He extended his hand downward.  Nicholas took it, and
the little man proved surprisingly strong as he helped Nicholas stand
upright.  Testing his weight upon his newly healed foot, Nicholas found
his balance felt alien.  "I'll have to get used to this."

Nakor looked down at the well-formed foot on Nicholas's left leg and
shook his head.  "You had to do it the hard way, didn't you?"

Nicholas threw his arms around the little man's neck and laughed.  He
laughed so hard his ribs hurt.  After a while he pushed himself away.
With tears running down his face he said, "Yes.  I did."

MARTIN LOOKED UP as Anthony, Nakor, and Nicholas walked toward him.
Nicholas picked his way gingerly over the rocks and grimaced as if
stepping on something P^nrul.

Martin was about to say something to the soldier beside him when he
noticed that Nicholas was barefoot.  More signm-cantly, both of
Nicholas's feet were normal!

The Duke of Crydee walked away from the soldier and hurried up to his
nephew.  He looked deep into Nicholas s eyes, and tried to understand
what he saw there.  At last he said,

"What can I do?"  .  f Nicholas grinned and said, "I could use a new
pair or boots."

ACCI9EW?

icholas lunged.

Marcus leaped back, parrying his blow, then disengaged and riposted.
Nicholas easily countered and forced him to retreat another step.

Nicholas stepped back himself.  "Enough."  The young men were breathing
hard and drenched with perspiration.  Each had let his beard grow, and
now both looked remarkably sinister.

Harry walked out of the inn to where the cousins had been practicing
and said, "What do you think?"

Even Marcus's usual stoic demeanor cracked as he regarded the
flamboyant figure.  Harry wore purple breeches tucked into large,
cuffed boots, and a yellow sash around his waist.  His shirt was green,
with faded golden brocade up the front and at the cuffs of ballooning
sleeves; over that he wore a vest of maroon leather, tied in front by a
single cord and wooden frog, and upon his head a long stocking cap of
red and white tipped off to the right at a jaunty angle.

"You look a fright," said Nicholas.

"What are you made up to be?"  asked Marcus.

"A buccaneer!"  said Harry.  "Amos said they tend to dress
colorfully."

"Well, you are that," admitted Nicholas.

Nakor appeared, eating an orange.  He looked at Harry and started to
laugh.  Harry had let his beard grow as well, but it was coming in thin
and patchy.

"What is a buccaneer, anyway?"  asked Harry.  "Bas-Tyran word, very
old," said Nakor.  "Originally, bou-carrier; means fellows who light
fires on beaches to lure ships ashore, wreckers, thieves, pirates."

"So many words for the same thing," said Harry, rei ver corsair, pirate
.. ."

"Many languages," said Nakor.  "This Kingdom is like Kesh, built upon
conquest.  In ancient times, men of Darkmoor and men of RHlanon
couldn't speak to each other."  He nodded and winked, delighting in
sharing trivia.

Marcus said, "I hope Amos doesn't insist we all dress that way."
Turning to Nicholas, he said, "Another?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "No.  My leg hurts and I'm tired."  Suddenly
Marcus was advancing, with a wicked slash toward Nicholas's head. "What
happens when you find someone coming at you when you're tired?"
Nicholas barely blocked the cut, which would have caused serious damage
had it gotten through.  Marcus pressed the attack and Nicholas fell
back.

"People try to loll you at the most inconvenient times," shouted
Marcus, executing a combination of high and low attacks.

The two cousins were using sabers, a weapon foreign to both.  With the
rapier, no one in Crydee was Nicholas's equal, but with the bulkier
weapon, slashing attacks were far more important, and Marcus was quick
and strong.

Nicholas grunted in exertion as he blocked a stabbing attack to the
groin, then with a shout he attacked.  A flurry of vicious attacks high
and low moved Marcus back, and finally Nicholas caught him in a binding
move and ripped the hilt from Marcus's fingers.  Leaning back against a
newly rebuilt low brick wall, Marcus found Nicholas standing before
him, the point of his sword touching Marcus's throat.  Marcus backed
away, and fell over the low wall, landing on his rump.  Nicholas leaned
forward, keeping the point of the saber at Marcus's throat.

Harry took a tentative step forward and halted.  Nicholas's eyes were
wide and his anger was clearly showing.  He said coldly, "Your point
was well taken, cousin" For a long second he said nothing, then stepped
back, lowering his blade.  With a wry laugh he said, "Very well taken."
He offered his hand and helped Marcus to his feet.

Another voice said, "You would do well to know, Marcus, that irritating
a better swordsman than yourself is a good way to end up dead."

The three young men and Nakor turned to see Amos leaving the inn.  The
Admiral had abandoned his muted dark blue uniform and now wore a pair
of heavy black boots, with wide bands of tooled red leather around the
tops.  His loose breeches and short jacket were a faded blue, the
jacket trimmed with dull silver brocade at the cuffs and lapels.  He
wore a once-white shirt, now yellowed, with limp silk ruffles down the
front.  Upon his head rested a black three-cornered hat trimmed in
gold, topped with a bedraggled yellow plume.  A cutlass of impressive
weight hung from the baldric across his shoulder.  He had oiled his
hair and beard so that his face was surrounded with ringlets.

Removing his hat, Amos ran his hand across the top of his bald head and
said, "Stick to your longbow, Marcus.  Your father never had the knack
for the sword your uncle Arutha has, and Nicky is a better swordsman
than all of you."  He turned to Nicholas.  "How's the foot?"

Nicholas grimaced.  "Still hurts."

Nakor said, "It's 'phantom pain'; it only hurts in his head."

Nicholas limped a little as he came to sit next to Marcus, who had
retreated into a sullen pose.

"Phantom pain?"  said Amos.  "That hardly makes sense."

"Well, it hurts like the real thing," admitted Nicholas.  "Nakor claims
it will stop hurting when I finally understand the lessons I began in
the tower the other night."

"This is true," agreed the little man.  "When he truly understands,
there will be no more pain."

"Well, you'd better learn it in a hurry.  We leave on the morning
tide."

Marcus nodded and said, "I have some things to do before we leave."

After he had departed, Amos said, "You two really don't like each
other, do you?"

Nicholas looked down at the ground, but it was Harry who spoke.  "They
won't much until Abigail makes a choice between them."

Bitterly Nicholas said, "If she 'can.  I'll get my things together." He
departed.

Amos turned to Harry.  "Why do I have a feeling that if they don't find
a reason to make peace, sooner or later one is going to kill the
other?"

Harry said, "Chilling, though, isn't it?"  He leaned against the
still-standing section of wall and commented, "They're too much alike;
neither will give an inch."  He looked at the door of the inn.  "Most
of the time I've known Nicholas he's been easygoing, Admiral.  You've
known him longer, but I think I know him better."  Amos nodded
agreement to that.  "Something in Marcus just turns an otherwise
agreeable lad into a serious pain in the backside."

Nakor laughed.  "Marcus is acting like a pig-headed lout, too," said
Amos.  Slapping Harry on the back, he added, "And you'd better start
calling me "Captain," Harry, not "Admiral."  I'm Trenchard the Pirate
once more."  With a menacing grin, he pulled out his belt knife and
began testing the edge with his thumb.  "I'm years older and a step
slower, but what the years have taken away I more than make up for by
being mean."  Suddenly he had the knife pointed at Harry's nose.  "Any
disagreement?"

Harry yelped as he jumped back a step.  "No sir!  Captain!  Sir!"

Amos laughed.  "In my former trade, the captain was the meanest bastard
in the crew.  That's how you got elected.  You scared the crew into
voting for you."

Harry grinned and inquired, "Is that how you got to be a captain so
young?"

Amos nodded.  "That and killing a swine of a second mate when I was
still a cabin boy."  He leaned against the wall and put his dagger back
into his belt.  "I was twelve years old when I first went to sea.  On
my second voyage the second mate man named Barnes thought he'd beat me
for something I didn't do.  So I killed him.  The captain had a
drumhead trial " "Drumhead?"  asked Harry.

"Right then and there before the crew.  Not a lot of legal niceties.
You plead your case and the crew decides.  Turned out most of the men
hated Barnes, and I made it clear I was being beaten for something that
wasn't my fault.  The guilty man came forward and told the captain that
I hadn't done whatever

Tas KING 's BUCCANZE K

it was I was accused of..  .."  Amos's eyes grew distant.  "Funny,
isn't it?  I don't remember what it was I was accused of.  Anyway, the
guilty man was flogged, though the captain went easy on him because
he'd been honest to save my life.  I was made third mate.  By the time
I'd been on that ship four years, I was first mate.

"I was a captain by the time I was twenty years old, Harry.  I h d
raided most every port in the Bitter Sea save Krondor and Durbin by the
time I was twenty-six.  At twenty-nine I went straight."  He laughed.
"And on my first honest voyage the Tsurani burned my ship and left me
high and dry here in Crydee.  That was over thirty years ago.  So here
I am, past sixty and once again a pirate!"  He laughed again.  "Hell of
a circle, isn't it?"

Harry shook his head in open amazement.  "Quite a history."

Amos looked up at the burned-out hulk that had once been Castle Crydee.
A pair of masons had arrived from Carse the day before and were now
beginning preliminary inspection of the grounds for reconstruction.
Martin was up there with them, giving them instructions so that work
could begin as soon as the snows retreated, whether or not he had
returned.  "When I first came to that keep, I found some astonishing
people."  He looked down, thoughtfully.  "They changed my life.  I owe
them.  a great deal.  I used to chide Arutha-for taking all the fun out
of life, and truth to tell, he can be a sour sort."  Gazing at me inn
once again, Amos observed, "But he's a wonderful man, in many ways, and
my first choice for a mate should I be sailing into stormy waters.  I
love him like a son, but being his son is no easy task.  Borric and
Erland had many gifts, not the least of which was being very different
from their father, but Nicholas ..."

Harry nodded.  "He's just like him."

Amos sighed.  "I've never admitted this to anyone, but Micky's always
been my favorite.  He's a gentle lad, and while he has many of his
father's strengths, he has his mother's tender ways."  Amos pushed
himself off the wall.  "I pray I can return him to his family
undamaged.  I don't relish the notion of explaining to his grandmother
why I let anything ill happen to him."

Harry said, "I pray you feel the same about me and telling my father,
Captain,"

Amos gave Harry an evil grin.  "I'm not marrying your father, Squire.
You're on your own."

Harry laughed, but it wasn't entirely convincing.  Then a shout sounded
from up the hill as one of the masons from Carse came running down the
hill, almost out of control.  He shouted something and Amos looked at
Harry.

Harry said, "I can't understand .. ."  * Then the man shouted again,
and Amos said, "Oh, gods,

no!"

"What?"  said Harry.

Nakor said, "There's been an accident."  He began running toward the
cas de

Suddenly Harry understood.  Only three people were up at the castle:
two masons and the Duke.  Harry said, "I'll get Marcus and Nicholas."
He rushed off to the inn.

Before he ran to the castle, Amos called after Harry, "And find
Anthony!  We're going to need a healer!"

BY THE TIME they all reached the castle, one of the monks from Silban's
Abbey was tending Martin.  He lay unconscious on a clear patch of
ground, his face drawn and pale as the monk inspected his injuries.

Marcus shouted, "What's happened?"  as he rushed up to his father's
side.

The senior mason said, "A section of the parapet gave way and His Grace
fell.  I told him it was dangerous up there."  His manner showed he was
more interested in avoiding blame than in anything else.

Marcus looked at the monk.  "Is it bad?"

The monk nodded, and Anthony and Nakor knelt beside Martin.  They
whispered, and after a moment Anthony said, "We need to carry him down
to the inn."

Nicholas asked, "Should we make some kind of stretcher?"

Anthony said, "We don't have time!"

Harry, Nicholas, and Marcus lifted Martin, and slowly they moved down
the hillside, picking their way along the most forgiving path.

At the inn, they moved Martin into one of the smaller

T/f KING 's BUCCANEER

rooms on the second floor.  Anthony motioned for the others to step
outside, and he and Nakor closed the door.

The others hovered by the door of Martin's room for a few moments; then
Amos said, "No use waiting here.  We have a hundred things to do before
tomorrow."

Marcus said, "Tomorrow?  You can't be serious."

Amos paused and looked back at Martin's son.  "Of course I'm serious.
We leave on the morning tide tomorrow."

Marcus took an angry step forward.  "Father will be in no condition to
travel by tomorrow."

Amos said, "Your rather will be in no condition to travel until spring,
Marcus.  We can't wait for him."

Marcus began to protest and Nicholas said, "Wait a minute."  He asked
Amos, "How do you know?"

Amos said, "In my years, Nicky, I've seen men fall from the yards and
hit hard decks."  Looking at Nicholas's cousin, he said, "Marcus,
Martin is closer to seventy years of age than sixty, though you'd never
know it to look at him.  Younger men than he have died as a result of
such injuries.  No one's going to lie to you and say your father isn't
in danger.  But so are your sister and the other captives.  Our waiting
here won't make your rather any safer, but it will certainly place your
sister in more peril each day we wait.  We leave tomorrow."

Amos turned and left the three young men standing in the hallway in
silence.  At last Nicholas said, "I'm sorry, Marcus."

Marcus glanced at Nicholas; then without saying anything else he
hurried down the stairs.

CA LIS ENTERED TH E inn, ducking out of the sudden rain.  He shook his
head as he removed his hooded cloak and hung it on a peg near the door.
The inn was still crowded, but not as packed as the last time the el
fling had been in Crydee, for several new shelters had been raised.

Seeing Nicholas and Harry sitting at a distant table, he moved quickly
to sit with them.  "I have messages for your uncle, Prince Nicholas."

Nicholas told him of the accident.  Calls listened impassively, then
said, "This is ill news."

Anthony appeared on the stairway and, seeing Nicholas, hurried down to
the table.  "His Grace has regained consciousness; where is Marcus?"

Harry jumped up.  "I'll find him."

Anthony nodded to Calls, who said, "I have messages for the Duke."

Anthony said, "You can have a few minutes."

Nicholas rose as well, and the magician said, "Only one at a time."

The Elf Queen's son followed Anthony up the stairs, and in a few
minutes Marcus and Harry entered the inn.  Nicholas came up to his
cousin as Marcus said, "Father's awake?"

Nicholas nodded.  "Calls brought a message from the Elf Queen and is
with him now.  You can go up as soon as he comes out."

Calls appeared at the top of the stairs and Marcus started up.  The el
fling put a restraining hand upon his chest and said, "His Grace wants
a word with Nicholas."

Marcus's eyes flashed, but he said nothing as Nicholas hurried up the
stairs past him.  He entered the room and found Martin propped up by a
down comforter, a heavy blanket pulled up to his chest.

Anthony, Nakor, and the monk who tended him hovered nearby.  Nicholas
said, "Uncle?"

Martin extended his hand and Nicholas took it, squeezing it briefly.
Martin's voice sounded shockingly weak as he said, "I need to speak
with you, Nicholas.  Alone."

Nicholas glanced at the others.  Anthony said, "We'll be outside."

Martin closed his eyes and lay back, perspiration beading upon his
brow.  After he heard the door close, he _said, "Calls brought me
this."

He held out a ring to Nicholas, which the Prince took and examined.  It
was made of silver-black metal, and it sparkled coldly.  There was
something repellent about its design, two serpents intertwined, each
holding the other's tail in its mouth.  He started to hand it back to
Martin, who said, "No, you keep it."

Nicholas put it in a small pouch he wore at his belt.  Martin asked,
"How much has your father told you of Sethanon?"

Nicholas was surprised at the question.  "Some," he replied.  "He
doesn't speak of it often, and when he does, he tends to be modest
about his part.  Amos has told me a great deal, though."

Martin smiled weakly.  "No doubt.  But there are many

things concerning that battle Amos doesn't know."  He motioned for the
young man to sit upon the side of the bed.  As he did, Martin said, "I
may be dying."

Nicholas started to object, but Martin said, "We don't have time for
meaningless protestations, Nicholas.  Too much is at stake.  I may be
dying, or I may live; that's as the gods will it though without Briana
.. ."  For the first time, Nicholas saw the pain of Martin's loss. Then
his uncle's face hardened.  "You must know certain things and I have
little breath to tell you."

Nicholas nodded, and Martin rested a moment before he went on, "In
ancient times, our world was ruled by a powerful race."  Nicholas
blinked in surprise.  Martin continued.  "They were known to themselves
as Valheru.  Our legends call them the Dragon Lords..  .."

MARCUS FUMED.  "WHY did he ask to see Nicholas?"

Harry shrugged.  "I know as little as you."  Harry studied the young
man he had been Squire to for the last month.  He still didn't know
Marcus well, but he knew him well enough to know that there was rage
bottled up, barely kept in check.  First the rivalry for the affections
of Abigail, then the death of his mother and abduction of his sister,
then Nicholas's refusal to play at Duke's Squire anymore and asserting
himself as Prince of the Kingdom all had combined to keep Marcus at the
verge of boiling over for a week.

Nicholas appeared at the stairs and motioned for Anthony, Nakor, and
the monk.  They reentered the room as Marcus took the stairs two steps
at a time.  Nicholas said, "He wants to see you."

Marcus passed him without a word and Nicholas continued down the
stairs.  Harry saw the thoughtful expression of his friend and said,
"What is it?"

"I need some air," Nicholas answered.

Harry fell in beside his friend as they left the inn, and, misreading
Nicholas's expression, he asked, "The Duke .. . ?"

Nicholas said, "His leg is broken above the knee and below, and Anthony
says there's some bleeding inside."

"Is he going to .. ."  Harry had almost said "die," but caught himself
and said, "... be all right?"

Nicholas said, "I don't know.  He's older than I thought,

but he's still pretty tough."  Nicholas continued to walk, heading in
the general direction of the ocean.

Harry said, "There's something else, isn't there?"

Nicholas nodded.

"What?"

"I can't tell you."

Harry said, "Nicky, I thought we were friends."

Nicholas stopped and regarded his companion.  "We are, Harry.  But
there are things that only the royal family may know."

There was something about his tone that stopped Harry in his tracks. He
hesitated, then fell in beside Nicholas again.  "It's serious?"

Nicholas nodded.  "I can tell you this much: there are forces out there
working to destroy us and everything I mean everything we love.  And
they may be the hand behind what's happened here."

From out of the dark a voice said.  "Indeed."  Both Harry and Nicholas
turned, and Nicholas had his sword Kalf out of his scabbard before he
recognized Calls.  The son of the Elf Queen stepped out of the shadows
and said, "I think I had much the same talk with my rather that you did
with your uncle, Prince Nicholas."

Nicholas said, "You know of the serpents?"  Calls said, "One of our
scouting parties encountered a band of moredhel near the border with
Stone Mountain and there was a fight.  That serpent ring was found on
the body of a moredhel.  It may be something from the days of the Great
Rising, when the false Murmandamus marched against Setha-non.  If so,
there is nothing to fear."

Nicholas nodded.  "But if it's not .. ."  "Then trouble stirs again."

Nicholas said, "What do Tomas and your mother propose to do?"

Calls shrugged.  "Nothing presently.  Reacting to shadows is not our
way.  But because there may be some risk hidden in the gloom, I will
travel with you."  Nicholas smiled.  "Why you?"

Calls smiled in return.  "I am human as well as of the elvenkind.  My
looks will not betray me as they would anyone else from Elvandar."  He
glanced around at the wreckage of

Crydee.  "I would see what sort of men can do this thing."  He looked
again at Harry and Nicholas.  "And I would learn more of my human
heritage."  He shouldered his bow.  "I think I shall spend this evening
with my grandparents.  I see them rarely as it is, and we may be gone a
long time as they count such things."  Saying no more, he left.

Harry waited a moment before he said, "What's this about a ring?"

Nicholas removed the ring and held it out for Harry's inspection.  In
the twilight it seemed to have a glow of its own.  "That's an
ill-aspected piece of jewelry," commented Harry with a grimace.

"It may be more," said Nicholas.  He put it back in his belt pouch and
said, "Come along.  We have a dozen things to do before we leave."

THE SHIP CLEARED the harbor and Amos called for all sails.  The day had
dawned clear and warm, an auspicious start, Nicholas hoped.  He stood
on top of the forecastle, watching a nimble sailor scamper along the
fore channel adjusting the shrouds on the masthead.  Nicholas looked
down at the foaming water coursing past.  Dolphins jumped off the bow
wake, seeming at

,

"A good omen," said the sailor who clambered down from the rail.  He
landed lightly upon bare feet and hurried to his next task,

Nicholas considered the appearance of the crew and contrasted it to
what he remembered from his journey to Crydee.  Then each sailor had
worn some variation of the uniform of the Kingdom fleet: blue trousers,
blue-and-white-striped shirt, and a blue wool cap.  Now they wore the
most outlandish collection of castoffs and borrowed finery he had seen.
Filthy trousers and tunics had been gladly exchanged by the fisher folk
of the village for the sturdy and warm naval issue.  From out of the
old trunks in the basement of the castle had come silk jackets and
trousers, shirts of fine linen, hats of various fashion, some with
plumes and others with tassels.  From the fashions and cuts, the
clothing had belonged to Lord Borric, Nicholas's grandfather, and King
Lyam and Nicholas's father, when they had.  been boys at Crydee.  A
dozen gowns that must have belonged to Princess Carline or her mother,
Lady Catherine, had also been put to good use, for Amos had made it
clear that outrageous finery was one of the hallmarks of the
Brotherhood of Corsairs, as he called them.  So now common Kingdom
sailors were wearing tunics owned by a young man thirty years ago who
was now King of the Isles, and sewn upon the cuffs and collar were
brocades and laces once adorning the gowns of the present Duchess of
Salador, the King's sister.

Nicholas had to smile.  He had elected to dress in some of his father's
old clothing; the fit and cut betrayed them as Arutha's without doubt.
He wore a pair of black, calf-high riding boots with a high flare of
leather protecting the knee.  Plain black trousers, full enough for
easy movement, were topped with a plain white shirt, with loose collar
and puffed sleeves.  A black leather vest over that provided some
protection against a sword's point.  His only concession to the more
flamboyant choices of the crew was a red sash around his waist.  Over
his right shoulder hung a baldric of tooled black leather, a series of
vines intertwining in the design.  From this hung a saber, not the
weapon Nicholas would have chosen, but one far more common than the
rapier, widely known as the weapon favored by the Prince of Krondor and
his sons.  At his belt hung a long dagger.

Nicholas left his head uncovered.  His long hair had been pulled back
into a taili tied with a red ribbon, and his beard now approached ten
days' growth.

Harry still wore his fanciful riot of colors, but at Amos's insistence
he had let them become dirty and start to fade in the sun.  He
complained of the discomfort, but Amos insisted that while colorful,
buccaneers were usually a filthy lot.

Marcus came up on deck and Harry laughed.  The Duke's son was turned
out in almost identical fashion to Nicholas, save that his belt sash
was blue and he wore his hair loose about his shoulders, with a blue
wool cap upon his head.  At his side he wore a cutlass, the weapon of
choice for boarding a ship during battle, when fighting was in close.
"If you two don't look like brothers " But Harry fell silent as he
received twin glares from the cousins.

Nicholas said, "How was your father?"  Marcus said, "He said very
little to me.  He smiled and wished me well, then fell into a deep
sleep."  Putting his hands on the rail, he gripped it tightly.  "I
stayed at his side all night .. . but he still was asleep when I left
this morning."

Nicholas said, "He's a strong man for his age."

Marcus only nodded.  After a long silence, he turned to face Nicholas.
"Let's be clear on something.  I don't trust you.  I don't care what
you've done since you've come to Crydee; once the situation turns
bloody, I think you'll quit.  You don't have the stomach for what we're
going to have to do soon."

Nicholas felt his color rise with the accusation, but he kept calm.  "I
don't care if you trust me or not, Marcus, as long as you obey me."  He
turned his back and began to walk away.

Marcus shouted after him, "I'll not be named oath breaker, Nicholas,
but if you cause any harm to my sister or Abigail .. ."  He let the
threat go unfinished.

Harry hurried down the companionway to overtake Nicholas.  "This has
got to stop," he said.

Nicholas said, "What?"

"This rivalry with Marcus.  It's going to get someone killed if you're
not careful."

Nicholas moved aside as a pair of sailors pulled a heavy rope past
them, repositioning a yard.  Amos shouted instructions from the
quarterdeck.  Nicholas said, "Until Marcus chooses to stop hating me,
or at least distrusting me, there's nothing I can do."

Harry said, "Look, he's really not such a bad fellow.  I've spent
enough time around him to know.  He's a lot like your rather in some
ways."  Nicholas's eyes narrowed at that remark.  "No, I mean it; your
father's a pretty hard man, but he's fair.  Marcus just lost any reason
to be fair to you, that's all.  Do something to give him the chance to
do what's right, and he'll do it."

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't know, but somewhere you've got to find a way to let him know
that you're not his enemy."  Hiking his thumb over his shoulder toward
the west, he added, "The real enemy's out there."

Thinking on the incredible things his uncle had told him 'the night
before, Nicholas could only nod.  "I think I may have a way, then."

Harry said, "Well, I'm going to go talk to Marcus and try to make him
see reason.  If you think of something to help, do it, because we're
all going to need each other out there before this is through, I'm
certain."

Nicholas grinned.  "When did you get so smart, Harry of Ludland?"

Harry returned the grin.  "When things stopped being fun."

Nicholas nodded.  "I'm going to talk to Amos.  Have Marcus come to his
cabin in a few minutes, will you?"

Harry nodded and ran forward while Nicholas worked his way back to the
quarterdeck.  Reaching Amos's side, he said, "We need to talk."

Amos glanced at Nicholas's face and saw the seriousness of his
expression.  "Privately?"

"In your cabin is best, Amos."

Amos turned to his first mate.  "You have command, Mr.  Rhodes."

"Aye, Captain!"  shouted the mate.

"Keep her on course.  I'll be in my cabin."

They made their way to the captain's cabin.  In the companionway, they
glanced through an open door to the cabin Marcus shared with Nakor,
Calls, Ghuda, and Anthony.  Those four ky on their bunks, content to
rest after the long night's preparation and in anticipation of more
hectic days to come.  Nicholas waved to them as he and Amos passed
by.

Amos opened the door to his own cabin and, once inside, said, "What is
it, Nicky?"

"We need to wait for Marcus."

A few minutes later a knock sounded and Nicholas opened the door. "What
is it?"  asked Marcus as he stepped into the room.

Nicholas said, "Sit down."

Marcus glanced at Amos, and the captain nodded.

Nicholas said, "I know about Sethanon."  He looked at Amos.

Amos said, "I've told you about it, Nicky.  What do you mean?"

"I mean Uncle Martin told me everything,"

Amos nodded.  "There are things about that battle that your father and
uncles know that even those of us who were there are ignorant of.  I've
kept from asking questions.  If they judge it important enough not to
speak of .. ."  He let the thought go unfinished.

Nicholas spoke to Marcus.  "What has your father told you?"

Marcus looked at Nicholas with a sour expression.  "I know of the Great
Rising of the moredhel.  I know of the battle, the aid from Kesh and
from the Tsurani."

Nicholas took a deep breath.  "There is a secret, known only to the
King and his brothers.  My brother Borric knows, because he will be
King next.  My brother Erland knows, because he will be Prince of
Krondor after my father.  Now I know."

Marcus's eyes narrowed.  "What secret would my father tell you that he
would hold back from me?"

Nicholas withdrew the ring from his belt pouch and handed it to Marcus,
who examined it and passed it along to Amos.  Amos said, "Those damned
snakes."

Marcus said, "What is it?"

Nicholas said, "I'm swearing you both to secrecy.  What I say now to
you both must stay in this cabin.  Do you agree?"

Marcus nodded, as did Amos.  Nicholas said, "What few people know is
that the Great Rising, when the false moredhel prophet Murmandamus
invaded the Kingdom, was the handiwork of others."

"Others?"  asked Marcus.

"The Pantathian serpent priests," said Amos.

Marcus looked confused.  "I've never heard of them."

"Few have," said Nicholas.  "Murmandamus was a false prophet in more
ways than one.  Not only wasn't he the long-* dead leader returned to
lead his people against us, he wasn't even a true dark elf.  He was a
serpent priest who had somehow been magically transformed to resemble
the legendary leader.  The moredhel were duped and never knew of the
deception."

Marcus said, "I see.  But why is this so secret?  I should think it
would help us along our northern borders if the moredhel knew they were
led by an impostor."

Nicholas said, "Because there is much more at risk.  Within the city of
Sethanon is an artifact.  It is a great stone fashioned by an ancient
race known as the Valheru."

Marcus's eyes widened at this, and Amos nodded as if he saw pieces in a
puzzle falling into place.  Marcus said, "The Dragon Lords?"

Marcus glanced at Amos, who sat in open amazement.  Nicholas continued,
"The Pantathians are some sort of race of lizard men, so your father
says, Marcus.  They worship one of the ancient Valheru as a goddess,
and they wish to seize the Lifestone to use its vast power to bring her
back to this world."  Amos said, "But Sethanon was abandoned.  Rumor
has it a curse was laid upon the city.  None dwell there.  Is this
precious thing left unguarded for a reason?"

"Martin said there was a guardian, a great dragon who is also an
oracle.  He wouldn't say more save to tell me to go there someday.
After we return from this journey, I will ask my rather for leave to
visit the oracle."

Marcus said, "Why didn't my father tell me this himself?"  Nicholas
said, "Your father was sworn to an oath by Lyam.  Only the King, my
father, your rather, and Pug knew of the existence of this stone and
the guardian."

"Macros knew," said Amos.  "I'm certain."  "Macros the Black vanished
after the battle," answered Call& as he opened the door.

Amos roared, "Do you not knock!"

The Elf Prince shrugged.  "My hearing is sharper than others, and these
cabin walls are not as thick as you would like."  He leaned against the
door.  "And my father also knows of the dragon who guards the stone, as
she was once a friend to him, and he has told me of the battle at
Sethanon.  But why do you break your oath, Nicholas?"

Nicholas said, "Because Marcus is my blood and of the if^ral family,
even if his father has renounced all claim to the viaiDne for his line.
And Amos is to wed my grandmother, so he will be family as well.  But
more important, because I trust them and because should anything happen
to me, others must understand the stakes here.  More seems to be at
risk than the lives of those taken, no matter how much we love them.
There may be a time when it seems prudent to quit the chase, and if I
am not here, I want you to know why you can never give up."  Nicholas
paused as if weighing his words.  To Marcus he said, "Your father is
not the type of man who is given to overstating anything, but I can
scarcely believe what he said last.  This thing, the Lifestone, is
somehow linked with every living creature upon Midkemia.  Should the
Pantathians seize it, they will attempt to free their mistress, she
whom they count a goddess, but in so doing they will be destroying
every living creature on this world.  Everything, he said to me, from
the mightiest dragons down to the smallest insect.  Our entire world
will be reduced to an otherwise lifeless place, with only the returned
spirits of the Dragon Lords walking the land."

Marcus's eyes widened, and he glanced at Calls.  The half-elf said, "So
my father also has warned me.  He, too, is not given to overstating
things.  It must be so."

Marcus's voice was almost a whisper.  "Why would these Pantathians do
such an evil thing?  They will die as well?"

Nicholas said, "They are a death cult.  They worship a Valheru who gave
them shape and intelligence, for, before, they were merely serpents."
He shook his head in disbelief at what he heard himself saying.  "I
wish I had known of this before Pug left.  There are questions I would
ask.  In any event, they think she will rise to rule all and they will
rise at her side, as demigods, and all who went before, all who died,
will rise as well, as their servants.

"Even if they know the truth, death holds no fear for them.  They would
welcome the destruction of the world to recall their 'goddess."  Now
you can see why we must continue on, even if some of us perish .in the
cause?"

The last was said to Marcus, who nodded.  "I understand."

Calls said, "Then you wisely know when blind obedience is foolish."  He
smiled.

"Do you see that there can be no contention between us?"

Marcus stood and said, "Yes."  He extended his hand.  They shook, and
suddenly Nicholas was looking at the same crooked smile his father
showed, as he added, "But when this is over, and Abigail is safely home
in Crydee, look to guard yourself, Prince of the Kingdom."

The challenge was half in jest, half-serious, and Nicholas took it in
the spirit it was made.  "When she's safely home, with your sister and
the others."

They shook again, and Nicholas and Marcus left the cabin.  Calls
glanced at Amos, who was smiling faintly.  "What do you find so
amusing, Captain?"

Amos sighed.  "Just watching a couple of boys becoming men, my friend.
The fate of the world perhaps hangs upon what we do, yet they still
find time to contest over a pretty girl."  Then his expression turned
dark as he roared, "And if you ever dare enter my cabin again without
leave, I'll have your ears nailed to my door as a trophy!
Understand?"

Calls smiled and said, "Understood, Captain."  Alone in his cabin, Amos
Trask thought back to the dark days of the Riftwar and the Great Rising
that followed hard after it.  Many people he had known died, aboard his
ship Sidonie, during the siege of Crydee, then later when the Royal
Swallow was burned by goblins and he and Guy du Bas-Tyra were captured.
Then came the years at Armengar and the constant warfare between
Briana's people and the dark elves in the northlands, ending at the
battle of Sethanon.

Sighing at the memories, Amos Trask addressed a small prayer to Ruthia,
the Goddess of Luck, followed by the injunction, "Don't let it happen
again, you fickle witch."  Thinking of Briana made him sad, and he
hoped Martin would pull through.

Then, impatient at memories and morbid thoughts, he pushed himself out
of his chair and left the cabin.  He had a ship to captain.

The girl weft.  Margaret said, "Will you please shut up?"  Her tone
wasn't threatening or commanding; just a request for respite from the
almost constant wailing and crying of one or another of the town girls
and boys.

Duke Martin's daughter had fought the entire way as she had been
carried like a trophy animal to the boat waiting in the harbor.  The
image of her mother lying facedown on the floor of her family's castle
with flames brightening the far hallway was etched into her memory and
had fueled her with manic fury.

The days that followed were no less a nightmare for being a blur.  The
captives had ranged in age from seven or eight years of age to a few in
their late twenties.  Most were between twelve and twenty-two, young,
strong and certain to fetch a good price at the slave docks of
Durbin.

Margaret had no doubt that these murderers would find a royal fleet
waiting to intercept them somewhere between the

Straits of Darkness and Durbin.  Her father was sure to get ; word to
her uncle, Prince Arutha, and she would be saved along with all the
other captives.  So she turned her mind to

\f protecting those around her until help arrived.

&",}The first night had been the worst.  They had all been packed
together in the holds of two large ships, lying just over the horizon
from Crydee.  A few of the smaller boats were sailed away, but the
majority were sunk out in deep water, their crews crowding the decks of
the larger ships for the trip to their destination.  Margaret had been
around enough ships to guess they couldn't be traveling tar, for there
wouldn't be anywhere near enough provisions for both crews and
captives.

Abigail alternated between fitful dozing as her mind retreated from the
horrors witnessed and fearful speculation about their eventual rate.
Occasionally she would show a spark of alertness, but all too quickly
the oppression of their surroundings came crushing in upon her,
reducing her to tears and, finally, silence.

After the first day, some semblance of order had been established, as
the prisoners made the most of their cramped quarters.  There was no
privacy, and everyone was forced to crawl to a corner of the hold to
add to the growing pile of human waste accumulating in the bilge below.
The stench had become a mutt thing in the background of Margaret's
awareness, unpleasant but only that, as had the constant background
noise of the wood hull groaning, people crying or cursing, and soft
conversation.  What caused her concern was the prisoners who had
developed stomach illness or chills and fever.  They were not doing
well in the confines of the hold, and she attempted to make their lot
more comfortable.  She ordered those in the hold to move around so that
the ill might have some shred of comfort.  Between her rank and her
natural confidence, she was obeyed without question.

One of the older girls from the town muttered, "They're the lucky ones.
They're going to die soon.  The rest of us are doomed to be drudges or
whores for what's left of our lives.  We might as well get used to the
idea: no help's coming."

Margaret turned and struck the woman hard across the face.  With
narrowed eyes she stood over the now cowering woman.  "If I ever hear
that drivel from anyone again, I'll tear her tongue from her head."

Another voice, a man's, said, "Lady, I know you mean well,

but we saw the raid!  All our soldiers are dead.  Where could help be
coming from?"

"My father," she said with certainty.  "He'll return from his hunting
trip and send word at once to Krondor, and my uncle the Prince will
have the entire Krondorian war fleet waiting for us before we reach
Durbin."  Then her tone turned softer and she pleaded, "We need to
endure.  Nothing more.  Just survive and, if we can, help each another
to survive."

The woman who had voiced her doubts said, "Sorry, milady."

Margaret said nothing but patted the woman's arm in a conciliatory
fashion.  Sitting back down in the cramped space allotted her, Margaret
saw Abigail staring at her.

"Do you really think they'll find us?"  Abigail whispered, a faint
flickering of hope starting to show in her eyes.

Margaret only nodded, but silently she said to herself, "I hope so."

A SCRAPING SOUND caused Margaret to come awake.  During the day, light
entered through the latticework hatch cover, the only source of air in
the otherwise fetid hold.  At night, faint moonlight cast a pale glow
across part of the hold, while the rest remained in inky darkness.
Margaret heard the scrape again and saw a sliver of moonlight above.
She saw a rope drop and a figure shinny down it.  One of the raiders
landed between two sleeping prisoners, a dagger between his teeth.

He went to a young girl nearby and clamped his hand over her mouth. Her
eyes widened in shock and she attempted to move away, but was held in
place by the bodies on either side of her and the man's weight on her. 
He whispered, "I've a knife, dearie.  One sound and you're dead, got
it?"  The terrified girl stared at him with wide eyes, luminous m the
faint light.  He put the point of the dagger to her stomach and said,
"Either I stick you with this or with something more friendly. All the
same to me."

The girl, barely more than a child, could not react for her terror.
Margaret stood, keeping her balance as the ship rose and fell through
the swells.  Margaret whispered, "Leave her alone.  She doesn't
understand what men like."

The man turned, poinring the dagger in Margaret's direction.  All the
captives wore the same garment: a simple piece of cloth with a hole to
stick the head through, tied around the waist.  Margaret untied the
thong around her waist and pulled off the garment, leaving herself
nude.  The man hesitated, obviously able to see her movement in the
faint light.  Smiling at the would-be rapist, she stepped forward into
the moonlight, so he could better see her, and said, "She's a child.
She'll just lie there.  Come to me and I'll show you how to ride the
pretty pony."

Not a beautiful girl, Margaret was still attractive, and years of
riding, hunting, and an unusually rigorous life had left her with a
firm, fit body, which she displayed to good effect as she stood erect
and proud.  In the feint light, she looked dearly inviting, with her
shoulders thrown back and a welcoming smile.

The man grinned, revealing teeth blackened with decay as he released
the girl he had been threatening.  "Good," he said.  "They'd kill me
for messing with a virgin, but it's clear you've been down this path
afore, darling'."  He came to her, holding the knife outward, and said,
"Now, be quiet and old Ned'll give you as good as he gets, and we'll
both have some fun.  Then I'll climb up and my friend can come down
here and do you."

Margaret smiled and reached out to touch his cheek tenderly.  Then she
suddenly gripped the wrist of his knife hand, and with her other she
reached down and grabbed him hard between the legs.  Ned howled in
pain.  While bigger than the girl, he was not much stronger and
couldn't free himself from her painful grasp.

The prisoners began shouting.  Quickly a pair of guards and a slaver
came down the rope from above.  The guards pulled away the would-be
rapist.  The slaver took one look at the nude girl and at Ned, and
said, "Take him up on deck.  And seize the one who let him open the
hatch cover.  Bind them, cut them deep on the arms and legs so they
bleed, then throw them to the sharks.  I will have it known that no one
may disobey our orders and go unpunished."

Another rope was lowered and the two guards were hoisted up by those on
deck, each of them holding firmly to the sobbing Ned.

The slaver turned to Margaret and asked, "Did he harm your

"No."

"Did he take you?"

"No," she answered.

"Then cover yourself."  The slaver turned as one of the ropes was
lowered again.  Shortly the captives were alone once more.  Margaret
found her eyes fixed on the faint sliver of moonlight as the slaver
crawled through it.  The lattice hatch scraped loudly, then slammed
home with a note of finality that underscored their helplessness.

THE SHIP DROPPED anchor a week after the raid and voices from above
shouted for the captives to get ready to leave.  The hatch was moved
aside and a rope ladder was lowered.  The week of cramped quarters and
scant food and water had taken its toll; as Margaret assisted the
wobbly-legged prisoners up the ladder, she began to notice those who
had died during the night.  Each morning a pair of slavers had come
down into the hold and carried those who had died to a point beneath
the hatch where a rope with a loop in it hung.  They fixed the rope
under the arms of the dead, and they were hauled upward.  One of the
men had mentioned that there were always sharks following the ship, and
now she understood why.

Margaret was kneeling beside two townspeople, a man and a woman, who
were too weak to climb the rope.  A rough hand fell on her shoulder and
a voice said, "Are you ill?"

With no attempt to hide her contempt for these men she said, "No,
swine, but these are."

The slaver who held her shoulder propelled her toward the ladder.  "Up
on deck.  We'll care for these."

As she climbed the ladder, she saw a second slaver kneel beside the
woman and, with a swift move, wrap a cord around her throat.  He
twisted once, crushing the woman's windpipe.  She twitched and
convulsed, then died.

Margaret looked upward, refusing to watch the man die.  The blue sky
above was blinding after the week in the darkness, so her tears were
not remarkable to those already on deck.

Abby kept close to Margaret as they were moved slowly coward the rail.
A dozen longboats, with masts folded down the middle, waited with four
rowers each.  The prisoners crawled down nets hung over the side, and
when twenty were in each boat, they were rowed to shore.

Margaret climbed down the ladder, her arms and legs shaking with the
effort.  As she reached the boat, a hand ran up her leg as a sailor
assisted her into the boat.  She kicked out and the njarj Aicked easily
away with a rude laugh.  She glanced over to see Abigail shrinking away
from another who fondled her breast through her robe.  From the deck a
warning shout came: "Leave those girls alone, Striker."

With a laugh, the man waved back.  "We won't damage the merchandise,
Captain.  Just having some harmless fun."

Under his breath, the man muttered, "Damn Peter Dread's eyes, but this
is the last I'll sail with him.  Ripe beauties to gladden the heart of
a Durbin whoremonger, and not so much as a tweak on the rump or it's
over the side to the sharks."

Another man said, "Shut yer gob; it's more gold than you'll see in your
life.  You'll have enough to spend on whores until you can't walk and
then some.  It's worth it to behave."

They were rowed to the beach and saw that those before them had been
herded toward a rude building on an otherwise deserted island. Margaret
and Abigail were among the last inside, and as the large doors closed
behind them, they surveyed their new habitation.  There was nothing
inside besides miserable dejected people: only a dirt floor to sit on,
and what light there was entered through the cracks between the log
walls.  One quick survey and Margaret saw that many of those inside
were sick.  Knowing full well the late of the injured or ill, she said,
"Listen!"

Her voice cut through the low murmuring and sobs, and those nearby
looked her way.  "I am Margaret, daughter of the Duke."  Glancing
around again, she said, "Some of you are ill.  Those who are not must
help them.  Carry them to that wall there."  She pointed to the wall
farthest from the door.  A few started to move hesitantly.  "Do it!"

Those who were barely able to walk were helped to the far wall, then
Margaret moved to the wall.  She moved along it, and Abigail said,
"What are you doing?"  "Looking to see if the land slopes."  "Why?"

"We need a privy trench, so we don't end up sleeping in filth  It will
keep more of us alive."  She reached the far wall and began moving
along it.  Then she said, "Here," pointing at a depression under the
bottom log, where light could be seen.  "Dig here."

"Milady," said a man sitting next to the base of the wall, "we have no
tools with which to dig."

Falling to her knees, Margaret dug into the loose, sandy soil with her
bare hands.  Watching her a moment, the man turned and started scooping
out handfuls of dirt.  Soon a dozen more had joined in.

Seeing the work under way, Margaret returned to the door and started
shouting, "Guard!"

From the other side a rough male voice answered, "What?"

"We need water."

"You'll get it when the captains order it."

"Valuable property is dying.  Tell your captains that."

"I'm tellin' them nothing," came the answer.

"Then I'm telling the first officer who enters that you tried to rape
one of the girls."

"Ha!"

"And a dozen others will bear witness."

There was a long silence, then the large latch was opened and the door
parted a crack.  A waterskm was handed through, and the guard said,
"You'll get more when they bring it.  This'll have to do until then."

Without thanks, Margaret took the waters king and headed over to the
sick prisoners.

FOR THE NEXT ten days they endured the confinement, packed close
together, with no care for their comfort provided.  Other prisoners
joined them, and from their accounts, Margaret learned that Carsc and
Tulan had also been raided.  By all reports, Tulan's garrison on the
island in the mouth of the river had successfully resisted, but Castle
Carse had endured much the same fate as Crydee, though the town had
fared better.  Abigail fell into a deep depression when no one from
Carse could tell her if her father lived.  Margaret felt returning pain
at the memory of her mother's death, but put it aside as she
concentrated on caring for others.  All the prisoners were now Blthy
and wretched.  At least a dozen had died and been carried away.  The
slit trench helped keep illness from spreading, though the stench and
flies were difficult to endure.  Margaret tore strips from the hem of
her simple gown to bind wounds that wouldn't heal, leaving the garment
a ragged mess at her knees.

On the eleventh day, everything changed.

The six Durbin slavers entered, accompanied by a dozen guards, men in
black whose faces were hidden, and who carried an impressive array of
arms.  The slavers moved to the center of the large building, ready to
begin the daily examination of the slaves.

Suddenly the twelve black-clad men took their bows and shot the
slavers.  Many of the captives screamed and pushed themselves against
the wall, fearful that the murder would continue, while others sat in
wide-eyed horror.

Another company of men entered the building, and one shouted,
"Prisoners outside!"

Those nearest the door hurried outside, and Margaret helped some of
those who were ill but could still walk.  Blinking against the bright
light, she took in the scene before her.  There stood a band of men
unlike any Margaret had seen in her life.  They wore turbans similar to
those worn by the Jal-Pur desert men, but much larger.  The turbans
were white and all had gems of astonishing size and color set above
their foreheads.  Silk robes showed these were men of rank and
prosperity.  They spoke Keshian, but with an accent unlike anything
Margaret had heard, and frequently used words she had never read when
studying the language.  Behind them were armed men, but instead of the
ragged pirates who had guarded the prisoners on the first leg of the
journey, these were soldiers, dressed alike to a man: black tunic and
trousers and a red cloth tied around their heads bandanna-style.  Each
carried a curved sword and a round shield, black, with a golden serpent
painted upon it.

They inspected the prisoners, dividing them into those who were fit and
those who were not.  A dozen were too sick to travel, and after the
entire company of captives was examined, they were led back into the
building.  Soon screaming from inside, quickly cut off, showed their
fate.

The remaining prisoners were led to the water and told to strip and
bathe.  The seawater provided scant comfort, but Margaret was glad to
wash away the filth.  As she was washing, she saw the ship.

Abigail squatted in the shallow water, trying to ignore the remarks of
the nearby guards.  Even dirty, her hair matted with filth, she was
clearly a beauty.  Margaret spoke low.  "Have you seen a ship like that
before?"

Coming out of her dark introspection, Abigail let her eyes focus on the
ship.  At last she said, "No.  Never."

Twice the size of any Kingdom ship, it rode easily on the ground swells
off the shore.  It was a black ship, with high foredeck and afterdeck,
and four high masts.  "It looks like a Quegan galley, but there are no
rowing banks.  It's gigantic."

Dozens of boats were rowing toward the beach, and Margaret realized
that all the remaining prisoners were to be taken to that ship.  A
dozen longboats on the beach were already beginning to load the first
prisoners coming out of the sea.

It took almost an entire day, but at sundown the black ship hoisted
anchor and the journey began.

Deep within the hold of the ship, Margaret and the other women were
moved to the port side of the ship, on the lowest of three decks.
Individual pallets were provided for each prisoner, with room for them
to move around.  They were placed one at the head of each pallet and
told to remove their robes.  Glad to be rid of the filthy rag, Margaret
quickly obeyed.  Abigail hesitated, and when she let her robe fall to
the deck, she quickly tried to cover herself.

"Abby," said Margaret in a scolding tone, "if you fear for your
modesty, that gives these animals another weapon to use against you."

Abigail's eyes were wide with fright as she said, "I'm not Strong like
you, Margaret.  I'm sorry."

"You're stronger than you think.  Keep your chin up!"

Abigail nearly jumped when a man with a writing tablet came up to her.
"Your name," he asked.

"Abigail," she answered softly.

"Who are your people?"  said the man, his voice oddly pitched and his
accent tantalizingly familiar to Margaret.

"I'm the daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse."  The man looked at her,
then said, "Go stand over there."

Awkwardly, the nude girl moved with her arms clutched around her to a
place at the far end of the hold.  The man repeated the question to
Margaret, and, not seeing any clear benefit of lying, she told them her
true name.  Like Abigail, she was sent to the far end of the hold.  She
watched as the interview continued.  Each captive was inspected,
closely, by a pair of men who made marks on their tablets as they
examined each.  They poked and prodded like physicians, and the
prisoners were forced to endure the inspection in silence.  When the
men were done, they handed each captive a fresh robe.  Crew-fla en
followed and began locking chains around the prisoners'

ankles, binding them to the foot of their pallets, and long enough so
they could move around a little, but in no way escape the hold.

Then they came to Margaret and Abigail and said, "You come.

The girls climbed a ladder to the next deck and walked along a narrow
companionway.  Even Margaret tried to cover her nudity as they passed
more than a dozen leering men.  Entering a large cabin, the man who
guided them said, "Find something that fits."  An array of fine
clothing lay around the room.  The girls quickly found clothing that
fit and dressed, glad to be covered again.  Simple gowns, they were
nevertheless a vast improvement over the smocks the girls had been
forced to wear since being captured.

Then the man led them to a large cabin at the stern of the ship.  There
two men waited.  They stood respectfully when^ the girls entered and
motioned for the girls to sit on a divan.  "Ladies," said one in that
strange accent, "we are pleased to find those of your rank among your
company.  May we offer you some wine?"

Margaret stared at the small table covered with fruits and cheese,
bread and meats, with a chilled pewter flagon of wine.  Despite her
hunger, she said, "What do you want?"

With a smile that held no friendliness, the man said, "Information,
milady.  And you will give it to us."

THE LOOKOUT SHOUTED, "Land ho!"

Amos looked up, shielding his eyes against the setting sun.  "Where
away?"  he called.

"Two points off the port bow!"  came the reply.

Amos hurried down the companionway to the main deck and crossed to the
forecastle.  He climbed the companionway to come to the bow, where
Nicholas and the others watched.  They had slowly been gathering there
since noon, as Amos had said he expected to see the first of the Sunset
Islands before too long.

"It's been more than thirty years," mused Amos.  "No wonder I was
off."

Nicholas smiled.  "Two points is off?"

Amos waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.  "It should lie

THE KING 's BUCCANSS K

dead ahead.  Now I have to swing wide to the south, to compensate."

"Is this a problem?"

"No, but it offends my sense of elegance."  He called up to the
lookout, "Do you see a single peak?"

"Aye, Captain," came the reply.  "A twisted mountain with a peak like a
broken blade."

"Good," said Amos.  Calling back to the helm, he shouted, "Five points
to port, Mr.  Rhodes!"

"Aye, Captain," came the reply.

Harry said, "Captain, exactly who lives here?"

Amos sighed, as memories came flooding back to him.  "Originally, there
was a pitiful Keshian garrison, a bunch of dog soldiers with Imperial
officers and a couple of small ships.  When Kesh pulled out of the
province of Bosania Crydee and the Free Cities of Yabon they evidently
forgot about the little garrison.

"Years went by, and no one knows if the soldiers revolted and killed
their officers or if the officers led them, but about the time
Nicholas's great-grandfather was attempting to conquer Bosania, this
happy little band of cutthroats started raiding.  They usually hit
trading ships out of Keshian Elarial and the Far Coast, heading to or
from Queg, the Kingdom, and Kesh."

Marcus said, "They've raided Tulan from time to time."

Harry said, "Why hasn't the King or the Emperor of Kesh gotten rid of
them?"

"Ha!"  laughed Amos.  "Do you think they've not tried?"  He rubbed his
chin.  "Look ax.  that island ahead."  He pointed to the peak.  "Past
rJiat are another dozen large islands and a hundred tiny ones.  This
area is part of a long series of islands that stretches to the far
west, ending in a great archipelago."  Harry looked blank.  "A vast
chain of islands, more than a thousand of them, a month's sailing from
here.  Some are huge, perhaps a hundred miles across.  No one knows who
lives on most of them.  Others, like Skashakan, are too well-known.
That's where our friend Render was shipwrecked.

"There are perhaps five hundred islands spread out between here and the
archipelago, some no more than sandbars, and only one harbor deep
enough for a ship like this: Freeport.

"If a single Kingdom warship sails into view, it finds a very hot
reception at Freeport.  Remember those pinnaces they used to raid
Crydee?  They draw no more than five feet of water; so if we bring a
fleet, by the time we pull into Freeport, everyone's packed up and
left.  We can burn the town to the ground both Kesh and the Kingdom
have done so at different times and they build it all right back up
after we leave.

"No, the Freeport pirates are like cockroaches: you can kill them by
the score, but you can't get rid of them."

Turning away, he shouted to the first mate, "Assemble the crew, Mr.
Rhodes!"

As Amos made his way to the quarterdeck, the first mate shouted, "All
hands on deck!"

The order was passed, and quickly the crew gathered on the main deck,
Nicholas and his companions listening from the foredeck.  Amos surveyed
the crew.  "Men, you're all known to me, save for you soldiers from
Crydee who agreed to come along, and you were handpicked by the Duke. I
trust you all.  If I had doubts, you would not be here.

"From this moment, you are men of the Kingdom no longer.  You are
pirates, fresh in from Margrave's Port.  If you've never been there,
ask those who have; it's a small enough town and not much to see.  If
you can't remember the description, keep your mouth shut when we reach
Freeport."

He glanced from face to face.  "Soon you're going to be facing men
who've killed your fellow sailors and soldiers, your friends and
families.  You will want to strangle the bastards, but you can't.
Freeport is governed by laws as strict as those in Krondor, but it's a
for rougher justice.  The Sheriff of Freeport is the law in the town,
and the only appeal from his rule is to the Council of Captains, and
that's rare.  Disputes are settled by the blade, and brawling is not
permitted.  So if you meet the bastard who killed your brother, smile
at him and know that sooner or later his day will come.

"We are not here for revenge.  We are here to find Duke Martin's
daughter, and the other boys and girls who were stolen from Crydee.
We're here to find your children, or the children of your friends.

"If any man here thinks he cannot keep his temper, then do not go
ashore.  For I swear I will hang the man who starts a brawl, and if we
fail in rescuing the children, he'll burn in hell, too."

His warning was unnecessary, for these men were determined to rescue
every prisoner or die in the attempt.  Amos smiled.  "Good.  Now, the
first bastard among you who calls me Admiral will be whipped
fore-to-aft, clear?"

With laughter among the men, one called out, "Aye, Captain!"

With a broad grin Amos said, "I'm Captain Trenchard!  The Dagger of the
Sea!  I've sailed the Straits of Darkness on Midwinter's Day!  My
ship's the Raptor and I've taken her into the Seven Lower Hells, drunk
ale with Kahooli, and sailed home again!"  The men laughed and cheered
at the boast.  "My mother was a sea dragon, my father was lightning,
and I dance a sailor's jig on my victim's skulls!  I fought with the
war god, and kissed death herself.  Men tremble at my shadow and women
swoon at my name, and no one lives who can call me Harl  I'm Trenchard,
the Dagger of the Sea!"

The men laughed and cheered and applauded.  Amos said, "Now, break out
the Black Ensign, and every man to his place.  We're being watched this
very minute."  He pointed to the distant peak.

"Day watch below!"  shouted Rhodes.  "Night watch aloft!"

One of the men went below and returned with a large black banner that
had been sewn to Amos's specifications in Crydee.  They ran it up the
stern mast, where it flapped in the breeze.

Nicholas looked at the flag, a skull of white on a black field, and
behind the skull a long dagger pointing downward at an angle, with a
ruby drop suspended from the tip.  Nicholas looked at Harry, Calls, and
Marcus and found them staring at the standard.  Nakor grinned, while
both Anthony and Ghuda remained impassive.

Harry said, "What's odd is that ... he wasn't acting, was he?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "I think Amos would say he had a rough
childhood."

Ghuda said, "I thought I knew him back at the palace."

Nicholas said, "Yes?"

Ghuda said, "I was in LiMe th once when he raided.  Saw him from the
other side of the barricade."  Ghuda shook his head.  "Old memories."
He glanced over his shoulder at the approaching island, which the ship
would pass to the left.  "I saw a glint up there a while back."  He
indicated the peak.

"Lookout," said Marcus.  "No doubt," said Ghuda.

"I wonder what sort of reception we'll get in Freeport?"  "We'll soon
know," answered Nakor with his usual sunny demeanor.

THEY REACHED THE harbor mouth as the sun began to set.  Amos had reefed
all sails save the topgallants, and the Raptor moved majestically into
Freeport.  The harbor was a wide oval of coral-bound beaches, with a
steeply rising mountain close behind, which towered like a giant
black-stone hand, cupping the harbor against a sky turned orange and
purple, with black, grey, and silver clouds, as it hid the setting sun.
Ringing the harbor were buildings, rudely built, with thatch roofs.
Lanterns and torches burned at every quarter, as Freeport began its
night activities.

Ghuda said, "I've heard of places like thts'island."  Nicholas said,
"What do you mean?"  Ghuda said, "See how that peak rises in an almost
perfect circle around the harbor?"  Nicholas said, "Yes?"  "This used
to be the heart of a volcano," Nakor nodded.  "Very big vokano."  He
seemed delighted by that feet.  "Almost a half-mile across inside!"

Lights began to spring up on the mountainside, and Nicholas watched
with fascination as It became a glittering panorama.  A warm breeze
greeted them as the ship moved slowly into the center of the harbor.
Seven other ships of varying size, from two almost the equal of the
Raptor to two very small trading ships, swayed at anchor on the gentle
swell of the harbor.  Reaching the best position he could, Amos ordered
the last sails reefed and called for the anchor to be dropped.  A
gentle breeze blew across the harbor, carrying the faint scent of
spices and perfume to tantalize the senses.  Distant voices echoed from
farther inland, but the harbor was almost silent.

Marcus said, "For so many lights, it's very quiet."  Ghuda said, "I
think they're waiting to see if we're under false colors."

When the ship was anchored, Amos called for a longboat to be lowered,
and the crew hustled to obey.  He barked insults and threats, and
Nicholas was surprised at the harshness of his remarks until he
realized that Amos was putting on a performance for the benefit of
anyone onshore who was listening.

Ghuda said, "A word to you both."  Marcus and Nicholas both turned and
the mercenary said, "I've traveled a fair bit and seen many places like
this; we're strangers and will not be trusted.  There will be no
benefit of the doubt.  You'd better agree on names for yourselves, for
there is no dispute you're related."

Nicholas and Marcus exchanged looks, and finally Nicholas said, "I hold
title to the estates near the village of Esterbrook.  I've visited
several times."

Ghuda nodded.  "Marc and Nick of Esterbrook it is.  Who was your
father?"  he demanded suddenly.

With a wry smile, Marcus said, "Mother didn't know."

Ghuda laughed and slapped him playfully on the back.  "You'll do,
Marc."

"Who was your mother?"  he asked Nicholas.

"Meg of Esterbrook," said Nicholas.  "She's a serving woman at the only
inn there, run by a man named Will, and she's still a handsome woman
who can't say no to a man."

Ghuda laughed again.  "Well said."

Making their way to the main deck, they joined Amos, who was putting on
a first-rate display of his knowledge of invectives and insults.  A
couple of soldiers were playing along, swearing colorfully for the
benefit of any onlookers on the docks.

As they sat in the longboat, Amos said, "You boys have your stories
set?"

Nicholas said, "Marc is my elder brother.  We come from Esterbrook.  We
don't know our fathers."

Marcus said, "Nick is a little slow, but we put up with him for
Mother's sake."

Nicholas gave his ersatz brother a frown and said, "This is only our
second voyage.  We signed on with you in .. He hesitated, then added,
"Margrave's Port."

Pointing at Ghuda and Nakor, Amos said, "You two are who you are." Then
he rubbed his chin.  Looking at Anthony, who appeared very
uncomfortable in trousers and tunic, with a large floppy hat on his
head, Amos mused, "What are we to claim you are?"

"Your healer?"  suggested Anthony.

Amos nodded.  "Are there things you need?"

Anthony was grim as he said, "There are any number of herbs, roots, and
other goods that I can use to heal wounds.  I can do a convincing job
of shopping in the town."

"Good," said Amos.  To Calls he said, "Playing a hunter from Yabon
should offer little difficulty."

The el fling nodded.  "I speak the Yabon tongue should there be a
need."

Amos grinned.  "Now, should anyone ask, all you know is that I'm
Trenchard, and I've recently returned to the Bitter Sea.  I may have
sailed for Kesh or the Kingdom before that, but no one is certain.  You
know better than to ask."

They all nodded and fell silent as two sailors rowed them toward the
dock.  After a few minutes they reached a low landing, where a
half-dozen boats were secured.  No one was in sight as they tied up and
came ashore, walking up the stone steps to the top of the wharf.

Suddenly a voice called out, "Halt!  Identify yourself!"  Peering into
the gloom, Amos bellowed, "Who wants to know?"

A single figure emerged from between two buildings.  He was a
bald-headed man with a sharp beak of a nose, slender but
broad-shouldered.  His race was set in an expression of amusement, and
he spoke in a deep and pleasant voice.  "I wish to know."  He waved
vaguely around him.  "And a few friends, as well."  A dozen armed men
moved to surround the party.  Amos whispered, "Stand easy," as
crossbows were leveled.  The bald man walked purposefully to stand
before Amos and said, "You fly a well-known banner, friend, though it's
one not seen in these waters for over thirty years."

Suddenly Amos exploded in laughter.  "Patrick of Dun-castle!  They
haven't hung you yet?"  Then he slammed his fist into the man's race
and the fellow flew backward through the air to land on the hard stones
of the wharf.  Amos stepped forward and pointed an accusing finger.
"And where are those twenty golden royals you owe me!"

Grinning as he rubbed his jaw, the man said, "Why, hello, Amos.  I
thought you were dead."

Amos pushed past two of Patrick's men, who had their weapons trained on
him, and extended his hand.  Pulling the man to his feet, Amos threw
his arms around him and bellowed loudly as he squeezed him hard.

Putting the man down, he said, "What are you doing in Freeport?  I
heard you were running weapons to renegades in the Trollhome
Mountains?"

Throwing his arm around Amos's shoulders, Patrick said, "Gods, that was
a long time ago, nearly ten years now.  I'm Sheriff of Freeport, these
days."

"Sheriff?  I thought that evil little Rodezian bastard what was his
name?  Francisco Galatos was Sheriff."

"That was thirty years ago.  He's dead, and two -since him.  I've been
Sheriff for five years now."  Lowering his voice, he said, "Where have
you been these years?  Last I heard, you were running weapons from Queg
to the Far Coast."

Amos shook his head.  "Speaking of years past, it's a long story,
better told over a mug of ale or wine."

Patrick stopped.  "Amos, things have changed since you were last
here."

"How?"  asked Amos.

"Come with me."  He motioned for his men to escort Amos's companions
and they all walked from the dock area to a small street that
paralleled the waterfront.  As they moved along the street, local
citizens peered curiously from windows and doorways.  A few colorfully
painted women called out invitations, contingent on their not being
hung first.  These remarks were universally met with appreciative
laughter.

Amos said, "These hovels don't seem to have changed much, Patrick.
They're still the same fly traps they always were."

Patrick said, "Just wait."

They reached the top of a broad boulevard and turned the corner.
Patrick of Duncastle pointed down the street.  "Here we are," he
said.

Amos halted and took in the sight.  For as far as the eye could see,
the street was lined with two- and three-story buildings, painted and
clearly well tended.  From the throng that hurried to and fro along the
way, it was obvious Freeport was a busy community.  In the distance,
they could see the roadway wind up the mountainside.

Amos said, "I don't believe it, Patrick."

Duncastle rubbed his chin absently, on the spot Amos had struck it.
"Believe it, Amos.  We've grown since you were last here.  We're not a
small village with a tavern and a whorehouse but a city."  Turning to
walk down the street, he motioned for the others to follow.  "We're not
quite as law-abiding as those in the Kingdom, but we're no more corrupt
than most of the cities in Kesh, and probably less than Durbin.  I've
got fifty men-at-arms working for me, and we're well paid to keep order
In Freeport."  Gesturing to buildings on either side, he said, "Many of
the merchants here do business in the Kingdom, Queg, and Kesh."

"Without benefit of customs, I expect," said Amos with a barking
laugh.

Patrick smiled.  "Usually.  Others, however, are on the square with the
custom houses in Kesh and Isles they stand to lose too much by having
their cargoes confiscated when they get to their destinations.  And it
doesn't require much to claim that a cargo originated somewhere else we
like to keep Free-port's part in these transactions quiet.  As a
result, we do tremendous business in transshipping."  Pointing to one
of the many buildings still doing business, he said, "You're looking at
the largest independent spice trader north of the city of Kesh
ttsctf."

Amos laughed.  "Independent.  I like that.  As the spice trade in Kesh
is an Imperial monopoly, he can't very well operate kgaQy inside the
Empire."

Patrick smiled and nodded.  "But he has his sources inside the Empire,
and I suspect he has contacts even inside the Imperial Court.  He deals
with traders from lands we've never heard of, Amos.  From the Tsurani
world.  From Brijana on the far side of Kesh.  From places I can't even
pronounce, across seas I dkln't know existed until recently."  He
resumed walking and the others followed.

They passed building after building, still busy despite the hour. "Some
of these men you know, Amos," said Patrick.  "Like us, pirates in their
younger days, now they find that shrewd commerce turns a better profit
at less risk."

Nicholas saw a city little different than others he had visited, save
that the citizenry seemed more raucous and fractious.  A pair of men
were arguing loudly, but a pair of the Sheriffs men silenced their
dispute with a curt instruction to move along.  The son of the Prince
of Krondor could see that by any standard, Freeport was a prosperous
town.

Amos said, "So this is why you've turned into such a suspicious bastard
in your old age, Patrick."

He nodded.  "I have to be.  The days when we could run into the hills
and wait for a raiding fleet from Krondor or Elarial to grow bored and
leave are long over.  We have too much to lose now."

Amos fixed his old friend with a baleful eye.  "So that's why we were
met with a dozen bashers?"

Patrick nodded.  "And if you can't convince the Council of Captains
you're what you say you are, it's also why we'll have to take your
ship."

In a menacing, low tone, Amos said, "Over my dead body."

Suddenly a dozen crossbows were again leveled at Amos and his
companions.  With a regretful expression, Patrick of Duncastle said,
"If need be, Amos.  If need be."

THE CAPTAINS OF the Sunset Islands met in a house at the far end of the
boulevard.  Along the way, Nicholas and the others were treated to a
scene of changing exotica.  A babble of tongues filled the night air,
and a profusion of colorful costumes and fashions tantalized the eye at
every turn.  Gambling halls and brothels stood side by side with
traders and brokers.  And in every doorway, signs in a dozen tongues
proclaimed the services offered.

Vendors pushed wagons or carried trays, heaped with every imaginable
ware from silks and jewelry to baked sweets and candy.  Nicholas
glanced around so often he felt overwhelmed by the sights; Freeport
looked larger and certainly far busier than Crydee.

Amos said, "How has this come to be, and we've never heard of it in the
Kingdom Sea?"

"That counts against you, Amos," answered Patrick.  "The customs of
every nation move along two paths, the square and the dodgy.  And
everyone who practices trading on the sly soon hears of where the best
fence is, where the cargoes that are ill gotten can be unloaded.  You
can't have been sailing under that infamous flag of yours recently and
not heard that Freeport was now the world's clearinghouse for booty.
And even honest traders are hearing of us, because of our lack of
customs and tariff."

Amos fell silent as they continued down the street.  "As I said,
Patrick: it's a long story."  At the far end stood a building with a
large sign that proclaimed itself "Governor's House."  It was a modest
building, with a wide porch and two windows, one on either side.
Shutters were thrown wide and Nicholas could hear loud voices issuing
from within.

Amos and his company were marched up the stairs into the building.
Whatever walls once existed inside had been removed, so that one large
room occupied the entire lower floor.  A stairway along the back wall
led to the second story.  From above, a chandelier of wood with a doxen
candles provided light.

A long table had been placed before the stairs, and seven men sat
there.  Amos removed his large hat, out of respect, and the others with
him followed his example.  But that appeared the full measure of his
deference as he strode up to stand before the center most captain and
bellowed, "Just what in the Seven Lower Hells gives you the right to
greet a brother captain with armed men, William Swallow?"

The grey-haired captain at the center of the table said, "As meek as
ever, I see."

A younger man, with his hair in dark ringlets that hung to his
shoulders, and a finely trimmed mustache, said, "Who is this buffoon,
Swallow?"

"Buffoon!"  shouted Amos, turning to face the young man.  "As I live
and breathe, Morgan!  Heard your rather had drunk himself to death and
you'd taken command of his ship."  Fixing the man with a baleful eye,
he said, "Boy, before you'd left your mother's teat, I was burning
Keshian cutters and sinking Quegan galleys.  I sacked Port Natal and
drove Lord Barry's fleet back to Krondor like a pack of whipped dogs!
I'm Trenchard, the Dagger of the Sea, and I'll kill the first man who
says I'm not!"

Morgan said mildly, "I thought you were dead, Amos."  Amos pulled a
dagger from out of his coat and, before anyone could react, flipped it
and pinned the sleeve of the young captain's coat to the table.  "I'm
better now," he snarled.  Nicholas nudged Marcus, and the older cousin
looked where Nicholas indicated.  At the far end of the table sat a
fair-skinned man covered in blue tattoos.  He wore a golden ring in his
nose, and his blue eyes were dramatic in his pale face.

Patrick of Duncastle said formally, "Captains, this is Amos, Captain
Trenchard, and I know him."

Captain Swallow said, "We heard you were sailing for the Kingdom,
Amos."

Amos shrugged.  "For a while.  Before that I was involved in a caper in
the north.  I've done a lot of things.  Sailed for Kesh and against
them, sailed for the Kingdom and against them, too.  As has every man
in this room."

"I say you be Kingdom spies," said one of the captains at the far end
of the table.

Amos turned and, mocking the man's speech, said, "And I say you still
be an idiot, Peter Dread.  How you ever made captain is a mystery; did
Captain Mercy die, or did you and Render over there 'retire' him?"

The man began to stand and Patrick said, "No brawling!"

The man with the tattoos said, "My men tel!  me you sailed in under the
black banner, but your ship's a Kingdom warship."

Facing him, Amos said, "It was a Kingdom warship, Render, until I stole
it."  Fixing him with a harsh look, he glanced back at Dread, then
returned his gaze to Render.  "The quality of leadership around here
has gone to hell, it seems.  Dread and Render captains?"  He shook his
head.  "What became of your captain John Avery, Render?  Did you eat
him?"

Render gripped the edge of the table and looked as if he would spit,
but he kept silent.  Almost hissing at Amos, he said, "The Bantamina
sank off" Taroom ten years past, Trenchard.  That's when I became a
captain!"

Patrick said, "We can stand around and insult each other all night,
Amos, but it will not aid your cause."

Amos looked around the room.  "I was a captain in the Brotherhood
before any of you, save William Swallow.  Who denies me my right of
free passage?  Freeport has always been an open harbor for any captain
with the sand to sail here.  Or do you now have tax collectors?  Are
you turning civilized, damn you?"

Patrick replied, "Things are not the same as they once were, Amos.  We
have much to lose here should anyone come snooping-"

Amos said, "I'll give you my oath."

"What's your business in Freeport?"  asked a young captain who had been
silent so far.

Amos regarded the man, a short, barrel-chested fellow with a red beard
and shoulder-length curly red hair.  Letting his smile broaden, he
said, "You must be James Scarlet."

The man nodded.  "I was chased from Questor's View to the lee side of
Queg by a ship that looked like yours, Trenchard."

Amos grinned.  "Two years ago, last spring.  I would have caught you,
too, if you hadn't run in close to shore and those Quegan galleys
hadn't come out to see what-we were playing at."

Slapping the table, Scarlet roared, "You were sailing for the

King!"

Amos roared back, "I just said I was!  Are you deaf or merely stupid? I
was being paid bounty for every one of you motherless rogues I could
catch, and a pardon for my past crimes, and in my place, no man here
would have thought twice about doing exactly the same!"  Leaning on the
table so he was eye to eye with Scarlet, Amos spoke softly. "Especially
when the alternative is the gibbet."

"We have a problem," said Patrick.  "You're known to many of us, Amos,
but you've not been seen in these parts for more years than I can
recall, save when you were sailing for the King.  You say you've turned
pirate again, but what surety can we have that you're not going to sell
us out to the highest bidder?"

"The same you have from any of these motherless cutthroats," shouted
Amos, indicating the other captains,

"We have stakes here," said Scarlet.  "This is the sweetest enterprise
in the history of the islands, and the take is steady.  We'd be fools
to poison this well."

Amos snorted.  "What do you require?"  he asked Patrick.

"You have to stay here awhile, Amos."

"How long?"

"Long enough to make sure a raiding fleet isn't lying in wait somewhere
over the horizon," said Scarlet.

"Or some proof you'll not sail back to Krondor and bring back a fleet,"
added Swallow.

Patrick of Duncasde said, "In any event, Amos, it'll be no more than a
few months, a year at the most.1* He smiled as if it were only a minor
inconvenience.

"You're daft," said Amos.  "I came here for a reason and I have
pressing matters to pursue."

"He's a spy," repeated Dread.

If/ KING 's BI/CCANEE R "What is this pressing matter?"  asked Patrick,
Amos pointed an accusing finger at Render.  "I'm here to kill that
man."

RENDER LEAPED TO his feet, a sword in his hand.  Patrick shouted,
"Enough!"  Turning to Amos, he said, "What is your grievance with
Render?"

"A month ago he led an army of murderers, including Durbin slavers,
into Crydee.  He burned the whole damn town to the ground and killed
nearly everyone there."

Render snorted in derision.  "I was sailing off the Keshian coast a
month ago, Trenchard.  I haven't been in Crydee since I was a cabin
boy.  What's worth stealing there?"

Patrick said, "He denies the raid.  And even if he had raided Crydee,
why should this cause an issue between you?"

"Because I had five years of plunder secreted away in a warehouse on
the docks and I was on my way to move it out when he stole it!"

"There was no plunder!"  shouted Render.

Eyes turned to regard him as Amos grinned an evil smile.  "If he hadn't
raided Crydee, how would he know that?"

Render said, "He's tying about me and the raid, so he must be lying
about the plunder."

Patrick glanced from captain to captain and they all nodded.  Patrick
said, "It is the law of Freeport.  No captain may raise his hand
against another else crews would be warring.  You can settle this once
you're clear of the harbor, but if either of you starts a. fight, his
ship will be confiscated and he'll be thrown into the hole."

Nicholas had watched Render throughout the exchange.  Softly he said,
"He's lying."

Marcus turned to say something, but before he could, Patrick of
Duncastle said, "What did you say?"

Nicholas said, "I said he was lying.  I had friends in Crydee.  He's a
murderous dog who slaughters women and children.  If Captain Trenchard
can't take it, then mean to have his life."

Patrick said, "Render claims he was off the Keshian coast last month.
It must have been someone else."

Nicholas shook his head.  "Two pirate cannibals with blue eyes?  No, it
was him."

Turning to Amos, Patrick said, "Captain Trenchard, you and your crew
are on probation.  You have the freedom of the town, but if you or any
of your men start trouble, we'll seize your ship and sell your crew to
Queg as galley slaves.  You control your man here.  You may return to
the council any time you wish, and if you've convinced four of the
seven captains sitting that your story is true, you'll be readmitted to
the company of captains."

Amos said nothing, nodded once, then turned and left.  The others fell
in with him.  As they walked down the steps, he whispered to Nicholas.
"That was good."

Ghuda said, "Yes, now he's certain to try to kill you."  Nicholas said,
"That's exactly what I expect."  Reaching the street, Amos said, "The
captains think we're going to be here another month, but I mean to be
out of here the moment we locate the prisoners."  To Harry he said,
"Back to the boat and pass the word that all but the station keeping
watch have leave to come ashore.  Tell them to behave themselves and to
keep their wits about them.  I want every man listening for rumors.
Look for us at that inn with the red dolphin sign we passed on the way
here."  Harry ran off.  Amos said to Anthony, "Start your shopping."
Anthony left.  With a nod of his head, Amos indicated that Ghuda should
follow behind the magician at a discreet distance.  When they were
gone, the captain said, "Now let's go find that inn and see if we can
keep Nick alive."

THE RED DOLPHIN Inn was modest and clean, and relatively quiet, given
its usual clientele.  Amos had taken a private room in the back $uid
Nakor sat by the door, keeping it cracked open so he could see who
approached.  Amos said, "It's obvious we can't take the time to
convince the captains one at a time.  With Render as one, that means we
have to change the minds of four out of six."  He drummed his fingers
on the table.  "I think another of them was involved, too,"

"Why?"  asked Marcus.

Amos said, "Too many things still don't fit.  You saw the ships in the
harbor?"  Marcus nodded.  "Someone's had to bring a lot of mercenaries
from somewhere, then ship them out in those raiding flotillas that hit
the Far Coast.  That's a lot of planning and a lot of men.  I think
there were at least two deep water ships, maybe three, and that means
at least one other captain besides Render."

Nicholas said, "Then we've got to work fast."

Amos said, "We've got maybe a week before someone in the crew makes a
mistake and we're fighting our way out of here."

Nicholas sat beside him at the table, while Marcus stood behind Amos.
Nicholas said, "If the captives are still here, we need to find them
before they're moved again."

Amos shook his head.  "There's almost no chance they're still here."

"Why do you say that?"  asked Marcus.

Nakor turned and said, "Because Captain Render was lying to everyone.
He says there was no raid.  Yet he brought the captives here, Pug says.
Too many lies."

Amos nodded.  "Which means that whoever backed Render's raid probably
took the captives away quickly."  He took off his hat and wiped his
brow.  "I forgot how muggy these islands get."  He sighed.  "Now that I
see how big Freeport has become, I can understand how Render could have
mounted his raid and hid it from the other captains."

Motioning with his hands, Amos continued, "There are a dozen islands
within a half day's sail of here that could be used as a base.  He
could sail out of the harbor at sundown, claiming he was bound to raid
the coast of Kesh.  Then he sails to where his other raiders are
waiting, picks them up, loads the pinnaces into the holds of the two
ships, sails to just beyond the horizon from Crydee, unloads the
pinnaces, and begins his assault on the Far Coast."

"Why would they strike from these waters, Amos?"  asked Marcus.  "If
they didn't want the other pirates to know about it, why even start
here?"

Amos said, "There are bound to be strangers moving through Freeport all
the time.  And where better to make the bargain for this sort of crime?
But the question is, where can he hide several hundred captives?"

Nakor's face clouded over as he remembered" Pug said something about a
big building.  A big, dark building."

Amos said, "I think we need to start spreading out."  Looking at
Marcus, he said, "How good a sailor are you?"

Marcus said, "I can handle a small boat well enough not to drown
myself."

"Good.  Find one tomorrow and buy it.  If anyone asks you what you're
doing, tell them you're going to explore the nearby islands because
Trenchard is thinking of building a house.  Some of the captains have
their own little kingdoms around here.  Take Harry with you, and see he
doesn't drown himself.

"Render may have too much to lose to start trouble because Nicholas and
I have threatened him, and we've been enjoined from going after him."
Grinning, Amos patted Nicholas's hand.  "You, my lucky boy, have the
unenviable task of irritating Render into doing something stupid. We'll
set a watch on him, and you're going to have to be after him
constantly.  I want you to be so close to him he'll think you're his
shadow."

Nicholas nodded.

Amos uncorked a large jug of ale and said, "Now, who's for a drink?"

DISCOVSfilES

gull squawked.

Marcus, Calls, and Harry walked to the harbor as the sun rose above the
horizon.  For the half-elven youth, who looked no older than Harry
despite being thirty years old, Free-port was an alien bounty of sights
and sounds.  He had remained quiet, content to let his companions do
whatever talking was necessary, but he watched and listened and seemed
fascinated by the variety of humanity living on the island.  Harry had
confided to Nicholas the night before that it was entirely possible to
forget the el fling even existed until he chose to move or speak, so
adept he was at being silent and still.

Harry was about to ask him a question when a slight form hurried from
behind an overturned boat and fell into step beside them.  Calls had
his knife out and ready before the others could turn.  Harry almost
jumped from fright at the sudden appearance.  "Gods!  What do you
want?"

A voice whispered, "More to the point: what is it you three want?"

The slight figure was clad in a shapeless tunic and trousers; dirty
toes protruded from under the too-long pants.  The thin arms that
extended from ragged sleeves were as dirty as the feet, and the face
was only marginally cleaner.  A narrow chin and small mouth wete
dominated by high cheekbones and enormous blue eyes.  Ragged longish
red-brown hair flew about in all directions.

"Go away, boy," said Marcus impatiently.

"Boy!"  said the beggar.  With a vicious kick to Marcus's shin, the
girl danced back.  "For that you'll pay double for your information."

Marcus winced at the blow and Harry stood in mute astonishment.  Calls
calmly said, "Then, go away, girl."

They resumed their walk, but the girl came hurrying to walk backward
beside Marcus.  "I know lots of things.  Ask anyone in Freeport and
they'll tell you, "Want to know something?  Ask Brisa!"  "

Harry said, "And you're Brisa?"  "Of course."

Marcus and Calls said nothing, but Harry said, "Our captain is looking
for an island to build a house on."

Brisa stopped walking backward and stood directly.  in Marcus's path.
"Right," she said derisively.

Marcus was forced to stop as the others passed to her right.  He looked
down at her and said, "Yes, that's right."

She grinned, and Marcus was startled to notice she had dimples. Showing
his irritation, he repeated, "Yes, that's right," and tried to step
around her.

She moved with him, cutting him off.  "I have no time for these silly
games," he said, and tried to move the other way.

She stepped back a half-step and caught her heel  on a coil of rope.
Falling backward, she landed hard on her bottom.  Marcus smiled and
Harry laughed, while Calls remained impassive.  Brisa made a disgusted
noise as Marcus walked past her, and shouted, "Fine!  When you're tired
of sailing in circles, come see me!"

Marcus turned back toward her and, in an atypical display of amusement,
saluted her.  Even Calls smiled, while Harry continued to laugh.

LATE THAT NIGHT, Harry, Calls, and Marcus climbed up a ladder where
their sailboat was tied and found Brisa sitting on a bale of cloth,
eating an apple.  "Tired?"  she asked.

They glanced at one another and moved past her, but she jumped down and
was at their side, walking with her hands

THE K/NG '$ Bi/CCANE K

behind her back.  Like a child at play, she sang, "I know what you're
looking for."

Marcus said, "We told you "

"No you're not," she said in a singsong voice.

"Not what?"

"Looking for an island for your captain."  She took a last bite from
her apple and threw the core over her shoulder into the sea.  Gulls
squawked and dove for it.

"Then what are we looking for?"  asked Harry, impatient from a day
spent sailing through a half-dozen deserted islands.

Brisa crossed her arms and said, "What's it worth to you to find what
you're looking for?"

Marcus shook his head.  "We have no time for clever games, girl."

The three began to walk faster.  Brisa said, "I know where the Durbin
slavers went."

They stopped.  They exchanged glances and turned around.  Calls walked
back to where the girl waited and firmly grabbed her arm.  Marcus said,
"What do you know?"

"Owl"  she cried, trying to twist away, but Calls held fast.  "Let me
go or I'm not saying anything!"  she demanded.

Marcus put his hand upon Calls's arm.  "Let her go."

Galls did so, and the girl stepped away.  Rubbing her sore arm, she
pouted.  "Didn't your mother tell you there are better ways to get a
girl's attention?"  Turning an angry eye upon Marcus, she said, "You're
not half-bad-looking for a scruffy brigand, though you'd look better
without the beard, I think.  I was going to be nice, but now my price
has gone up."

Harry said, "Look, what do you know and what do you want?"

"I know that a month ago some strange men came through town; a lot of
them.  Many more gathered in the nearby islands, doing their best to
avoid being seen by those who live here in Fireeport.  They spoke
Keshian, mostly, but with a strange ac-cent, one I've not heard before.
Others came to town and "ixmght supplies.  Not all at once, but enough
that I got curious.  '"Nothing happens around here out of the ordinary
that I don't notice.  So I decicjed to snoop around."  She smiled. 
"I'm good at finding things out."

| Harry couldn't help smiling.  "I expect you are."  ',"," "Now, do we
have a deal?"  she demanded.

"What's your price?"  asked Marcus.

"Fifty golden royals."

Marcus said, "I don't carry that kind of gold around."

Harry said, "What about this?"

He held out a ring, a faceted ruby set in a gold band.

"Where did you get that?"  asked Marcus.

Harry shook his head slightly, "I forget."  To the girl he said, "It's
worth twice what you ask."

The girl said, "Very well.  I followed one group, marked their course,
and sailed a boat out after sunset.  I found where they mustered. There
was the biggest ship I'd ever seen, anchored off the point.  It was
black and looked like a Quegan galley, with high fore- and after
castles large mainsails, and a hell of a lot of beam.  It rode high, so
I figure it was empty, but men were moving back and forth to that
island constantly.  They couldn't sail the big ship in, so they had to
spend days moving men and supplies by small boat.  From what they had
on the beach, it looked like they were heading out for a long trip,
maybe down to the far end of Kesh.  They also had patrols out, and I
had to get out of there.

"A few weeks later there were some boats moving through the islands,
but staying away from Freeport."  With a bright grin, she said, "I got
curious and went back to the island, and saw that most of the men were
being ferried to the big ship.  But a dozen smaller boats deposited a
lot of captives on the island.  There was six Durbin slavers in
charge."

"How do you know that's what we're interested in?"  asked Harry,
hanging on to the ring.

"You're on a Kingdom ship and all the captives spoke the King's Tongue.
Some famous captain shows up after thirty years it's all too
coincidental for me.  Your captain's the real thing, but the rest of
you are too damn clean and polite; you're Kingdom Navy.  You've come
looking for those captives, right?"  Harry flipped the ring in the air
and Brisa caught it.  "Where did they take the captives?"  Harry
asked.

"Two islands to the west, on the lee side," she said.  She was off and
running, and called over her shoulder, "And when you get back, I can
tell you more."

Harry shouted, "How will we find you?"  "Just ask for Brisa anywhere!"
came the answer as the girl vanished between two buildings.

THAT NIGHT, SEVERAL of the Raptors crew had spotted the tattooed
captain in the town, and had passed word.  Nicholas and Ghuda put in an
unexpected appearance at an inn Render favored.

They took seats near enough to hear normal conversation, and Render and
his men instantly fell silent.  After a moment, Nicholas said, "It's
just a matter of time, isn't it?"  He spoke loudly enough to be heard
by everyone in the room.

Ghuda said, "Sooner or later."  He had no idea what Nicholas was
talking about, but he played along.

"One of these days a ship's going to come in from the Far Coast,
carrying word of the raids; no commerce and no plunder for years to
come.  Then every merchant in the city will be mobbing Governor's House
to have the culprit's head on a poll."  Glancing at Render, who glared
back, Nicholas clearly said, "And I'll be pleased to hand it to
them."

Render whispered furiously to two of the men who sat there, then rose
and departed.  The two men kept their eyes on Nicholas and Ghuda as if
daring them to follow their captain.

Nicholas sat back and waited.

ANTHONY, NAKOR, AND Amos left at first light the next day with Marcus
to investigate the island.  In three hours they reached it.  The island
was similar to dozens in the area, formed ages ago in volcanic
upheaval.  Eroded by wind and water, covered in brush and tough grasses
carried over the water by sea-birds, it was an inhospitable place of a
high cliff with no beaches on the lee side.  After an hour spent
circling the island, they came to a shallow inlet on the windward side.
A huge building squatted near the high-water line on the beach,
sheltered by high rocks that hid it from the view of anyone approaching
from any direction except directly into the inlet.  There was no sign
of anyone on the island.

They beached their sailboat and looked around.  Amos said, "A of of
boats have been in and out of there recently."  He pointed to marks on
the sand above the high-tide line.  A wide path of footprints led to
the building.  "Good wind or rain and we'd not see those.  They've been
made within the last few days."

They walked up to the crudely fashioned building.  They pushed open
large doors and went inside.  The stench of recent human waste and
something even more foul filled the place.  A cloud of flies rose high
into the air, and on the ground they saw what they had been feasting
upon.

Amos swore.  He quickly counted and said, "There are more than a dozen
of them."  Littered across the floor were corpses.

Choking back his bile, Marcus forced himself to examine the closest
body.  A boy lay close enough to the door so that the light made it
easy to examine him.  Marcus said, "He died in pain."

Amos shook his head.  "I've seen that look before."  Nakor looked at
another.  "They've been dead maybe three, four days.  Skin is all puffy
and the flies have blown maggots."  Amos glanced around the room and
said, "It's no picnic in here, Marcus.  If you want to wait outside ..
."

Marcus knew Amos was trying to spare him the possibility that his
sister or Abigail might be among the dead.  "No," he said shortly.

They picked their way through the grisly scene, and at the center of
the room, Amos found something that made him swear.  "Banath's boils!"
he said, invoking the god of thieves and pirates.

Six men in the guild dress of Durbin slavers ky on the floor, their
bodies riddled with arrows.  Amos forced himself to kneel and examine
one of the men.  He removed the bkck mask and saw a guild tattoo upon
the corpse's face.  "These are true Durbin slavers," he whispered in
awe.  "Who would face the wrath of their guild?"

But he knew who would: the same merciless enemy that had seized control
of the Assassins' Guild in Krondor, subverting it to their own ends,
and who had perpetrated the greatest fraud in the history of Midkemia
in raising the standard of the legendary Murmandamus to cause the
nations of the north the dark elves, or moredhel, and goblins to invade
the Kingdom.  Only they would kill six masters of the Durbin Slavers'
Guild, and Amos knew why.  No living man knew where the Pantathian
serpent priests lived, only that they dwelt in some distant land across
the sea.

Anthony paced around inside, his face impassive despite the

THE fC/NG 's BUCCANEE K

carnage.  The dead prisoners had been too weak to continue on and had
had their throats cut.

Nakor said, "There is only one girl, see, over here.". They hurried to
look and Anthony said, "This is Willa.  She served in the kitchen."

Nakor pointed to another corpse, a man who had died with his pants down
around his ankles.  "This was a bad man.  He tried to take this sick
girl before he killed her," he said as if he could read the past, "and
someone else killed him for trying."  The little man shook his head.
Glancing around the large room, he said, "To herd children in here as
if they were cattle is cruel; to leave them here for days with the dead
and dying is inhuman."

Amos said softly, "No one said those behind this were human,
Isalani."

Anthony kept pacing around the building as if looking for something. As
Amos was about to order their departure, Anthony found a few scraps of
clothing, torn from a tunic or dress.  He picked them up and inspected
them.  Suddenly his eyes widened as he held one that had been used as a
bandage, from the blood upon it, and he said, "Margaret!" Amos said,
"How do you know?"  The magician said, "I just know.  She wore this." 
Marcus examined it.  "Is she hurt?  Look at the blood." Anthony shook
his head.  "I think .. . she used this as a bandage on someone else."

"How do you know?"  asked her brother.  "I ... just know," he
repeated.

Amos glanced around.  "This raid was planned well in advance and every
contingency planned for.  Most of the raiders may have come from Kesh
or somewhere else, but there must have been at least a hundred people
from Freeport in on it."  Leaving the building and returning to the
boat, he said, "The problem's going to be finding one who was involved,
and who will talk.  Whoever ran this caper probably paid well, and" he
pointed to the half-naked man who'd had his throat cut "we saw how
quickly they dispense punishment.  Few will be willing to betray these
masters."  To Marcus he said, "You've got to find that girl again and
see what else she knows."

They were silent all the way back to Freeport harbor.

THEY RETURNED TO the Red Dolphin at sundown.  Reaching the room in the
back, Amos found Harry waiting for them.  "What's happened?"  Amos
asked.

"Render almost challenged Nick today," said Harry with a grin.  "He
decided to sup at noon at a different tavern.  One of our men spotted
him, so Nick showed up and sat nearby.  So he left, and we found him at
a third tavern, so Nick showed up there.  Render started yelling at
him.  He's not doing well.  Our people have started a lot of gossip
about the raids, and the townspeople are starting to wonder if
something has gone on; enough people around here knew something was up
for the last few months that more and more they're inclined to believe
us and doubt Render."  Harry shook his head.  "Given the right
circumstances, say if we have a particular hot Sjxthday night and
someone were to start buying lots of drinks for those inclined to
listen to how Render ruined everyone's business for the next five
years, I can imagine they'd riot and haul Render out and hang him
without benefit of proof."  Harry's gleeful expression turned more
serious.  "I think Render's had about enough of us.  Word on the street
is he'll be sailing tomorrow or the day after to raid along the KesbJan
shore and he's looking for extra crewmen."

Amos scratched his chin" Extra crewmen?  Then he'll come after Nicholas
tonight if he's a mind to."  Amos considered, "There's a couple of ways
Render can play this: the smart way would be to sail out late tonight
and never return to Freeport.  But Render's never been known for being
especially smart; clever and cunning, yes, but not smart."

Amos thought a long moment, then went on, "Jie'll probably try to take
my ship on the way^Qiit, if I know that cannibal that's why he needs
the extra men."  Almost to himself he said, "He'll kill Nick, put the
blame on me, demand I be hung, and get the best warship in the islands
all in one night."  Marcus said, "So what do we do?"

Amos said, "Why, we let him try."  He told Harry, "Go find Ghuda, Nick,
and as many of the men as you can and have them come by here."

Harry was off.  Amos said to Anthony, "Start looking for those who
might know something about that building where the captives were held;
they might have brought their own carpenters from wherever they hail
from, but they probably didn't lug all the lumber along.  And don't get
yourself into trouble."

Anthony and Marcus left, and Amos said, "I wonder how the magician knew
that cloth was Margaret's?"

Nakor grinned.  "He's a magician.  Besides, he's in love with her."

Amos said, "Really?  I took him for something of a bloodless sort."

Nakor shook his head.  "He's shy.  But he loves her.  It's why he can
find her at the right time."

Amos narrowed his gaze.  "You being mysterious again, Isalani?"

Nakor shrugged.  "I'm going to take a nap.  It will get very noisy
around here later."  He ripped back his chair until he leaned against
the wall, and closed his eyes.  A moment later he was snoring softly.

Amos glanced at the sleeping little man and said, "How does he do
that?"

THE SHIP GROANED and Margaret said, "Listen!"

Abigail looked over with faint interest.  "What is it?"  Margaret said,
"We've changed course.  Don't you feel the difference in the way the
ship is handling?"

"No.  So what?"  asked Abigail in flat tones.  Even with the larger
accommodations, a cabin of their own because of their rank, and good
food, the girl couldn't shake her dark moods.  She still wept
uncontrollably at times.

Margaret said, "We were on a southerly heading, and I expected we
should turn toward the east, to run the Straits of Darkness.  But we're
turning to starboard" Abigail looked blank "to the right!  We're
heading southwest!"

Abigail shook her head in confusion.  Then a spark of interest fanned
in her eyes.  "What's that mean?"

Feeling fear without any leavening of hope, Margaret whispered, "We're
not going to Kesh."

THE WHORES LAUGHED loudly as men shouted across the room in greeting or
friendly insult.  Nicholas drained his seventh or eighth glass of wine.
Across the room, Render sat with five of his men, whispering. Nicholas
and the pirate captain had been glaring across the room at each other
for almost an hour, and Ghuda and Harry had urged Nicholas loudly to
stop drinking.  He'd ignored them.  An hour earlier he had began to
utter threats against Render.  At first they had been barely heard by
those not standing next to him, but for the last five minutes, everyone
close by could dearly hear him.

Suddenly Nicholas lurched to his feet and staggered across the room
toward Render's table.  Ghuda and Harry were slow to react and reached
him only as three of the five men with Render stood, their hands on
their sword hilts.

"I'm going to cut your heart out, you murderous swine!"  shouted
Nicholas, and the room fell silent.  "Before the gods, I swear you'll
pay for what you did."

Render glared at the young man as Ghuda and Harry pulled him back.  One
of Render's companions shouted, "Take that drunk away before we put him
out of his misery."

Ghuda said evenly, "You could try.  It might prove amusing."  His calm
expression and the array of weapons clearly displayed upon his person
prevented further threats.

Render stood and pointed an accusing finger.  "Everyone has heard. This
man has threatened me repeatedly.  If any trouble begins, it's his
doing and Captain Trenchard is responsible!  I vow before everyone here
that I will only raise my hand in sel <Iefense!"

Nicholas began to struggle, trying to get at Render, but Ghuda and
Harry restrained him.  They half dragged, half carried Nicholas out of
the tavern.  Aiding their friend down the boulevard, they reached the
Red Dolphin and went inside.  Carrying Nicholas up the stairs, they
entered the room at the far end of the hall.

Inside, Nicholas pulled himself upright and Harry said, "How are
you?"

"I've never drunk so much water so fast.  Where's the night pot?"

Harry pointed to the pot, and Nicholas relieved himself.  "Do you think
we can trust the barman?"

"No," said Ghuda, "but I paid him sufficient gold and threatened him
enough that he'll say nothing for a day or two."

Nicholas said, "Now we wait."

NEAR DAWN, A band of men crept into the common room of the Red Dolphin.
A bar boy slept under a table and he came instantly awake.  It was his
job to guard the commons and alert the innkeeper should guests arrive
at odd hours or beggars or thieves enter.

Seeing men with ready swords, the boy pulled himself back under the
table and huddled against the wall.  He was not about to raise an alarm
with this many armed cutthroats nearby.

As the intruders reached the far door, every door in the hallway swung
open and more armed men leaped out.  The sound of steel against steel
rang through the halls and the fight was on in earnest.

Nicholas and Ghuda held the door at the far end of the hall, and two of
the attackers made halfhearted attempts to move toward them, but the
presence of armed men in the doorways between deterred them.  Then a
shout from the far end of the hall, at the top of the stairs, cut
through the sounds of fighting.  "Halt!  In the name of the Sheriff,
stop fighting!"  The men trapped in the hallway turned, and several
attempted to fight their way down the stairs.  They were quickly
overwhelmed by a dozen men wielding billy clubs and swords, who killed
two of them and overpowered the rest.  Those still in the hallway drew
into a cluster, and from the center a voice called, "We will not
resist!"

Nicholas smiled at Ghuda.  "That's Render," he said with grim
satisfaction.

Amos and Harry emerged from one door, with William Swallow one step
behind.  Anthony, Marcus, and Nakor came out of another room.  They
followed Render's men down the stairs to where more than a dozen of
Patrick Duncastle's men waited to take them all into custody.

Amos approached the boy under the table and gave him a gold coin.  "You
did well.  Tell your master that I thank him for the use of the inn."

The boy left, and Amos pushed Render into the large room at the back of
the commons.  Four of the captains of Freeport sat at the table and
looked at Render as he knelt before them.  William Swallow followed
Amos into the room.  "It's true, as Amos said.  Render and his men came
up with murderous intent."

Taking his place at the table, Swallow said, "You know the law, Render.
Your ship is forfeit and you're consigned to the hole."

"No!"  shouted Render.  "I was tricked."

Amos said, "Before you drag this garbage out of here, there are some
things I need to ask him.  You may be interested in his answers."

Swallow looked at the other captains, all who were in port save Captain
Dread, and they nodded.  Amos said, "Who paid you to raid the Far
Coast?"

Render spat at Amos, who responded by striking him in the face with a
gloved fist.  Render struck the floor hard and lay there with blood
running down his chin.  Kneeling next to him, Amos said, "I haven't the
time to be gentle with you, Render, and am even less possessed of the
inclination.  If we toss you into the street and let it be known that
you've destroyed the commerce along the Far Coast for the next five
years, that you've worked on behalf of Durbin slavers, and cut the
other captains and their crews out of the booty, how long do you think
it would take for the citizens of Freeport to tear you apart?"

Render's eyes grew wide, but he said nothing.  Amos said, "Think of the
whores who'll see no gold now that shipping from Crydee, Carse, and
Tulan has stopped.  Think of the men of Freeport who will have no ships
to prey upon.  Think of the honest merchants who will have no markets
closer than Elarial or the Free Cities."

Swallow said, "Amos, we've heard the rumors; is it really true?"

Amos said, "It's true, William.  This bastard led more than a thousand
men against the Far Coast last month and burned Castle Crydee to the
ground.  The fortress at Barran was destroyed, and Carse and Tulan were
raided we don't know how badly, but we assume the worst.  You'll have
little trading and no raiding in the Duchy for years to come."

William Swallow stood, his race white with anger.  "You fool!"  he
shouted at Render.  "You'll bring the Kingdom's war fleet down on us!
And for what?"

Render was silent, but Amos took him by one long earlobe, and twisted
the fetish there.  As the man squealed in pain, Amos said, "For either
more gold than he could honestly steal in a lifetime you'd best send
men to inspect the hold of his ship or .. ."

Amos grabbed the pouch at Render's belt and looked in side.  A snake
ring fell upon the floor among coins and gems.  Holding it up, Amos
showed it to William Swallow.  "Have you seen its like?"

Swallow looked at it and passed it to the other captains.  All said
they'd not seen it before.  Nicholas asked, "Is he a hired servant or a
willing pawn?"

Amos grabbed Render's arm and pulled him to his feet.  "He doesn't have
the courage of conviction to be a religious fanatic.  He's a bought
servant."

Swallow said, "Amos, we thank you for the warning.  We must prepare for
the Kingdom's revenge."  Pointing his finger at Render, he said, "You
will be hung at dawn!  And every man in your crew will be sold!"

Amos said, "Do what you will with the men, but I need Render."

"For what?"

"To find those whose bidding he does."

Swallow said, "We can't let him go, Amos.  If we do, what's the
Captains' Covenant worth?"

Amos shrugged.  "It's worth what it always was: little.  It's a truce
bought by fear, and it's always balanced against greed.  There was
never enough profit for a captain to break the covenant, until someone
showed up with more gold than Render's got sense."  He glanced around
the room.  "And speaking of those who have no sense, where's Peter
Dread?"

Swallow said, "He was told to be here."

Amos sighed.  "Send word to find him.  I suspect there were two idiots
involved in that raid.  Was Dread around during the raid last month?"

"We thought he was looking for prey in the Bitter Sea," answered
Morgan.

"Find him before he warns his masters that you're on to them," insisted
Amos.  "I'll make you a bargain."

"What bargain?"  said Swallow.

"If you let me find out what I need to know from Render, I'll promise
that no reprisal fleet reaches Freeport."

Swallow's eyes narrowed.  "How can you do that?"

Amos said, "Because I'm the King's Admiral of the Western Realm."

The five captains exchanged glances.  "So," said Scarlet,

"you were more than trading your services for pardon when you were
chasing me off the Quegan coast."

Amos nodded.  "Let me give you the full of it, and then you decide.  We
have no time for, nor any interest in, putting a stop to your
enterprise here.  We're after the daughter of Duke Martin and others
taken from Crydee.  Someone put Render and Dread on this caper and sent
along a thousand raiders, including Tsurani assassins and Durbin
slavers."  He told them what he knew of the raid and finished by
saying, "So we have more urgent matters than putting an end to your
livelihood."

Swallow said, "What's to keep us from holding you here as hostages,
Amos?"

"Because the only way we can keep Arutha from sending his fleet to burn
your city to the ground is by getting his niece back in one piece and
returning her to the Kingdom, you idiot!"  Amos bellowed.  "Do I have
to paint you a picture?"

Nicholas said, "And we can make it worth your while."

Swallow said, "How?"

Nicholas said, "Commerce was never one of my better subjects, but I do
know that you've gained wealth because what you provide is needed."  He
looked at the five captains.  "For a year, no reprisals will come
against Freeport.  Then a Kingdom ship will come here.  Any who remain
will be granted full pardon for past crimes, so long as they swear
fealty to the Kingdom and do not transgress the law.  Any who choose
otherwise are free to leave with guaranteed safe passage and start
somewhere else in the meantime."

"What's in it for us?"  challenged Scarlet.

"Peace of mind, for one thing," said Marcus.

Ghuda said, "And protection from Kesh and Queg should they start
thinking you'd look good on the map as part of their realm."

Swallow said, "Kesh, Queg, the Kingdom, it makes little difference.
Governors and tax agents, and laws and the like.  It'll be the death of
our way of life."

Nicholas said, "Partly.  No more raiding."

Amos grinned.  "We're both getting a little on in years to be chasing
merchant ships like they were maidens at the Midsummer's festival and
we were cocky lads, William."

Swallow nodded.  "True, but what's the reason to stay, Amos?  If we
become another Kingdom port .. ."

Nicholas said, "What if Freeport continued to operate without duties?
What if a trader could come here and deliver cargo legally without
needing to pay tariff or tax to the Kingdom?"

Swallow said, "Some would continue to come here, even though it's the
long way around from Queg to Krondor, for certain cargoes with high
profits."

Amos said, "The King will never sit still for that, Nick."  Nicholas
said, "I think he will.  The danger of Freeport has been shown too
clearly in the last few weeks.  It's worth some lost revenue to keep
things quiet out there.  If Kesh can let the captains of Durbin come
and go as they please, why not the Kingdom and Freeport?"

"Why not?"  agreed Amos.

Swallow said, "Can you get the King to agree, Amos?"  "Probably not,
William.  But his nephew probably can," he answered, placing his hand
on Nicholas's shoulder.  "Nephew?"  said Scarlet.

Amos said, "This stays within this room, by your oath, and you'll
decide how to tell the populace what's been agreed to here.  But this
boy is Nicholas, son of the Prince of Krondor, and cousin to Margaret,
the girl who was taken."

Marcus said, "And I'm her brother, Marcus.  My father is the Duke of
Crydee."  Thinking of his father caused Marcus's eyes to narrow
slightly, but he remained otherwise calm.  Swallow said, "Do we have
any choice?"  "You're not entitled to any," admitted Amos, "but we'll
give you one anyway.  You've a year to ponder things."

Nicholas said, "Give me paper and quill and I'll pen a note to my
father or whoever sails this way next spring against our not returning.
By this time next year, you'll have had to decide, one way or the
other."  Swallow agreed.  Nicholas said, "Patrick?"  The Sheriff said,
"Ah .. . Highness?"  Nicholas said, "Things will remain as they have
been, but should the captains convince the citizens to agree to our
terms at any time in the next year, you will act as the King's High
Sheriff of Freeport:.  If you're agreed?"  Patrick nodded and stepped
back.  Nicholas said, "You five captains will be given letters of
marque, as the King's western squadron of the Krondorian fleet.  It
will look more convincing when my father shows up here next spring if
you're flying Kingdom colors from your mastheads.  You can decide who
ranks among you."

Amos turned to Render.  "Now you're going to tell us what' we need to
know, you murderous cur.  The only question is, do we get the
information the easy way or the hard way?"

RENDER SPAT AT Amos.  "I demand my rights as a captain under the
covenant!  We're not part of the bloody Kingdom yet, Trenchard!  You've
no writ over me, and I can demand personal justice."

Amos faced the other captains.  "Are you going to " Swallow
interrupted.  "We must, Amos.  We dare not break the covenant until the
people have accepted the King's laws.  To do otherwise .. ."

"You said we could question Render in exchange for the Kingdom's
keeping hands off!"  bellowed Amos.

"We gave blood oath to the Captains' Covenant!"  Morgan shouted in
return, as the others voiced loud agreement.  "If we Have any claim' to
honor this side of hell, it's our oath!"

William Swallow said, "You were of the Brotherhood long enough to know
that, Amos.  Killer, thief, or blasphemer, we'll make you one of us,
but be named oath breaker, and no man will sail with you again."

Looking at the prisoner, Morgan said, "I'd gladly hand this traitor's
heart to you myself, Trenchard, but our word is our bond.  If we break
it, we're no better than he is."

Amos nodded.  "Very well, Render," he said, removing his hat and
jacket, "if you wish captain's privilege .. ."

"No!"  said Render.  "Not you, Trenchard.  Him!"  He pointed at
Nicholas.

Swallow said, "It was the lad who was his accuser, and the covenant
forbids captains from fighting one another."  Nicholas said, "What is
this?"

Amos stepped close and said, "As a captain4 Render has the right to
defend himself by personal combat.  You're the one who must kill
him."

Nicholas looked startled and whispered, "I've never killed anyone,
Amos."

Glancing at Render, who had removed his jacket and shirt,

revealing the purple tattoos all over his chest and back, Amos said,
"Well, I can't imagine anyone you'd have to work less hard to hate,
boy.  That's the man who was responsible for your aunt Briana's murder
and who kidnapped your cousin and that little girl you're so fond
of."

Nicholas's expression showed he was unconvinced.  "I don't know if I
can .. . just kill him."

Amos said, "You're not going to be given a choice, son.  If you refuse,
he walks away a free man."

"They can't "

"They can and they will.  This is not the Kingdom, and your^ rank means
nothing."  Lowering his voice and putting his hands on Nicholas's
shoulders, he said, "Now, he's certainly going to try to kill you if
you give him the chance, so don't.  If he wins, he walks out of here
with the right of passage and no pursuit.  That's captains law.  So you
must kill him."

"What about the girls?  We won't know "

Amos said, "These lads" he indicated the captains "are less concerned
with the prisoners than they are with their own necks.  Give them half
a chance to reconsider, and they may decide holding you hostage against
your father showing up with my fleet isn't such a poor notion after
all.  Worry about getting information after you've managed to stay
alive, Nicholas."  There was genuine concern in his voice and
expression.  "Now you must do this thing."

Nicholas nodded, removing his baldric and coat.  The common room was
quickly stripped of tables and chairs.  Captain Scarlet drew a large
circle on the floor in chalk.  Swallow positioned a man with a crossbow
on the stairs and said, "It's simple justice.  Both of you walk into
the circle; one walks out.  If a man tries to flee the circle, he'll be
judged guilty and shot."

The two combatants stepped into the circle, barely more than twenty
feet across.  Harry whispered to Nicholas, "It's just like the fencing
corridor at the palace.  Keep your mind on the blade."

Nicholas nodded.  Part of their training had been to duel along a
narrow hall, where one could neither advance quickly nor move too far
to one side or another without risking injury.  Footwork would play
little part in this duel; blade work everything.

Render took a heavy saber and held it upright, then cocked it back
behind his head.  Nicholas extended his own saber, knowing that his
opponent could bring the blade slashing around instantly either to
block an attack or to remove his head.  Swallow said, "May Banath, god
of thieves and pirates, give strength to him who is in the right in the
cause."

Nicholas stood ready, when suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his left
foot.  Then Render's sword was hissing through the air and Nicholas
barely had time to bring his own blade up to block.  He took the blow
and felt the shock all the way up his arm.  That was when Nicholas knew
that this was no drill at home, nor practice with a civilized opponent;
this was someone trying to kill  him.

Fear exploded in Nicholas's heart, a clutching deep dread and near
panic, but hours of training each day over years saved him.  Reflexes
worked where his mind wouldn't, and he successfully blocked each blow.
In less than a minute, Render had launched no fewer than ten attacks,
each countered by the Prince.  His foot stabbed him each time he put
weight on it, and each stab hurt worse than the one before.

Nicholas found his own perspiration sour in his nose, as terror drove
him to survive.  But still he had not ventured any counterattack of his
own.  Harry called encouragement, but the others were chillingly
silent.

On and on Render pressed forward, and each time Nicholas met him with a
stout defense.  His foot hurt enough that he wished to scream, to fall
to the floor and roll up in a bail, holding it until the fire and
throbbing stopped, but to do so was to die.

Render slashed at Nicholas, and he forced himself to block and return a
strike, which sent the tattooed sea captain stumbling back at the
unexpected response.  Nicholas didn't follow through, as pain stabbed
up his leg, causing his left knee to tremble.

Nicholas stepped back, looking Render in the eyes, and he forced
himself to breathe slowly.  "It's going to hurt," he warned himself
softly, "but you' il live.  It's only pain, and you can ignore pain."

Render advanced, wary now that he'd seen the young man's speed.
Nicholas waited, without moving, his eyes following the captain as he
advanced.  Nicholas maintained a balanced stance, weight evenly
distributed on both feet, though his left burned

THE KING 's BUCCANEE a in agony.  Then Render was moving, a combination
of blows, high, low, and high again, forcing the younger man to move
back in lock step with him.  Nicholas took each blow and focused all
his concentration on the other man's sword.  The stink of fear in his
nose, the pain in his foot, the surroundings all of it was put aside as
he lost himself in the rhythm of the attack.

Then Render overextended his high attack and Nicholas snapped a blow
that caught the pirate upon the shoulder, cutting him deeply.  Blood
flowed over the purple tattoos and white skin, but Render barely
acknowledged the injury.

Nicholas stepped forward and then back.  As he moved away from Render,
he lost his concentration, and suddenly pain shot upward from his foot,
causing him to gasp.  He wavered and Render pressed the attack, sensing
the younger man was somehow distracted.

A slashing cut to the neck was barely blocked and Nicholas received a
terrible glancing blow to the elbow.  Almost blind from the pain, he
countered and found his blade slamming into Render's ribs.  The other
man gasped in pain and pulled back, and Nicholas felt his own fingers
starting to go numb.  He transferred his saber to his left hand, and
blinked to clear his vision.

Render stood gripping his ribs, and suddenly Nicholas could hear Amos's
voice shouting, "He's open, lad!  Kill him!"

Nicholas held the blade awkwardly in his left hand, and Render's vision
seemed to clear.  Despite the blood running down from his shoulder and
from the wound in his side, he smiled.  Nicholas tried to advance and
again pain stabbed his left foot, which was now the lead.  He retreated
and Render leaped.

Nicholas braced for the attack, swept Render's blade to the side, and
riposted, the point of his weapon taking the tattooed man in the pit of
the stomach.  Render's eyes widened in disbelief as blood came gushing
from his mouth and nose.

For a moment his eyes looked into Nicholas's, and instead of hatred or
fear, there was a questioning look, as if he was asking the Prince,
"Why?"  Then he collapsed.

The men gathered around Nicholas and Amos said, "What happened to
you?"

Nicholas took a long moment to understand the question and his leg
began to tremble.  Suddenly it collapsed beneath him, and as he fell,
Harry and Marcus grabbed him.  Softly he said, "My foot ..."

He was carried to a nearby chair and sat down.  He let Harry pull his
left boot off, and when he saw^ his foot, he winced.  It was
discolored, purple and black.  "Gods," said Harry.  "It looks like a
horse stepped on it."

"What's wrong?"  asked Amos.

Nakor shook his head and said nothing.

After a moment the pain faded, and, before their eyes, the
discoloration began to fade as well.

Nicholas's vision cleared and at last he said, "What did you say,
Amos?"

"I said, what's wrong?"

Nicholas said, "Oh, my arm?"  He looked at his arm and saw no blood.
Pulling up the sleeve, he saw an angry red welt on the elbow, quickly
darkening, but no sign of a cut or break.

Harry said, "I've seen you practice for hours left-handed; why did you
have so much trouble?"

Nicholas said, "I don't know.  My foot .. ."

Amos and the others from Crydee looked down and saw nothing wrong with
either of Nicholas's feet.  "It's changed!"  exclaimed Ghuda.

Nicholas shook his head.  His foot now looked normal.  "It hurt.  A
sharp pain when I stepped on it.  It got worse as the fight wore on."

"Does it hurt now?"  asked Nakor.

Nicholas stepped upon it and said, "Only a little..  .. It's stopped
hurting."

Nakor nodded again but didn't say anything.

Amos turned to the other captains and said, "Well, there's your justice
for you."  To Marcus and Harry he said, "Take some of our boys and
accompany the Sheriff," and to Patrick, "If you don't mind?"

"I don't," said Patrick.

Amos said to Marcus, "After you've rounded up Render's crew, tell them
that I'll buy the freedom of any man who can tell us who took the girls
from that island and where they were bound.  Question them one at a
time, because every one of those motherless dogs will lie to you."

Marcus nodded and he and Harry left.

Amos turned to find Nicholas staring down at the lifeless body of
Render.  The boy's face was ashen and he looked as if he might be sick.
Clapping his hand upon Nicholas's shoulder, Amos said, "Don't worry,
son.  You'll get used to it."

Nicholas's eyes began to tear and he said, "I hope not."  Ignoring the
stares of those around him, he picked up his jacket and slowly walked
to the stairs and up them, toward his room.

NICHOLAS SLEPT LATE the next day.  The capture of Render's crew had
proved easier than expected.  All of the men were aboard his ship, Lady
of Darkness, waiting for orders to row over to the Raptor and take her.
A few threats from the surrounding dozen longboats, and the promise to
burn the boat to the water line if they didn't give up their arms, was
all it took.  Amos had observed they were a less resolute lot than
Kingdom sailors, because they sailed for booty.  But it had been only
five hours to dawn when they were done, and Nicholas was exhausted from
the duel and the capture.

The sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs greeted him as he opened
the door.  Harry stood at the top of the stairs, breathless.

"What is it?"  Nicholas asked his friend.

"You'd better come."  He hurried back down the stairs and Nicholas
followed.

Down in the large private room Amos was using as headquarters, they
found him in conference with William Swallow and Patrick Duncastle.

Amos looked up and said, "They're dead."

"Who?"  asked Nicholas, fearful he was about to hear Margaret's and
Abigail's names.

"Render's crew.  They're all dead."

Nicholas's eyes narrowed as he attempted to take in the news.  "All of
them?"

"Yes," said Patrick, his face a mask of barely controlled rage.  "And a
half dozen of my men as well.  Someone poisoned the drinking water at
the jail and killed everyone last night.  I've lost five guards and a
cook."

"No one lived?"

"It was a nasty piece of business.  Someone salted the food, so they
all wanted water.  We're not a cruel bunch, so we gave them water.  The
jailers ate the same as the prisoners, and they're alt dead,"

"There's more," said Amos.

Swallow said, "A dozen men have turned up dead here and there in the
city."

"Probably men who went on the raid," said Amos.

"If we could find Peter Dread and his crew, I'd bet we'd find them at
the bottom of the sea.  And I think we'd find those six Tsurani
assassins down there with them, as well.  Someone's covering tracks."

Nicholas said, "They're all dead?"

Amos nodded.  "It's easy enough to do if you've got religious fanatics
willing to die.  Poisoning a ship's water is far easier than a jail's.
And I'll warrant we'll find another couple of dozen corpses around the
town before nightfall.  Not that I begrudge that fate to any of the
dogs who raided the Far Coast, but I'd like to squeeze one or two for
information."

Patrick said, "I'll put the word on the street that anyone who went
raiding with Render and Dread has a better chance to stay alive if they
come forward."

"Don't think it'll do any good," said Amos, standing up.  He scratched
his head.  You Ve got a jail full of dead men to call that promise a
lie."

"Dammit, Amos," said Patrick, "I'll make sure no one we don't know gets
near anyone who gives himself up."

Amos shook his head.  "And you claim I've been too long away from the
dodgy path, Patrick.  What would you do if you'd been on the raid? Same
thing I would.  You'd head for the hills and live off fruit and
seabirds eggs as long as you could until you thought whatever wants you
dead has left the island."

Swallow's eyes narrowed.  "Whatever?"  His voice lowered.  "Don't you
mean whoever, Amos?"

Amos said, "You don't want to know, William."  Looking at Marcus and
Harry, he said, "You know what to do?"

Marcus nodded.  "We've got to find that girl."

MARCUS CAME AWAKE with a sense he was not alone.  Ghuda motioned for
silence as he reached for his sword.  Then a voice said, "I told you
all you needed to do was ask around and I'd find you."

Brisa was sitting on the foot of Marcus's bed, and he suddenly felt
self-conscious.  He quickly reached for his tunic and trousers.  "What
do you know of where the captives were taken?"

Brisa studied Marcus as he struggled to dress while he sat in bed. With
a cocked smile she said, "You've a nice body there, my glowering lad. 
What was your name again?"

"Marcus," he answered brusquely.

With a grin she said, "You're cute when you're upset, did you know?"

Marcus sat motionless for an instant, then he finished dressing under
the covers.  Ignoring her banter, he pushed back the covers and pulled
on his boots.  "What did you find out?"

"The price?"

"What do you want?"  he asked sourly.

Feigning a pout, Brisa said, "I thought you liked me."

His patience at an end, Marcus reached out suddenly and gripped the
girl's thin arm.  "I don't even "

He found a dagger at his throat.  He let go and the girl said, "That's
better.  I don't like being grabbed like that.  If you'd given me half
a chance, I'd probably have shown you how I like to be grabbed, but now
that you've spoiled my mood, it's going to take gold."

Then Brisa's arm was seized in a viselike grip and Ghuda was pulling
the point away from Marcus's throat.  "Enough of the games, girl," said
the old mercenary.  "And don't try pulling that other dagger from your
boot.  I'll snap your arm before you can."  He waited a moment, then
released her.

With a scowl, the girl said, "Very well.  A thousand golden royals and
I'll give you what you want."

Marcus said, "What makes you think we'd pay that?"

She gave him a black look as she said, "Because you will."

Marcus hesitated, then said, "Wait here."

He left, to return a few minutes later with Nicholas and Amos behind.
"This girl claims to know what happened when the prisoners were taken
from the island.  She demands a thousand golden royals to tell us."

Amos quickly nodded.  "You'll have it.  Now, where are they?"

"The gold first."

Amos fumed, but said, "Very well."  To the others he said, "Let's
go."

"Where?"  asked Nicholas.

"To the ship."  He nodded and Ghuda again held the girl in a firm
grip.

"Hey!"  she complained.

"I don't carry a thousand gold royals on my person, girl.  They're in
my cabin.  And I won't harm you; you have my word on that.  But if
you're lying, we'll pitch you over the side and you can swim home."

Grumbling but not struggling, Brisa came along.  Amos quickly roused
the others of his crew in the inn and they all made their way to the
docks The majority of the crew were already aboard the Raptor and the
rest came aboard with Amos.

He moved to where his first mate, Rhodes, waited, and spoke quietly
with him for a minute.  Then he led the girl and

Nicholas to his cabin.  Marcus and the others waited on deck.

Reaching the cabin, Amos entered and motioned for the girl to sit, and
for Nicholas to stand before the door, blocking it.  "Now, girl," he
said, "where are the captives?"

Brisa said, "My gold."

Amos went to a desk, behind which was a trap in the floor.  He opened
the trap and pulled a bag out of it.  The sound of metal clinking came
from the bag.  He placed the heavy bag upon the desk and untied a
leather thong.  Drawing forth a handful of gold and showing them to the
girl, he said, "There is the gpld.  Now tell us what you know."  "Give
me the gold," demanded the girl.  "You'll have it when you tell us
where the captives are."  Brisa hesitated, and for a moment Nicholas
thought she was going to force an impasse, but at last she said, "All
right.  When I told your friend that I had followed some cutthroats to
where they held your friends captive, I didn't tell him everything."

She paused, and Amos said, "Go on."  "There was a ship anchored in deep
water, for off the island.  I've never seen its like, and I've seen a
lot of ships in Freeport in my day."  She described the ship to Amos.
"More than a score of boats were ferrying people from the island to the
ship.  I didn't get too close, but I know they were taking everyone off
that island."

"Where did they go?"

"I didn't stay around long enough to see that, but they had only one
clear channel out of there, so they had to sail south until they were a
couple of days away from here.  That ship drew more water than this, so
you'll know what I'm talking about."

Amos nodded.  "If it draws that much, the ship probably sailed a week
south to be clear of the reefs between the islands."

Nicholas said, "So you didn't see where it went.  Why should we pay you
the gold?"

"Because two days ago a Keshian trader came in from Taroom.  She'd been
blown west a week by a squall and had turned northeast to come back to
Freeport.  A sailor off that ship told me that he was on lookout a
couple of days before they reached Freeport and saw the biggest ship
he'd ever seen, black like the night, sailing into the sunset."

"Sunset!"  said Amos.  "That's to the southwest this time of year."

"But Kesh lies to the east," commented Nicholas.

"And the islands run due west of here," added Brisa.

"There's nothing out there," said Nicholas.  "That's the Endless
Sea."

Amos said, "Your father once showed me some charts .. ."

Nicholas said, "From Macros the Black!  Those charts that show other
continents!"

Amos was silent a moment, then nodded.  "Open the door."

Nicholas obeyed.  Standing the re was the first mate.  Amos said, "Mr,
Rhodes, send word ashore I want the crew back as soon as possible.  We
catch the evening tide."

"Aye, Captain," he replied.

The girl came out of her seat.  "My gold!"  she demanded.

"You'll get it," answered Amos, "when we get back."

"Get back!"  she spat like an angry cat.  "Who said I'd be willing to
travel with you to the ends of the world?"

Amos returned a grin as evil as Nicholas had ever seen it.  "I did,
girl.  And if I find you're sending us after phantoms, your swim home
will be a lot longer than across the harbor."

The girl was up with her dagger out, but Nicholas was ready, and his
sword knocked the blade from her hand.  "Behave yourself," he said with
the sword leveled at her for emphasis.  "No one here will hurt you if
you don't cause trouble.  But these people we seek are important to us,
and if you're lying it'll go hard.  Better tell the truth now."

The girl looked like a cornered rat and her eyes darted to every
quarter, looking for an escape route.  Seeing none, at last she said,
"I'm not lying.  The sailor had too many details about the ship right.
It's the same one.  He was six hours south of Headers Reef, to the west
of Three Fingers Island.  Do you know it?"

Amos nodded.  "I know it."

"Take a bearing an hour before sunset, with the sun about five points
to the starboard and you'll be on a dead line with the black ship."

Amos nodded.  "If your information is right, you'll get your gold and
more.  Now I'll have blankets put by for you in the rope locker.  Stay
away from my men, and if you cause trouble, I'll lock you in the chain
locker, which is far less comfortable.  Understood?"

The girl nodded sullenly.  With a defiant toss of her chin, she said,
"May I go now?"

Amos stood.  "Yes.  And, Nicholas .. ,"

"Yes?"

"Stay close to her until we're too far from land for her to swim home.
If she makes a break for the rail, hit her over the head."

Nicholas smiled ruefully, and said, "I'll be happy to."

The girl threw him a dark and angry glare as she left the cabin, a
half-step ahead of him.

11 PUSSUIf

Margaret shuddered.  Abigail asked, "What is it?"

"That .. . odd sensation, again."  Margaret closed her eyes.

"What else?  Tell me," demanded Abigail.  For a month, once or twice a
day, Margaret had been visited by a strange feeling.  Sometimes she
likened it to a chill; other times it was a tingling sensation over her
entire body.  It wasn't painful or threatening but alien.

"It's closer," said Margaret.

"What's closer?"

"Whatever's making me feel this way."  Margaret rose and crossed to the
large window.  They had been given a cabin in the aft of the ship,
above the rudder house.  It was not large, being one of two below the
captain's cabin, but it had the benefit of something larger than the
tiny porthole in their first cabin.  There was a divan at the foot of
the two beds, their heads under the window, a small table between them.
Meals were served by silent men who refused to engage in even the most
meaningless banter.  Twice a day they were taken up on deck, weather
permitting, and allowed to take the sun and stretch their legs.

The weather was changing, growing warmer.  Margaret found this odd,
given they were approaching early winter, but the crew seemed to think
nothing of the balmy days.  And the days were growing longer.  Margaret
had pondered these oddities aloud, but Abigail had been totally
uninterested.

Margaret climbed up on her bed and pushed open the small window.  She
could stick her head out and look down at the large rudder as the water
swirled behind.  The ability to keep the air in the cabin fresh was
welcome after the days spent below in the hold of the smaller ships.
She often wondered how the less fortunate prisoners were doing, for
despite their having their own small bunks, there was no fresh air and
little light in the slaver's decks.

The door opened and a familiar face appeared.  Arjuna Svadjian bowed in
his strange fashion, both hands pressed to-gedier, the steeple of his
fingers before his face.  "I trust you are well," he said, in what the
girls now knew was a formal greeting.

Margaret and Abigail had been visited each day by this man, and each
day he had engaged them in what seemed pointless conversation.  There
was nothing menacing about his behavior or appearance; he was of medium
height, he wore his beard closely trimmed, and his clothing was of
expensive weave but plain cut.  He looked the part of a prosperous
businessman, and could even have passed for a trader from a distant
port of Kesh, had he been traveling in the Kingdom.

At first the conversation was a welcome diversion from the sameness of
each minute.  The cabin might be more comfortable than the previous
accommodations, but it was still a cell.  Then the girls went through a
period of being difficult, giving him meaningless answers to his
questions, or purposely contradicting themselves.  He seemed equally
indifferent to either tack, merely absorbing whatever they said.

Every once in a while he was accompanied by another man, one they had
met the first day called Saji, who said little.  He would occasionally
pause to write something down on a tablet of parchment he carried, but
otherwise he just observed.

"Today I would ask you to tell me more of your uncle, this Prince
Arutha," said Arjuna.

"Why, so you can better prepare to make war on him?"

The man showed neither irritation at the accusation nor amusement,
saying, "To conduct a war across so vast a sea is difficult."  He
provided no further comment on her question, but said, "Do you know
Prince Arutha well?"

"Not well," she answered.

He was not a man to show the girls any emotion, but something about the
way he moved forward slightly gave Margaret the feeling he was pleased
at that answer.

"You have met him, though?"

"When I was a small child," answered Margaret.

To Abigail he said, "What of you?  Have you met this Prince Arutha?"

Abigail shook her head.  "My father has never taken me to court."

Arjuna whispered something to Saji in an alien language, and the small
man made a note on his tablet.

The interview wore on.  The questions were seemingly unrelated to those
asked at previous interviews.  After most of the morning was past, the
girls were bored, tired, and frustrated, but Arjuna never seemed to
tire during these interviews.  At midday, a small meal was provided the
girls, but he did not eat, merely slowing the interview so that they
could consume the simple meal of biscuits, dried meat, dried fruit, and
a cup of wine.  They had learned early to eat all the food brought
them, for Abigail had refused to touch her meal one day.  Two of the
silent men had entered and one had held her in place while the other
had force-fed her.  All Arjuna had said was "You must keep up your
strength and be well."

After the meal, he excused himself, and they heard him enter the cabin
next door.  Margaret hurried to the bulkhead that separated the cabins
and tried to listen, as she did each time he entered that cabin.  There
was a mysterious passenger whom Arjuna consulted with from time to
time, but no one else ever entered the cabin.  Margaret had once boldly
asked who was in there, but Arjuna had ignored the question and
countered with one of his own.

A low murmur of voices could barely be made out, but no words were
intelligible.  Then suddenly Margaret was again visited by d^at strange
tingling sensation, this time stronger than ever.  At the same moment,
a voice was raised in alarm in the next cabin, and the sound of feet
moving toward its rear came through the bulkhead.

Margaret glanced out the small window to the left, and there she saw a
hooded figure half leaning out of the window.  The figure extended an
arm, pointing behind the ship, and exclaimed, "She-cha!  Ja-nisht souk,
Svadjian!"

Margaret pulled back inside the cabin, her face ashen and her eyes
wide.

Seeing her expression, Abigail whispered, "What is it?"

Margaret reached over and took Abigail's hand.  Gripping it tightly,
she said, "I saw our neighbor.  He ... it stuck its hand out.  It was
covered with green scales."

Abigail's eyes widened and her eyes brimmed with tears.  Margaret
warned, "If you begin crying again, I'll slap you so hard you'll really
have something to cry about."

Voice trembling, Abigail said, "I'm frightened, Margaret."

"And you think I'm not?"  asked the other girl.  "We can't let them
know we know."

Abigail said, "I'll try."

"There's something else."

"What?"

"We're being followed."

Abigail's eyes widened again and she looked hopeful for the first time
since they had been captured.  "How do you know?  Who is it?"

Margaret said, "That thing in the next compartment felt whatever it is
I've been feeling lately, and he complained that someone was overtaking
us."

"You heard that?"

"I heard the tone, and it wasn't pleased.  And there's something in
that sensation I've been feeling that finally makes sense to me."

"What?"

"I- know who's following us."

"Who?"

"Anthony."

Abigail said, "Anthony?"  in a disappointed tone.

"He's not alone, I promise you," said Margaret.  "It must be some magic
of his that I'm feeling."  Her expression turned reflective.  "I wonder
why I can feel it and you can't."

"Abigail shrugged.  "Who understands magic?"

"Do you think you could squeeze through that window?"

Abigail glanced at it and said, "I might if I wasn't wearing this
gown."

"Then we'll take our gowns off," said Margaret.

Abigail said, "What are you thinking?"

"The second I see a ship behind us, I plan on getting off this one. Are
you a good swimmer?"

Abigail shook her head and looked afraid to answer.

"Can you swim at all?"  asked Margaret incredulously.

Abigail said, "I can paddle some if the water's not too difficult."

Margaret said, "Lives by the sea her entire life and she can paddle
some."  Looking hard at her friend, she said, "You'll paddle, and I'll
keep you out of trouble if I must.  If a ship's coming after us, we
won't be in the water that long."

"What if they don't see us?"

"Worry about that at the time" was Margaret's answer.

Then Margaret again felt the strange tingle and she said, "They're
coming."

ANTHONY POINTED, AND Amos sighted along his arm and said, "Two points
to port, Mr.  Rhodes."

Nicholas, Harry, and Marcus watched the magician for a minute, then
Harry said, "I don't know how he can be certain.  Everyone at Crydee
said he wasn't a very good magician."

Nicholas said, "He may not be a good magician, but Nakor says he just
knows where" he was about to say "Margaret," but, knowing of Harry's
infatuation with her, he changed it to "the girls are.  Nakor's pretty
certain Anthony's on the right track.  And Pug said to follow Nakor's
advice."  Amos had Anthony use his magic three rimes a day, at sunrise,
noon, and sunset, to correct his course.

Nakor was up at the bow of the ship, talking to Calls.  Ghuda was off
by himself, a short distance away from the little Isalani, lost in his
own thoughts.

Harry glanced around the horizon.  "How anybody can know anything about
where they are on this endless expanse of water is beyond me," he
said.

Nicholas was forced to agree.  Save for some white clouds to the north
of them, the sky was empty, as was the ocean.  There was nothing to
break up the constantly moving surface of the water.  For the first
three weeks of the journey, they had seen islands here and there, all
part of the Sunset Islands chain, and it broke up the monotony of the
journey.

Once the excitement of being in relatively close pursuit had worn off,
the ship had fallen into a routine.  The tension remained, for Marcus
paced the deck, when weather permitted, like a caged animal, and when
the weather was inclement, he sat brooding.  Nicholas and Harry lent a
hand wherever possible, trying to relieve the boredom, and were
becoming fair deep-water sailors in the process.  The constant work and
meager food had given Nicholas and Harry a rangy, lean appearance, and
the time spent aloft or on deck had turned Nicholas a deep tan. Harry's
fair skin had burned badly until Anthony had soothed it with salve, and
now he was as brown as if he had lived all his life upon the beach. 
Nicholas had shaved his beard, while Marcus had let his grow, so while
there was still a resemblance, it wasn't as obvious.

The others had fallen into their own routine.  Nakor and Anthony spent
much of the time discussing magic, or "tricks," as Nakor insisted on
calling it, and Ghuda seemed content to keep his own company, though
from time to time he could be seen in deep conversation with Calls.

The progress of the ship matched the deepening of concern in all aboard
the vessel, for Amos had ordered rations cut.  He .  had felt they were
reasonably provisioned when they had set out, but not knowing if land
was only moments beyond the horizon or still weeks off, he felt it
better to stretch them out.  And with the hunger that came with the
rationing came the realization that they were truly sailing into
unknown waters.

For the last month they had sailed out of sight of any land, their
final contact with the Sunset Islands being a pitiful little series of
sandbars and coral outcroppings that could hardly be called islands.
Once they had fallen behind, there was nothing but the sea.

Nicholas knew that there was another land across the water.  He had
accepted it 'as a fact, because that's what his father had told him.
But here he stood on the deck of a ship, sailing into what was commonly
called the Endless Sea, to a land where no man of the Kingdom had ever
ventured, and no matter how he tried, he could not leave aside the
little nagging doubt, a small voice that said, "Perhaps the sailors are
right; perhaps the map is a hoax."

Only two things kept the sailors calm and going about their business as
usual: their training in the Kingdom Navy and

Amos's firm command.  They might not believe the magician could tell
where the black ship was on the water ahead of them, but they could
believe that if any man could sail them across the Endless Sea and back
it was Admiral Trask.

Nicholas glanced up at the top of the main mast, where a lookout was
stationed, against hope that they might catch sight of the ship they
followed.  Amos speculated from the girl's description that the ship
was a galleon, a design used occasionally in Queg in days past,
sometimes with rowing banks, sometimes without.  If so, he judged it a
far slower ship than his own, and that despite its ten or more days'
lead time, he might even overtake it before it reached its far port.

Nicholas hoped so, for as he grew bored and restless aboard the Raptor,
he found his mind drifting more and more to a fanciful reunion with
Abigail.  The sour memory of killing Render continued to intrude on him
from time to time, and no matter how he tried, the feel of the saber in
his hand as it drove hard into Render's stomach still clung to him.
Even when he practiced with the sword with Marcus, Harry, or Ghuda,
dueling across a pitching deck, he anticipated that sudden difference,
that oddly soft feeling of a sharp blade cutting flesh as opposed to
ringing off an opponent's blade.  And thinking of the blood and death
made him feel ill.

He had talked about it with Harry and Ghuda, and neither could help him
cope with the feeling of somehow being dirty.  No matter how much
Nicholas tried to justify killing Render, no matter how much he told
himself that this had been the man who had killed his aunt, destroyed
hundreds of lives, and reduced a thriving town to a burned-out
collection of ruins, he couldn't bring himself to feet that he had
acted correctly.

Nicholas knew better than to bring up the subject with Marcus, for how
could he express regret over lulling one of the men who had murdered
Marcus's mother and kidnapped his sister?

And Nicholas had spoken with no one about his deepest fear: that if
need be, he couldn't bring himself to kill again.

Brisa came up on deck and Nicholas was forced to smile.  The girl was
like no one he had ever encountered before, and she amused him.  In one
fashion, she reminded him a little of "Uncle James," one of the King's
advisers in Rillanon, and a former companion of his father.  Now he was
a Baron of the

King's court, and he and his wife and children visited Krondor on a
regular basis.  There was something wild and daring in him just below
the surface, and Nicholas had heard tales that when he was a boy, James
had been a thief in Krondor.  There was that same wildness in Brisa,
though it wasn't hidden very deep below the surface.  And it came out
with alarming regularity when she was around Marcus.

Nicholas and Harry exchanged glances, and Nicholas found Harry grinning
as the girl started straight for them, her eyes fixed on Marcus.  For
reasons none of them could fathom, she had taken a clear liking to the
often dour son of the Duke.  At least, she delighted in teasing him at
every opportunity, and often Nicholas couldn't be sure if her
provocative invitations were teasing.  She could become quite
scandalous at times.  She was at home with the sailors, for while she
was female, and several held to the odd superstition regarding women on
ships, she could swear with the best of them, climb the rigging like a
monkey, and tell the foulest jokes of anyone on the ship.  Where Amos
had worried that some of the younger sailors might try to take
advantage of her presence on the ship, causing conflicts among the
crew, his worry had been baseless.  The slender girl with the ragged
hair and large eyes had managed to turn almost the entire ship's
company into surrogate big brothers, any of whom would be happy to
thrash any other member of the crew who grew abusive of their Brisa.
And they all seemed to take equal delight in watching her make Marcus
blush.

'< ~. Coming to where Marcus stood, a resigned expression on his face,
she said, "Hello, handsome.  Want to go below and learn a few
things?"

Marcus shook his head, his color rising, as he said, "No.  But I do
need to go below.  I've not had my midday meal yet."  She took a step
after him as he turned, adding, "Alone!"  He left the gjrl who feigned
a pout, and Harry and Nicholas grinned as he went below.

Harry said, "Why must you tease him so?"

Shrugging, the girl said, "Oh, it gives me something to do.  It's
pretty boring around here otherwise.  Besides, there's something about
him that appeals to me.  I think it's his total lack of a sense of
humor.  It's a challenge."

Nicholas considered himself fortunate that she had singled out Marcus
instead of himself.  He found himself sympathizing with his cousin: the
street girl from Freeport was a force of nature.  He studied her and
found himself conceding that she was pretty in a boyish, uncomplicated
fashion.  A few days after the voyage began, he decided her ragged
clothing and dirty appearance had been more a product of guile than of
carelessness; being a pretty girl in a town like Freeport was dangerous
enough, but without a protector, it was an open invitation to rape and
bondage.  With shapeless clothing several sizes too large, and dirt on
every exposed inch of skin, she looked far less inviting and often
could pass as a boy.

Putting her hands behind her back, she whistled a nameless tune as she
sauntered down to the companionway.  Nicholas laughed.

"What's so funny?"  asked Harry, already knowing the answer.

"Just considering how fast we'll find Marcus back up here on deck"

"One of these days she may be surprised."

Nicholas said, "I doubt much catches our street girl by surprise."

"Wonder what she'd look like in some proper clothing," said Harry.

Nicholas said, "I was just thinking the same thing myself.  She's
rather pretty under all that ragged hair and has lovely eyes."

Harry said, "Forgetting Abigail already, are we?"

Nicholas's mood instantly turned dark.  "No," he said coldly.

"Sorry.  I was making a joke."

"It was a bad one," said Nicholas.

Harry sighed.  "I'm sorry."  Then his mood lightened.  "I was thinking
how she'd look in one of those gowns Margaret and Abigail wore to that
last reception, the ones that had al!  that lace down the front."

Nicholas couldn't help but grin.  "You mean the low-cut ones that my
mother thinks are so scandalous."

Harry grinned in return.  "Well, Brisa has that long, slender neck, and
her arms are really graceful."

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's forgetting whom we're looking
for," chided Nicholas.

Harry sighed.  "Guess you're right.  Perhaps it's the boredom.  But
except for Brisa, I haven't paid attention to a girl, pretty or
otherwise, since the last night we spoke with Margaret and Abigail.
There may have been a few around since then, but I was a little too
busy to notice."

Nicholas nodded.

"One thing," said Harry.

"What?"

"I wonder why she picked Marcus and not me?"

Nicholas glanced at his friend and saw that the question was only
half-joking.

The lookout cried, "Captain!  I see men in the water!"

Amos shouted back, "Where away?"

"Three points off the starboard bow!"

Amos hurried to the bow, and by the time he had gotten there, Nicholas,
Harry, and half the crew were behind him.  In the water, small figures
could be seen floating.  Amos nearly spat.  "Slavers," he said with
murderous fury, barely controlled, "Those that die are thrown to the
sharks."

"One of them is alive!"  shouted the lookout.

Amos turned and shouted, "I want a boat lowered.  Make ready to pick up
the survivor!  Put her into the wind, Mr, Rhodes!"

The ship was turned to slow her movement while a boat was lowered.  The
men started rowing toward the floating bodies and the one survivor,
when the lookout shouted, "Sharks!"

Amos looked to where he pointed and saw a fin cutting the water. "Brown
tip; he's a man-eater."

"There's another," said Harry, pointing a little farther off,

Nicholas asked, "Can your men get to the survivor first?"

"No," said Amos.  "If the sharks grab one of the dead men first, maybe
there's a chance.  Sharks are funny that way.  They can swim around you
for hours or come straight in and take you the minute you hit the
water.  There's no telling."  He shook his head.

Calls said, "Maybe I can distract them."  He unlimbered his bow and
drew out a long shaft, fitting it to the bowstring.  He drew back and
sighted on the shark closest to the ship, then let fly.  The
steel-tipped arrow sped through the air and struck the shark just below
the fin, causing a noticeable fountain of blood.

Instantly three of the other sharks veered away from the floating
corpses and sole survivor and made a straight course for the thrashing
shark.

Amos said, "Lucky shot.  Shark hide's tough.  That's like punching an
arrowhead through armor."

Without boasting, Calls unstrung his bow.  "Luck had nothing to do with
it."

The men in the longboat got the survivor into the boat and began rowing
back to the ship.  Amos called, "Ready a sling!"

By the time the boat reached the side of the Raptor, a sling and two
ropes were ready.  A couple of the crew climbed halfway down to aid the
injured man as he was hauled up on deck.

By the time he was aboard, Anthony had reached him.  He examined the
man's color, rolled back an eyelid, and put his ear on the man's chest.
Nodding once, the healer said, "Get him below."

Amos motioned for two men to pick up the man and take him to the crew's
quarters, and turned toward the helm.  "Get her back on course, Mr.
Rhodes!"

"Aye, Captain," came the answer.

Amos scratched his beard.  "If one of them is still alive .. ."

Nicholas said, "Then we're not too far behind!"  Amos nodded.  "Two
days at most."  He calculated quickly, then said, "Unless I miss my
guess, we'll catch sight of them by sundown tomorrow."  There was a
gleeful look in his eye, and Nicholas didn't need to ask what was on
his mind.  When Amos overtook the men behind the sack of Crydee,
there'd be murder to pay.

NICHOLAS, MARCUS AND the others waited on deck as the sun sank in the
west.  Amos had gone below with Nakor and Anthony, to see to the man
they had fished from the sea.  They had been down for most of the day
and still no word was forthcoming.

At last Amos appeared on deck and motioned for Nicholas and his cousin.
They left the others, who were gathered on the foredeck, and joined
Amos on the main deck.  "He's still alive, but barely," said the
Admiral.

"Who is he?"  asked Marcus.

"He says his name is Hawkins and he was apprentice to a wheelwright in
Carse."

"Then he was from the black ship!"  said Nicholas.  Amos nodded.  "He
also said that he had been in the water two days before we'd found him.
They throw those who are dead and those too ill to recover overboard at
sunrise, along with the garbage.  He clung to a bit of a broken crate
that was tossed, which is how he survived.  He has a hacking cough, and
Anthony figures that's why he was tossed overboard.  It's a miracle
he's still alive."

Nicholas said, "What about the girls?"

"Rumors.  They were taken away from the other prisoners the first night
the ship put out, so he knows they were on board then, but he hasn't
seen them since.  He says that someone claims a sailor mentioned
they're kept in better quarters because of their rank, but he doesn't
know."

Marcus said, "Will we overtake them before they reach their home port,
Admiral?"

Amos nodded.  "Unless we're closer to land than I think, we will."  As
the sun sank beneath the horizon, he said, "The color of the water's
different here, it's deep."  Glancing upward, he added, "But I have no
idea where we really are; the stars are in places I've never seen
before.  Some old familiar ones have fallen below the northern horizon
over the last month, and there are ones new to me visible in the
southern sky.  I judge we've still got a way to go before we reach our
friend's port, if I remember that map."

"That makes it a long journey," observed Marcus.

"Nearly four months from Krondor to the northern shore of that landmass
on the map, I'm guessing.  "We've been more than two months from
Freeport, and I think we're still two weeks from landfall," said Amos.
He shook his head.  "Assuming Anthony is right about their course."
Glancing at the deck as if he could see the sick man from Carse through
the planks, he said, "And our near-dead friend down there shows that
Anthony knows at least that much magic."

"Will we have trouble getting back?"  asked Nicholas.

Amos shook his head.  "I can retrace our course, allowing for the
winds.  Every night I record my best guess as to heading and speed, and
I've been doing this long enough that my best guess is fairly reliable.
The stars may have changed, but I've marked the new ones, and where the
more familiar ones rise each night.  It may take a bit of work, but
we'll hit somewhere between Keshian Elarial and Crydee when we get
back."

He returned to the quarterdeck and left the cousins alone with their
thoughts.

ANTHONY CAME ON deck, looking drawn and exhausted.  Nakor came out
behind him.  Nicholas asked, "How is he?"

"Not good," said Anthony.  With bitterness he said, "The slavers knew
their trade.  Even if he recovers, he's never going to be a hearty man,
certainly not someone who can be sold on the slave block."

Nicholas said, "When will we know if he's going to make it?"

Anthony exchanged glances with Nakor, then said, "If he lives through
the night, he stands a fair chance."

Nakor shrugged.  "It's up to him, I think."

Nicholas said, "I don't understand."

Nakor grinned.  "I know.  When you do, your foot won't hurt any
more."

The short man took Anthony by the elbow and Jed him away to the other
side of the ship where they could be alone.  Nicholas glanced at Harry,
who shrugged and said, "Let's practice."  Pulling out his saber, he
said, "If we're going to overtake that ship soon, I want to be as sharp
as this blade."

Nicholas nodded and they marked off a portion of the, main deck and
began exchanging blows.

Nakor looked at the young men at practice a moment, then said, "You did
well, magician."

Anthony ran his hand over his face, clearly fatigued by his efforts.
"Thank you.  But I'm not sure what you were doing in there."

Nakor shrugged.  "Some tricks.  Sometimes it is not the body that needs
healing.  If you practice, you can see other things inside the person.
I was talking to his spirit."

Anthony frowned.  "Now you sound like a priest talking."

Nakor shook his head vigorously.  "No, they mean soul."  The little man
looked at a loss for words for a moment, tJien said, "Close your
eyes."

Anthony did so.

"Now, where is the sun?"

Anthony pointed over toward the bow of the ship.

"Ah," said Nakor in a tone of disgust.  "I mean, where do you feel
it?"

"On my face."

"This is hopeless," Nakor said, his disgust even more apparent.
"Magicians.  They mess your minds up at Stardock, fill your brain with
nonsense."

Anthony was usually amused by the strange man, but now he was too
tired.  "What nonsense?"

Nakor screwed up his face as if in concentration and said, "If you're a
blind man, can you tell where the sun is?"  "I don't know," answered
Anthony.

The ship shuddered as Amos ordered a slight course change because of a
wind shift, and Nakor said, "A blind man can feel the warmth of the sun
on his face and 'look' at it."  Anthony said, "All right.  I'll accept
that."

"Very generous of you," snapped Nakor.  "Close your eyes again."
Anthony did so.  "Can you feel the sun?"

Anthony turned to face the bow of the ship and said, "Yes.  There's
more warmth there."

"Good, now we're getting somewhere."  With a grin, Nakor asked, "How
can you feel the sun?"

Anthony said, "Well .. ."  He looked surprised.  "I don't know.  You
just can."

"But it's up there."  Nakor pointed to where the sun hung in the late
afternoon sky.

"It gives heat," responded Anthony.

"Ah," said Nakor with a grin.  "Can you feel the air?"

Anthony said, "No ... I mean, I can feel the wind."

"You can't see the air, but you can feel it?"

"Sometimes."

Nakor grinned.  "If there are things you know are there that you can't
see, then might there not also be things you don't know arc there that
you can't see?"

Anthony looked befuddled.  "I suppose."

Nakor leaned against the rail, and adjusted the rucksack he always had
with him.  Opening the bag, he took out an orange.  "Want one?"

Anthony found he did, and asked, "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Always have oranges in there.  We've been at sea nearly four months
since leaving Crydee and you've never bought any that I'm aware of."

Nakor grinned.  "It's a "

"I know, a trick, but how do you do it?"

Nakor said, "You'd call it magic."

Anthony shook his head.  "But you don't."

"There is no magic," Nakor insisted.  "Look, it's as I said: there are
things you can't see but are the re  He made an arch in the air with
his hand.  "You do this, you feel the air."  Then he rubbed his thumb
and forefinger together.  "But you do this, you can't feel it."

Looking out over the ocean, he said, "The universe is made up of very
strange stuff, Anthony.  I don't know what this stuff is, but it's like
heat from the sun or wind.  Sometimes you can feel it, and even move
it."

Anthony was now intrigued.  "Go on."

Nakor said, "When I was a boy, I could do tricks.  I knew how to do
things that amused the people in my village.  I was to have been a
farmer like my father and brothers, but one summer a traveling magician
came through our village, selling curatives and spells.  He wasn't a
very good magician, but I was fascinated by the tricks he could do. The
night he came, I left my father's house and went to him and showed him
some of my tricks, and he asked if I wished to be his apprentice. So I
followed him, and never again saw my family.

"For years I stayed with him, until I discovered that my tricks were
better than his and I could do more, so I set off to find my own fate."
Sticking his thumb into the orange, he pulled away a section of peel.
He bit into the orange and paused as he chewed.  Then he said, "Years
later, I had discarded all pretense of magic, for I learned I could do
things without the chanting and the powders in the fire, without the
marks in the dirt, or the other trappings.  I just did them."

"How?"

"I don't know."  He grinned.  "See, I think Pug is a very smart man,
not because he's so powerful, but because he knows how much he doesn't
know yet.  He understands that he's passed beyond his training."  Nakor
fixed one squinting eye on Anthony.  "I think you also could move past
your training should you but come to understand one thing."

"What?"

"There is no magic.  There is only this stuff that makes up the
universe, and magic is what less enlightened people call it when they
manipulate this stuff."

"You keep calling it 'stuff."  Do you have a name for this magical
element?"

"No."  Nakor laughed.  "I have always thought of it as stuff, and it's
not magical."  He held his thumb and forefinger as close together
without touching as he could, while he took another bite out of the
orange in his other hand.  Talking around the mouthful of fruit, he
said, "I imagine this tiny space.  Now imagine it half again as small.
Then halve it again, and then again.  Can you imagine it that small?"
"I don't think so," admitted Anthony.  "It's a wise man who knows his
limits," said Nakor, his grin widening.  "But even so, imagine this
space, and imagine you are in it, and imagine that it's huge, the size
of the biggest room, and make your fingers so."  He held out his hand
again.  "Then begin once more, and do it all again.  In that last
space, it would be so very small, there is where you would find stuff."
"That is small," admitted Anthony.  "If one could but look, that is
where you would see it."  "How did you discover this stuff?"

"As a small boy I just could do things, my tricks.  I was a mischievous
child, and I would spill a bucket of water, or put a sleeping cat on
the roof of a hut.  My father, who was an important man in our village,
sent to the city of Shing Lai for a priest of the order of Dav-lu, whom
you in the Kingdom call Banath, for he is known in the province where I
grew up as the Prankster, and my father was certain we were being
troubled by an impish spirit or demon.  I set a hot brand to the
priest's backside and was found out.  The priest told my father to beat
me, which he did, and then I was admonished to behave, which I did most
of the time."

Taking another bite of orange, he said, "Anyway, all my life I have
found that I could do things, what I call tricks, because I knew how to
manipulate this stuff."

Anthony shook his head.  "Can you teach others?"  "It is what I was
trying to tell people at Stardock when I was the re anyone can
learn."

Anthony shook his head.  "I think I would fail should you try to teach
me."

THE KING 's BUCCANEF R

"I'm already teaching you."  Nakor laughed.  "It is that stuff that I
was talking to in the sick man below.  There is energy in everything,
this stuff I can manipulate."  Opening his sack, he said, "Reach in and
get another orange."

Anthony reached into the bag and said, "There's nothing there!"

Nakor said, "It's a trick.  Close your eyes."  Anthony complied.  "Can
you feel a seam at the bottom, at the side away from me?"

"No."

"Try harder.  It is very faint, very difficult to feel.  Try
concentrating on the tip of your longest finger, just hooking the nail
under the fabric.  Can you feel it there?"

Anthony concentrated, then said, "I think I feel something."

"Gently pull back that fabric, moving it toward me."

Anthony said, "I think I'm losing it.... I have it."

"Once you've moved that fabric out of the way, reach below and you'll
feel an orange."

Anthony reached and felt the fruit.  He pulled it out and opened his
eyes.  "So it is a trick."

Nakor took the rucksack off his shoulder and handed it to Anthony.
"Look inside."

Anthony thoroughly examined the heavy felted wool bag, and at last
said, "I can't see the false bottom."  Wadding up the fabric, he said,
"And I can't feel any false compartment."

"There is none," said Nakor with a laugh.  "You moved aside a layer of
stuff and found a small passage through to another place."

"Where?"

"A warehouse in Ashunta where \ once labored awhile.  It belongs to a
fruit merchant, and when you reach through, your hand is right above a
big container the merchant keeps filled with oranges."

Anthony laughed.  "That's how you do it.  It's a rift!"

Nakor shrugged.  "I think.  I don't know.  It doesn't act like a rift,
from what little I know of them.  It's more like a crack in the
stuff."

"But why a fruit merchant?  Why not a treasury?"

"Because that's what I was thinking of when I first tried the trick and
I haven't been able to move it since."

"You lack discipline," observed Anthony.

"Perhaps, but your spellcastmg is nothing more than getting your mind
oriented so you can manipulate stuff.  You just didn't know that's what
you were doing.  I think Pug found out.  He's not bound by your Greater
Path and Lesser Path and this path and that path nonsense.  He knows
that you just reach out and take a hold on the stuff and move it
around."

Anthony laughed again.  "Doesn't the merchant miss those oranges?"

"It's a very big bin, and I only take a few each day.  And the merchant
only has workers in there once or twice a week.  My one difficulty is
when I hide things on top of his bin, so that the bag appears empty if
searched.  Once I put some gold coins in the bin.  There was a very
happy worker at that fruit warehouse the next day, I think."

Anthony was about to speak when a shout came down from the lookout upon
the main mast: "Ship ahoy!"

Amos called up from the quarterdeck, "Where away?"

"Dead ahead, Captain."

Amos hurried to the bow, where he found the others already peering
ahead.  "There!"  said Calls1 pointing.

Nicholas squinted against the setting sun, and there upon the horizon
was a tiny speck of black.  "Is that them?"  he asked.

Amos said, "Unless friend Anthony is deluding us with his magic, it
is."

"When will we overtake them?"  asked Harry.

Amos rubbed his chin.  "Hard to guess.  Let's see how much distance we
make up tonight, and I'll have a better guess."  Turning to the stern,
he called out, "I'll have an extra watch aloft and another in the bow
tonight, Mr.  Rhodes.  Keep a eye out for lights."

"Aye, Captain," came the answer.

' Now we wait," said Amos to those nearby.

IS&STSfi

\M?  he lookout pointed.  M. "Ship ahoy!"

"Where away?"  demanded Amos.

"Dead ahead, Captain!"

Amos stood in the bow with the others as the sun rose grudgingly behind
them.  A heavy mist obscured the western horizon, but a few minutes
after the lookout identified the black ship, Calls said, "I see it."

Amos spoke low.  "You've got younger eyes than I, elf."

Calls said nothing, but he ventured a slight smile at being called an
elf.  Then he pointed.  "There!"

In the blue-grey morning a single dot could be seen, a black speck that
was recognized as a ship and sails only by those who had spent years on
the sea.  "Damn," swore Amos.  "We're not gaining that much."

"How long?"  asked Marcus.

Amos turned away, moving toward the ladder to the main deck.  "At this
rate, we'll need a week to overhaul her."  He glanced above.  "Three
points starboard, Mr.  Rhodes!"  he shouted, as much out of frustration
as a need to be heard.  "Trim the sails!  I want her as tight into the
wind as you can get her on that line!"  - "Aye, Captain," came the
response, and without being told, sailors leaped up and climbed the
ratlines into the rigging to trim the sails aloft, while those on deck
hauled on sheets to move large booms and yards.

Nicholas overtook Amos on the main deck.  "I thought we were faster,
Amos."

"We are," he answered, climbing the ladder to the quarterdeck, "But
we're a different kind of ship.  She's going to run fastest almost full
to the wind.  We're faster off that line, running a tighter reach, but
on the same line as she is, well, we're faster, but not by much."

"What about taking off on a broad reach, then coming about and cutting
her off?"

Amos smiled.  "This isn't a boat race in the harbor, Nicky.  There's a
lot of ocean out there, and by the time we'd come back to where we
expect her to be, her captain could have changed course and be miles
away.  No, it's stern chase all the way."

"And a stern chase is a long chase," Nicholas said, repeating an old
seaman's axiom.

Amos laughed.  "Where did you hear that?"

Nicholas grinned.  "You only say it every time you tell that story
about helping Mother and Father escape Krondor, when Jocko Radburn
tried to overhaul you."

Amos returned the grin.  "Damn me!  You paid attention to those
stories."  Throwing an arm around Nicholas and giving him a playful
punch to the stomach with his free hand, Amos said, "You're now my
favorite grandchild-to-be."  Pushing him away, he said, "Now get off my
quarterdeck and don't come up here again without asking permission,
Your Highness."

"Aye, Captain," said Nicholas with a laugh.  He left the quarterdeck,
glad for the momentary respite from the tension.

He returned to the bow and found everyone still there, eyes fixed on
the black speck before them.  Calls and Marcus were both as still as
statues, while Harry hummed a nameless tune.  Brisa kept one hand on
Marcus's shoulder, and he didn't seem to notice.  Ghuda had his sword
out and was polishing it with a cloth he always carried.  Nakor and
Anthony simply watched.

Nicholas studied Anthony's face.  The magician's expression was
focused, as if he was trying to see something in the distance.

MARGARET SHIVERED.  ABIGAIL stood up from her seat on the divan and
crossed to sit next to her friend on one of the beds.  She said, "Are
they .. ."

Margaret nodded.  "Anthony," she whispered.  Her eyes grew shining with
tears.

Abigail reached out and took her hand.  "What is it?"

Fighting back tears, Margaret said, "I don't know, but it's a feeling..
.."  She shook her head and smiled.  "I can't describe St.  It's just
the way Anthony reached out to me, that's all."

Abigail's expression showed she didn't understand.  She rose and went
over to the window, peering out across the ocean.  "They're back there
somewhere."

Margaret came and stood next to her.  "Yes."  Then her eyes narrowed.
"There!"  she said, trying to rein in her excitement.  "That small
black speck!"

Abigail looked for a long time before she whispered, "I see it.  It's
them!"

The girls stood watching, silently willing the pursuing ship to move
faster.  For an hour they stood there, trying to see more detail, a
sail or a banner, until they heard the approach of footsteps outside.
Margaret closed the window, and they were sitting when the door opened
and Arjuna entered, Saji following.  "Good day, ladies," Arjuna said
coolly.

He sat upon the divan, while Saji remained standing.  Arjuna said,
"Now, Lady Margaret, what do you know of the city of Sethanon?"

FOR THREE DAYS they kept vigil on the ship ahead.  Each morning
Nicholas and the others would hurry to the bow to see how much distance
they had made up.  Now they could clearly see the outline of sails and
hull.  It was a huge ship and moved through the ocean like a stately
queen, but for those on the Raptor, there was nothing lovely in it.

Near midmorning, the lookout called, "She's changing course,
Captain!"

Amos asked, "On what quarter?"  "She's moving to port!"

Amos said, "Bring her a bit to port, Mr.  Rhodes."  Nicholas shouted
from the bow, "What's she doing?"  Amos shook his head, indicating he
didn't know.  Then he called to the lookout, "Keep a sharp eye out for
reefs!"  Turning to his first mate, he said, "Extra lookouts aloft and
in the bow, Mr.  Rhodes."

Within minutes, sailors were stationed in the bow and on the yards,
peering down at the water, looking for changes in color that would
indicate reefs.  Amos said, "See if we can get back on her line, Mr.
Rhodes.  If she's moving through shoals, I want her to show us the
way."

"Water's changing color, Captain!"  shouted a man in the bow.

Amos hurried to the bow and hung out far enough for Nicholas to feel
compelled to hold his belt.  "It's getting shallow," said Amos as he
pulled himself back on deck, "but it's not that shallow."

The others had gathered nearby and he said, "I think we're about to
come into sight of land.  Islands, or perhaps that continent on the
map."  He called to the lookout, "Keep your eyes on the stern of that
ship.  If she trims sails or changes course, sing out!"

"Aye, Captain."

Amos motioned for Nicholas and his companions to gather around him.
"Ghuda here has the most experience as a soldier, so I advise you all
to stay close to him."  Looking at Nicholas, Marcus, and Harry, he
said, "Don't get excited and try to win this thing by yourself.  That's
one hell of a big ship, and she could be carrying as many as a hundred
armed men besides her normal crew."  Looking over his shoulder at the
crew busy on deck, he added, "My lads are as tough as they are good, so
they'll take care of themselves."  He glanced at the distant ship.
"This sort of thing can change unexpectedly.  If they are forced to a
different reach before the wind, we might suddenly be on top of them,
so the fight could start at any moment.  Good luck."  '

He turned and left; Nicholas faced Ghuda.  The old mercenary said,
"I've served marine duty before."  He stared over Harry's shoulder at
the distant ship as he said, "She's a large bitch, riding higher in the
water than we are.  That's bad.  We can either swing down out of the
rigging or climb ropes on grappling hooks.  Swinging's faster.  But
those that swing over are going to have to hold the rail  so the others
can climb up without getting their heads split.  Stay close and watch
each other's backs, because there's no tine of bat de  The man behind

you might be one of them."  To Nakor and Anthony he said, "Probably
best if you two stay here for a while, then come after to tend the
wounded."

Nakor said, "I have a trick or two that might help."

"No doubt," said Anthony dryly, but he nodded agreement to Ghuda's
suggestion.

Ghuda now addressed Calls and Marcus.  "You two can help the most by
getting into the rigging and using your bows.  Pick your targets,
because if that ship is carrying guards, they'll surely have cross
bowmen in the rigging."

Calls said, "Our longbows can reach much farther than any crossbow."

Marcus nodded.  "If they have cross bowmen they'll all be dead before
we've closed."

Ghuda said to them all, "I know it will be difficult, but try to rest
as much as you can now.  When the battle starts, you're going to have
to be as sharp as you can be, and a tired soldier is one who makes
mistakes."  So saying, he hunkered down next to the bulkhead, wrapped
his coat around himself, and proceeded to doze off.

Harry and Nicholas moved away from the mercenary and Harry said, "How
can he do that?"

Marcus nodded with approval.  "He's done this before, so there's little
mystery or surprise in store for him."

"Maybe," answered Harry, "but I don't think I could ever just drop off
to sleep like that."

Nicholas said, "I saw you do it at Crydee."

Harry was forced to nod agreement.  Mentioning the exhausted state they
had endured seemingly without end while working to help those left
alive after the raid put them ali in a somber mood.  Even Brisa,
standing quietly off to one side, was without a joke or comment.

Nicholas looked at the distant ship and wondered what they would find
once they got aboard.  He put away unpleasant thoughts and returned to
his cabin, to attempt some rest.

MARGARET OPENED THE window.  She caught movement out of the corner of
her eye and pulled back before the occupant of the next cabin could see
her.  She held up a finger, warning Abigail to silence, and listened.

The voice she heard was Arjuna's and it spoke the same language the
lizard creature spoke, alternating guttural and hissing sounds.  It was
answered by the creature, who obviously wasn't pleased by the tone of
his voice, if Margaret could judge something that alien.

Abigail came and looked out the window.  The pursuing ship could be
clearly seen now, and even with her small knowledge of such things, she
could see it was a Kingdom ship.  Whispering, she said, "When shall we
try to escape?"

Margaret shook her head and reached out to close the window. Whispering
in return, she said, "I think they may be close enough early in the
morning.  We'll try then if they keep coming at the same rate. That'll
put them less than a mile behind us and we can swim to meet them
easily."

Abigail didn't look convinced, but she nodded.

The door opened and Arjuna entered.  "Ladies," he said, bowing in his
strange fashion, now familiar to them both.  "No doubt you have noticed
we are being pursued by a ship.  While it may not fly the King's
banner, we think it from your homeland.  Were we certain it was your
King's navy behind us, we would throw a prisoner over the side as a
warning."  He seemed to regret the lack of certainty.  "But as it may
be a pirate from Freeport, we must resort to other measures.  I wish to
assure you that while rescue seems a possibility, it is not.  But
against your attempting some foolishness, I'm afraid we must take
measures."  He motioned and two crewmen entered the cabin.  Pushing
past the girls, they removed hammers from their belts and drove large
nails into the window frame.

"Once we are free of those who follow, we will allow you to open the
window again."  The sailors left the cabin and Arjuna closed the door,
leaving the girls alone.

Abigail said, "What do we do?"

Margaret inspected the nails and attempted to pull one free with her
fingers.  She tried to get a hold on the large nailhead, but couldn't.
In exasperation she swore, and then, glancing around the room, she
moved to inspect the small table.  It was heavy, so it wouldn't slide
around in rough seas, but it was attached to the deck by nothing more
than pegs through holes in the base of the legs.  Margaret knelt on her
bed and motioned for Abigail to pick up the other side and,
experimentally, the girls lifted.  With reluctance the table rose, and
Margaret said, "Put it down."

Once the table was back in place, Margaret said, "I think we throw the
table into the window."

"Will it work?"

Margaret inspected the window.  "If we take off these gowns first, then
smash the window with the table, we should break out enough of the
glass and wood to crawl through..  .. We may get some cuts and bruises,
but we should be able to manage it before they can get in to stop
us."

Abigail didn't look convinced, but she nodded.

"Now we wait until morning."

Margaret sat and brooded, trying to ignore the memory of the fin
cutting the water behind the ship.

CA LIS STOOD ON the port fore channel hand gripping a line to the
bowsprit, staring ahead.  The sun was still below the horizon behind,
and before him the night was giving way to murk.  His eyes were keenest
of all and he had been in the bow when Nicholas arose, seeking signs of
the black ship.

Nicholas said, "Are they still ahead?"

"They're still there," answered the el fling  "They doused all lights
at midnight, and changed course to shake us, but Anthony has been
giving the captain corrections each hour."

Nicholas peered ahead but could see nothing.  Minutes dragged past and
Nicholas turned to find Marcus beside him.  Harry stood off to one side
next to Brisa, who hugged herself against the morning chill.  Abruptly
she leaned against Harry, who put his arm around her, an expression of
surprise and pleasure on his face.

The weather had been growing progressively hotter as they passed
southward.  Amos had judged that they had passed below the equator and
were now sailing into late spring.  He had heard of the backward
seasons in the distant states of the Keshian Confederacy, but had never
been that far south before.

As the sun brightened the eastern sky, Calls pointed.  "There!"

Nicholas peered and then he could see the ship, black against dark
grey, now clearly seen for what she was, a huge thing with high after
castle and a rear lateen spanker sail.  The ship had all sails out, and
heeled over against the wind.

Amos came to the bow and observed a minute.  "She's a wallowing bucket,
isn't she?"

Marcus said, "How soon?"

Amos judged the distance and speed and said, "We'll be on her before
noon."

"Land ho!"  cried the lookout aloft.

"Where away?"  asked Amos.

"Dead ahead."

As they all stared ahead, the dark gloom behind the ship began to
resolve itself.  The morning mists burned off as the sun brightened the
day, and visibility increased by the minute.  As if a veil was lifted,
the air cleared, and those on the bow of the ship could see what the
lookout had discerned a minute earlier.  Amos swore.  "Gods!  Look at
that."

A gigantic escarpment rose above a rocky beach.  Easily a hundred feet
high at the lowest point, possibly three times that at its highest, it
reared before them like a distant wall.  It shone pink and orange in
the sunlight of dawn, yellow at the crest.

Amos turned and shouted, "Lookouts aloft!  We're shoaling!"  Instantly
a half-dozen sailors scrambled aloft and began looking for signs of
sandbars and other shallow-water hazards.

Amos said, "Look!"  and pointed to rocks to the right of the ship, only
a hundred feet off.  The faint sound of breakers carried over the
water.  "Damn.  We could have run up on a sandbar a dozen times last
night.  Ruthia must love us."

Nicholas said, "Are they trying to wreck us?"

"Maybe," answered Amos.  "But they draw far more water than we do, so
there must be a safe channel here."  He closed his eyes and said, "I'm
trying to remember that damn map TOUT father showed me.  If my old mind
hasn't railed me, we're racking at the continent of Novindus, and
that's the northeast coastline."  Moving his hands as he spoke, he
said, "Somewhere to the south of us, a week's sailing or so, I think,
there's a peninsula, then once around it, it's northward to some
city."

Nicholas had vague recollections of that map as well, but remembered
fewer details than Amos.  "She's turning, Captain," said Calls.

Anthony had been silent since sighting the ship, but now he said, "And
there's something "

A crack of energy exploded above them.  A lookout screamed and fell
from the yards, to land in the water beside the ship.  To Nicholas
there was a feeling of being a conduit for lighting, having a nameless
power run from his head and down his body into his feet and through
them to the ship.  Brisa's high-pitched scream could be heard above the
shouts of terror from the men, and when Nicholas looked around he saw
Ghuda with his sword drawn and even the taciturn Calls looking for a
nameless enemy.

Then the feeling of energy changed, and Nicholas felt his skin and hair
tingle.  He saw blue lightning, with a crackling discharge, dancing
across the yards and saw his companions' hair standing on end, spread
about like fans around their heads.

Then silence.

Amos blinked and said, "What .. ."

The ship began to rock slowly from side to side.  "Damn me!"  said
Amos, hurrying to the side of the ship.  Glancing over the rail, he
said, "We're becalmed."

"But how can we be?"  demanded Nicholas.  "Look!"

Amos looked at the black ship, which was moving slowly away, sails full
and heeling to port as she proceeded at top speed.  "I don't
understand."

"Magic," said Anthony.

"A trick' grumbled Nakor.  "They sucked the wind out of the air around
us.  Very nasty trick."

Amos felt as if his eyes betrayed him.  Around his ship for fifty yards
in all directions the water was quiet, while beyond that the fresh
breeze whipped whhecaps on the water.  Amos struck the rail in
frustration.  "We were almost upon them."  Taking a breath, he called,
"I'll have a longboat lowered, Mr.  Rhodes!  Make ready a towline."

"You're going to tow us out of this magic?"  asked Marcus.

"I've been becalmed before" was all Amos said.  "Sometimes it's all you
can do."

Nicholas turned and looked at the others.  Ghuda said, "Better get some
rest."

But Nicholas stayed where he was, watching the fleeing black ship as it
grew slowly smaller and smaller.

"THEY'VE STOPPED," SAID Margaret.

"What?"  asked Abigail.

"They're falling behind."

Abigail looked through the small panes of glass and said, "Oh, gods,
no!"  Her eyes began to brim with tears, but she forced back her urge
to cry.  "What will we do?"

"We go now!"  said Margaret as she hurried to unfasten her gown.
Pulling at the laces up the front, she was about to let it fall from
her shoulders when the door opened and Arjuna stepped into the cabin.

"Ladies, I advise keeping your clothes on.  Seeing you naked would
distract my men."

He signed and two large, black-clad sailors entered.  Arjuna said,
"They will watch you awhile, until even one as rash as you, Lady
Margaret, wouldn't risk swimming through such a distance of
shark-infested water.  Then they will remove the nails and you can once
again have fresh air in this cabin."

He smiled, turned, and left.  Abigail sat down and looked at her
friend.  Margaret gave her a nod and smite, for she knew the girl was
forcing herself to bear up and not give in to the urge to break down in
tears.  Slowly Margaret re laced the bodice of her gown, staring out
the window at the rapidly diminishing ship.

BRISA LET OUT a groan of aggravation.  "Who called it be-calf ned
Glancing at her companions, she said, "The noise is making me crazy!"

Nicholas shared a sympathetic glance with Harry.  They understood how
the girl felt.  Within minutes of the magic that stole their wind, they
all became aware of the thousand sounds they'd never noticed before. In
a brisk wind, the sound of the bow cutting the water, the hum of ropes,
and the noise of men going about their business were the only
noticeable sounds.

Now the ropes hung loosely from the spars and canvas limply from the
yards.  The ship rocked lazily with the rise and fall of ground swells.
The hull groaned as planks and timbers shifted and flexed.  A hundred
blocks and pulleys swung on loose topes, cracking into masts or each
other, setting up a clatter that was constant.  Planks creaked, hinges
squealed, and always there was the distant sound of the surf upon the
shore.  ^ The rowers had pulled the ship nearly five miles, with no
relief, Nakor had decided the spell was moving with the ship and was at
a loss as to how to counter it.  "It's a very good trick" was all he
would say on the matter.

For the rest of the day they had watched in frustration as the black
ship sailed off.  Amos had ordered the crews in the longboat relieved,
and the ship was now drifting on the current as those in the boat rowed
back to the ship to turn it over to their replacements.  He swore and
paced the quarterdeck, then left to join Nicholas and the others on the
bow.  "Is there anything you can do?"  he asked Nakor.

The little man shrugged and said, "Maybe, if I think about it long
enough.  Maybe not.  It's hard to say."

Anthony said, "There's a spell I've studied, but never used: a weather
control incantation.  But it may not work."

Amos fixed him with a baleful eye.  "And what else?"

"It's dangerous."

Nakor said, "Doing tricks you don't know how to do is always
dangerous."

Amos scratched his beard.  "What's your guess about this spell we're
trapped in?"

Anthony said, "It's the same sort of magic "

"Trick," interrupted Nakor.

" that I'm proposing to try.  If we do nothing, it will linger for at
least another day, perhaps longer.  If the magician who cast it is
especially gifted or learned, it could last as long as a week."

Amos swore, then said, "What other choice do we have?"

Nicholas said, "If we can get to that ship before they dock or not long
after, we stand some hope of finding the prisoners.  But if they reach
port more than a few days ahead of us, it might be impossible to find
them."

Amos didn't looked pleased, but he nodded agreement.  He said to
Anthony, "Do you need anything special?"

Anthony said, "Just all the luck you can muster."

Amos shouted, "I want all hands on deck, Mr.  Rhodes."

When the crew was mustered, Amos addressed them from the foredeck.
"Men, we're going to try to break this spell that becalms us.  We have
no notion of the consequences, so I want every man at his station ready
to jump to any task needing to be done."  He said nothing more, and Mr.
Rhodes gave the order for the men to rig for foul weather.

Some of the sailors paused a moment to say a silent prayer to this or
that deity, but all of them were standing by when Amos nodded to
Anthony.

Anthony said, "Nakor, if you can give me any help, now is the time."

Nakor shrugged and said, "I don't know this trick, so I

ouldn't know if you were doing it right or not.  Better just do and
trust the gods are not too angry with us today."

Anthony closed his eyes and said, "In my mind I see the latrix, and in
the matrix is held the power.  The lock to le matrix is my will, and in
the matrix my will becomes the ower."  He repeated the chant and his
voice grew softer, until licholas and the others could no longer hear
him.  His lips antinued to move and he swayed rhythmically.

A faint gust touched Nicholas upon the cheek and he lanced at the
others.  Marcus and Brisa both looked at the mast bove them.  Nicholas
also looked up and saw canvas beginning stir.

With what sounded like a sigh of relief, the wind freshened, nd the
ship began to turn as the wind filled her sails.

"Trim your sails, Mr.  Rhodes, and set a course after the lack ship!"

The lookout reported that he could still make out the faint 3I'm of the
large ship on the horizon to the south, and gave a ositton.  Amos
bellowed, "All lookouts aloft!  Keep a sharp eye or reefc!"

Anthony continued to chant and Nicholas glanced at 4akor.  The little
man shrugged.  "I said I don't know this rick."

The wind picked up in strength, and Amos shouted, "Keep .  watch for
weather, Mr.  Rhodes!"

Nicholas glanced behind them and shouted, "Look!"

To the northeast, a large roiling mass of dark clouds was bringing in
an otherwise blue sky.  As if someone poured them from a bowl, the
clouds spilled down and spread out behind he ship, forming a line of
dark fury in the air.

A drop of wetness struck Nicholas's cheek and he saw rain jegin to fell
from the clouds, blown toward them by the rising wind.  Amos ordered
the sails trimmed for a storm and men crambkd about in the rigging,
reefing the larger sails, trimming others.

Men hurried below and returned and began rigging storm jnes across the
deck, while others handed out oiled-canvas ats.  Moment fay moment, the
sky darkened as the black lou ds spread from above, and through the
entire process, An-hony stood motionless, his eyes closed, his lips
moving.

Nicholas shouted over the rising wind, "Nakor!  Should we stop him?"

"How?"  said the little man.  "I don't know what he's doing."

Ghuda said, "Sometimes the direct approach is best."  He gripped
Anthony by the shoulder and shouted his name.  The magician railed to
respond.  Ghuda shook harder and still was unable to get through to the
blond mage, who now stood drenched to the skin.  "If the storm's not
distracting him, my shouting won't."

"Do something else!"  demanded Brisa, who now looked thoroughly
terrified.  The wind was doubling in fury and large waves were picking
up the Raptor as easily as a child moves a toy, and the lurch of the
deck as it seemed to fall out from under her feet was more than she
could endure.  "Do anything!"

Sailors aloft hurried frantically to reef sails, for they were carrying
too much canvas for a wind that blew stronger with each second.  Spars
and yards groaned in protest at the strain as winds began to howl
through the rigging.

Nicholas joined Ghuda and shook Anthony, calling his name.  A cry from
the stern caused them all to turn, and Amos's voice cut the fury of the
wind like a knife.  "Banath, preserve

---,1"

us!

A wave larger than any before was building off to the northeast.  "Hard
aport, Mr.  Rhodes.  Put her into the wind!"  To those nearby he
shouted, "Grab something and hold fast!  If that wave hits us
broadside, we're going to lose a mast or worse."

Nicholas gripped the rail nearby and watched in terrified fascination
as the water rose up higher and higher as it bore down upon them.  Like
a black wall, the water advanced while the crew fought to turn the ship
bow-first to face it.

When the ship was not quite turned, the water struck.  The ship seemed
to try to climb the water, its bow lifting high into the air as it
heeled far over to starboard.  Brisa screamed as she hung desperately
to a rope that had come free of a davit.  Marcus reached out and
grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him as he clung to a deck
line.

The ship kept trying to climb the water, and Nicholas watched in
amazement as it seemed the world tilted.  He nearly ay on his back, or
so it felt, as the ship climbed still higher up he wave, then suddenly
everything pitched forward.

Men screamed as they were thrown from the rigging, while others cursed
as they clung to anything nearby for their lives.  Now Nicholas saw the
ship heading downward into the trough, at as steep an angle as they had
climbed, and knew that magic was changing the laws of the sea: this
wave was nearly as steep behind the crest as before.  Then he saw water
swamp the bow of the ship.

Down into the water the ship plunged, and Nicholas knew in that moment
they were doomed.  He closed his eyes as water washed over him, hitting
him like a solid wall, threatening to tear his arms out of his
shoulders as he clung to the rail, and then he felt himself get
suddenly heavy as the deck lifted up under him.

He lost his footing and fell, but still he clung to the rail as he
thrashed about underwater, then abruptly he was again in the open air.
Water streamed away in all directions as the bow of the ship burst
upward out of the brine.

Gasping for air, Nicholas blinked salt water out of his eyes and looked
around.  Everyone was still in sight, clinging to some part of the
ship.  Ghuda stood like a rock against the tide, clutching Anthony
around the waist with one arm, and clinging to a line with the other
hand.  The ship continued to roll to starboard, then when it almost
seemed about to He over on its side, it rocked back to port, and they
all clung desperately to stay aboard.  Then it righted itself and for a
moment seemed to be on an even keel.

"Look!"  shouted a nearby sailor.

Nicholas turned to see another wave, larger than the last, bearing down
on them.  As the bow began to lift again, he shouted to Ghuda, "Do
something!"

Ghuda nodded and let go of Anthony.  Before the magician could move a
foot away, the big mercenary struck him hard across the jaw with his
clenched fist.  Anthony slumped unconscious to the deck.

Instantly the sky was again clear, but to Nicholas's horror the wall of
water bore down upon them still as the Raptors bow rose to meet it.
"Hang on" was all he could shout as the ship once more began its
impossible climb.

Shouts and screams filled the air as men were thrown once more from
their stations, and loud crashes echoed through the now still air as
gear lashed to the deck broke loose and smashed against the mast or
quarterdeck.

Higher and higher the ship climbed, and this time Nicholas felt even
more terrified, for he could see clearly, with no rain blinding him.
Only spray from the advancing mountain of water filled the air as the
ship struggled to keep afloat.  Nicholas was vaguely aware of Brisa
screaming and Harry cursing, and he realized he had lost sight of Calls
during the last wave.

Then, as it seemed the ship would tumble over on its back like an
overturned turtle, they crested the wave.  Down the other side they
raced, and Nicholas's voice joined others in voicing incoherent terror.
The absence of magic had robbed the sea of its fey driving force, and
instead of another rising wave behind, the sea was at its normal level.
Against any reasonable expectation, the water was collapsing back to
its former calm state, rather than carrying through its fearful
onslaught, so rather than their having survived the worst of the giant
wave, its dissipation was adding impetus to the ship's downward plunge.
Nicholas could see the sandbars and reefs through the ocean below, as
if staring through green glass.  He knew with certainty they would not
survive this plunge, for there was not enough water ahead to cushion
the ship's bow.

The floor of the ocean rushed upward and Nicholas felt the water strike
him like a blow from the hand of a giant.  He felt the ship drop away
beneath his feet as the water claimed him, then felt the grinding crash
of wood against rock.  The ship cried out as it died, a screaming
tearing of wood and iron, joined by the terrified cries of its crew.

Then Nicholas was pulled under the white foam.  Holding his breath as
well as he could, he felt himself being dragged deep into the water.
Blind from the water in his face, Nicholas was dragged downward by a
force he had never experienced.  He was cast into a world of sounds and
vibrations, tossed around so violently that direction was confused.  He
kicked as hard as he could against the undertow as the mass of the ship
created a vacuum around it, sucking down everything nearby.

Then suddenly he felt his feet strike wood, as if he had landed hard on
the floor of his room.  Hot pain stabbed |f through his left foot, and
he gasped.  Suddenly his mouth and & nose filled with water.  Nicholas
felt his lungs burn as seawater choked him.  He flailed about, water
churning around him, hurling him to his knees upon the deck and forcing
itself deeper into his lungs.  In a shocking moment of clarity, he knew
he was going to die.  A detached sense of peace settled over Nicholas,
and he could feel the pounding blood in his own temples and chest as a
distant thing, and the burning in his lungs a feint echo of the pain he
had endured a moment earlier.

Then suddenly he was moving upward at amazing speed, as if a giant hand
had lifted him.  The ship had bounced off the sea floor and rose back
up on the air trapped inside its hull.  It shot upward, clearing the
less than fifty feet of water between the floor of the ocean and the
surface.

The ship broke through the surface, and Nicholas was tossed into the
air.  He gasped, spitting salt water from his lungs, his arms flailing
as if he were trying to fly.  Then the ship dipped back into the waves
and he struck the surface of the water.  As the ship righted itself
beneath him, Nicholas half crawled, half swam to the rail, where he
clung for his life.  Like a wounded animal, the Raptor heeled over to
port, water filling its hold and throwing it out of trim.

Nicholas spir and coughed, and gasped a painfully deep breath, then
coughed again, retching out the last of the water.  He blew salt water
out of his nose, wiped his face with one hand, and looked around.  All
three masts had been shattered, the foremast snapped above the main
yard, and the others below.  The deck was littered with debris, bodies,
and seaweed.  It took almost a minute for the confusion to son itself
out.

Marcus and Calls both clung to what was left of a line from the fore
channel and Brisa gripped Marcus around the waist witfaboth arms. Ghuda
still held Anthony tightly with one arm what (he other was wrapped
around a capstan.  Blood ran down his (ace from a messy-looking scalp
wound.  Nakor was enmeshed in what remained of one of the foremast
ratlines, and he was shouting for someone to cut him loose.

, Then Nicholas realized who was missing.  "Harry!"  he Shouted,
Suddenly his stomach constricted and he vomited sea-water."

The ship groaned and rolled and Amos pulled himself out from under a
broken spar.  Heaving himself to his feet, he glanced around at the
damage.  He came to give Nicholas a hand up and said, "What a mess."
Turning to the stern of the ship, he shouted, "Mr.  Rhodes!"

No answer came.  Amos set about examining his ship and quickly came
back to Nicholas.  "Gather everyone on the main deck, and salvage
whatever you can.  Get as many water casks and skins into the longboats
as possible, and whatever food you can find.  We're sinking."

"Is there anything we can do?"  asked Nicholas.

Amos shook his head and turned away.  Nicholas went to where Calls was
cutting Nakor loose from the tangle of ropes that confined him and
said, "Everyone to the main deck.  We're abandoning ship."

Word quickly passed and Marcus and Nicholas hurried to their cabins,
where water could already be seen coming up through the planks of the
deck.  They grabbed whatever they could from the jumble and hurried up
above.  Calls had retrieved his bow and arrows, both protected by
oilskin, but Marcus's bow was lost.  Knowing that they were about to be
cast adrift on a hostile shore, Nicholas forced his way past a tangle
of debris and bodies and entered Amos's cabin.  He opened the small
trap and removed the pouch of gold Amos had shown him when Brisa had
been brought aboard.  He began to hurry out, then remembered something
and sloshed through the rising water to Amos's desk.  He pulled it open
and found a red-leather-covered logbook, which he picked up.  Putting
the gold in his tunic and the log under his arm, he entered the
companionway and saw water swirling.  The ship was going down fast.

Hurrying up the ladder to the main deck, Nicholas felt another stab of
pain in his foot and almost dropped the log.  He nude it to the deck in
time to see a few surviving sailors leaping off the railing into the
water.  Amos stood on the deck and motioned him over.

Reaching Amos, Nicholas gave him the logbook.  "I've got the gold from
your cabin too.  We're probably going to need it."

"Bless you, boy, for keeping your wits about you."  He hugged the book
to his chest.  "With this, we can get home someday."

Nicholas climbed over the rail and found a longboat waiting only five
feet below.  Glancing upward, he said, "Amos?"

"I'm coming, Nicky."  He took one last look around the deck.  "I'm
coming."

They climbed down into the longboat, and Ghuda and a sailor pulled hard
to put as much distance as possible between the longboat and the dying
ship as possible.

When they were less than a quarter mile away, the Raptor, formerly the
Royal Eagle, pride of the Krondorian fleet, rolled over into the water
and sank.

Bitterly Amos said, "Damn, I hate losing ships."  Nicholas didn't know
why, but he found the remark terribly funny, and try as he might, he
couldn't keep himself from laughing.  He tried to hold it in, but in a
few moments he was nearly convulsed in mirth.  Amos bristled, but Brisa
and Ghuda both joined in, and even Marcus couldn't help himself.  Nakor
never seemed to need an excuse to laugh, so he made no attempt to hide
his mirth.  After another minute, only the unconscious figure of
Anthony and a bristling Amos Trask were not laughing.

"What's so damned funny?"  demanded Amos.  Ghuda said, "How many ships
have you lost?"  His face was covered in sticky blood, but otherwise he
looked all right.

Amos said, "Three," then suddenly his face split into a grin and he
found himself infected as those in the longboat nearly collapsed at the
answer.

From outside the boat a hoarse voice said, "If you're not enjoying
yourself too much up there, can someone give me a hand?"

Nicholas glanced over the gunwales of the boat and saw a familiar
figure clinging to a broken spar in.  the water.  "Harry!"  he shouted,
and leaned over to help his friend into the already crowded boat.

*I'd thought you drowned," said Nicholas.  With a wince from a bruise
somewhere on his person, Harry said, "I see it caused you a great deal
of grief."

Nicholas's expression turned somber.  "We were just a little giddy
after escaping," he said.

Harry nodded.  "I got tossed overboard, I saw the bow bounce off the
bottom and thought you had all been killed."

Amos said, "Tm surprised more of us aren't.  Look."  He pointed and
they turned to see another pair of longboats drawing toward them.  When
they were within shouting distance, Amos shouted, "Is Mr.  Rhodes with
you?"

A sailor answered, "I saw a spar take his head off, Captain.  No doubt
but he's dead."  "How many are you?"

"Twenty-seven in this boat, and nineteen in the next, sir."
"Provisions?"  "None, sir, in this boat."

From the second longboat, a sailor called out, "We have a barrel of
pork and another of dried apples, Captain."

Glancing around, Amos said, "Well, we need to make for shore.  It'll be
dark in a few hours, and I don't wish to drift along aimlessly."
Signaling for the boats to take up positions, he said, "Follow us
in."

Ghuda and a sailor began to row, and Amos said, "Calls, keep an eye out
for rocks ahead.  Look to the breakers and see if there's water
spilling in two directions, for there'll be rocks benearh the surface
if you do."

They rowed toward the massive cliffs and Nicholas said, "I wonder
what's up there?"

Caiis said, "Perhaps woods or brush land or plains.  Somewhere I can
hunt."

"Or maybe there's a town up there," ventured Harry, still looking like
a drowned rat.

Brisa said, "Someplace I could get a clean shirt."  "And something to
eat," ventured Nakor, with a halfhearted grin.

They picked their way among some rocks to reach a place where the water
rushed through, and followed this small current into the roll of
combers.  Cresting a wave, they let it push them along toward the
beach.

Suddenly Calls shouted, "Rocks!  Turn to the right!"  As Ghuda, sitting
on the left, began to frantically back water with his oar, a ripping
sound rang out and the boat stopped as if they had hit a wall.  Calls
and Marcus were pitched over the bow and Brisa screamed.

A spire of rock no more than an inch high protruded from the bow of the
longboat, but water was rushing in around it.  "We're holed," yelled
Amos.  "Grab what you can and get out and swim!"

He turned and shouted to the other boats.  "We've struck rocks!  Keep
clear!"

The sailor in the bow of the second boat waved in reply to show he
understood and they steered to the left of Amos's boat, giving it a
wide berth.

Nicholas grabbed a pair of waterskins and went over the side.  He swam
easily to where he could stand, then waded ashore.  Everyone else made
it in good order as the other boats attempted to land.

The second boat slid sideways along an underwater shelf of rock, and
sailors cursed as they were also forced to abandon their boat.  The
third boat was warned off in time and made it to the beach without
taking damage.

Amos gave orders for some of his sailors to swim out and see if they
could pull the second boat off the rock shelf.  "The waves will break
it up on the rocks if we can't."

More than a dozen men, all exhausted, waded into the surf and swam to
the second boat.  They pushed and pulled, trying to move the massive
longboat off the shelf, but could not.

Finally Amos signaled for them to return.  When they were back on the
beach, the sailor who had spoken to Amos from the bow of that boat
said, "She's taken water, Captain, and she's sitting as firm on that
shelf as a vulture on a dead dog."

"Damn."  Amos turned and inspected their present location.  The shadows
from the massive cliffs rearing above them had already extended into
the water, and he could feel a chill.  "See if you can find the makings
of a good-sized fire," he said to Nicholas, Marcus, Calls, and Brisa in
general.  "It's going to be cold soon and we've not one blanket among
us."  He quickly summed up: forty-nine soldiers and sailors, and
Nicholas and his companions, fifty-eight survivors in all out of a
company of more than two hundred.  He made a quick prayer to Killian,
the gbddess of sailors, asking for her mercy on the lost men.

With a sigh of resignation, he said to his crew, "Fan out and see if
anything useful's being washed ashore."  Glancing around, he said,
"We've still got a couple of hours' light, so let's see where we
are."

The men obeyed and most fanned out along the beach, some moving to the
northwest, others to the southeast along the rocks.  A few too injured
to move simply sank to the sand, silent in their wet misery.

Amos watched them leave and said to Nakor and Ghuda, who still held the
unconscious Anthony, "Wake him if you can, but help look around.  I
have a feeling we're going to need every advantage we can wring out if
we're going to survive."

Ghuda put the unconscious magician down and shook him, but he didn't
move.  After a moment Ghuda rose and left him, joining the others who
were looking for anything that might wash ashore.  Nakor turned to Amos
and said, "Sorry about your ship."

Amos nodded.  "As am I."

Nakor reached into his rucksack and jerked his hand out as if he had
been stung.  "Oh, that's bad," he said.

"What is?"  asked Amos.

"There's a merchant in Ashunta who is going to be very upset when he
discovers his fruit has been ruined by seawater."  Shaking his head
sadly, the bandy-legged man moved away from the captain, and began to
search among the rocks.

Alone, Amos turned to where his ship lay on her side in the water,
sinking slowing behind the breakers.  Feeling a sadness beyond any he
could express, he kept his eyes upon her as she slid below the waves.

The fire smoldered.  Brisa hugged herself in a vain attempt to stay
warm beside the dying embers.  Others huddled around two other little
fires or walked up and down the beach trying to stay warm.  The
previous day they had explored up and down the coast.  At every turn in
the shoreline they found nothing but beach and rock, and a seemingly
endless wall of stone to their backs.  What little wood they had found
was now gone, and while the days were searing hot, the nights were
bitter.  Enough wreckage had washed ashore so a rude lean-to had been
fashioned from sails and broken spars, but the wood that had drifted
ashore from the ship was too wet to do more than smolder on the fire.
The salt pork had been ruined, but the dried apples were edible.  There
was a fair supply of water and enough salvage to permit a few of the
sailors to fish off the rocks.  Some fish were trapped in tide pools,
but without a pot to cook them in, they were poor fare.  Seabirds were
absent in any numbers, and the few that flew overhead did not appear to
be nesting anywhere close.

Anthony had regained consciousness the next morning, without much
memory after his attempt to cancel the spell that had trapped them.  He
was shocked and shaken to discover the

KING'S BUCCANESK

ship gone, and had seemed to come out of his own panic only when it was
obvious his skills as a healer were needed.

The second morning was dawning and Amos came to Nicholas.  "We're
dying," he said flatly.  "If there's a less hospitable stretch of coast
in the world, I've not seen it."

"What do you want to do?"  asked Nicholas.

"One longboat isn't going to carry fifty-eight of us.  We have two
choices.  Either we select a crew to attempt to row south, past this
escarpment, to whatever passes for civilization around here, coming
back with help for the rest of us, or we all try to climb the cliff
face.  Or we do both."

Nicholas said, "No.  We stay together."

Amos seemed on the verge of arguing, but then shook his head.  "You're
right.  One thing is certain: we can't stay.  We'll starve."

Nicholas said, "We'd better start looking for a way up."

Amos nodded.  "I'm the oldest man here, and I don't relish the climb,
but it's the cliffs or nothing."

Nicholas sighed.  "I've never done much climbing.  My foot ..."  He
turned to Calls and Marcus.  "Would either of you know a path up these
cliffs if you saw one?"

Marcus frowned, but Calls nodded and stood up.  "Which way?"

"You go that way," said Nicholas, pointing to the northwest.  Turning
to Marcus, he said, "And you go the other way.  Travel no more than
half a day.  When the sun is overhead, return here."

They nodded and set off, moving purposely but not fast enough to
deplete energy they couldn't restore.  Hunger was on everyone's mind,
and Nicholas knew that without fresh food soon, they would all begin
dying.  At least a dozen sailors were hurt of ill from the effects of
the shipwreck, either from water in their lungs or from internal
injuries.  Nakor and Anthony worked hard to make them comfortable, but
the re was lit de they could do without Anthony's bag of curatives.
Nicholas sympathized with them; he felt aches and bruises worse than
any he'd had before and knew that the least abused among them felt as
battered as he did.  He was surprised there weren't more serious
injuries, but he grimly admitted that anyone who was badry hurt during
the shipwreck hadn't survived.

While Calls and Marcus were gone, they took inventory of what little
they had scavenged from the wreckage washing up on the beach.  They had
only a few weapons among them: Nicholas and Ghuda each had their
swords, Calls had his bow, and they possessed a collection of daggers
and knives.  There was one sack of hard biscuits that had survived in a
small barrel that washed ashore, to supplement the dried apples.  There
were ropes strewn up and down the beach, so Nicholas set the men to
gathering them up, and separating the lines that they could use to
climb the cliffs and rope too far gone to be reliable.

Nicholas was distressed to discover that the inventory took less than
an hour for the entire company.  Trying to ignore his own hunger, he
sat down before the now dead fire and waited.

Brisa came and sat next to him, and looked at Nakor and Harry, both of
whom were trying to conserve their depleted energy by sleeping.

She turned to Nicholas.  "Can I ask yoM something?"

He nodded.  "What?"

"Marcus .. ."  she began, then fell silent.

"What about him?"

"You know him well " she started again.

Nicholas cut her off.  "I hardly know him at all."

"I thought you were brothers," she said.

Nicholas said, "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"  she asked.

"Who Marcus is."

"He's some Duke's son, or so Harry told me.  I didn't know if I should
believe him."

Nicholas nodded.  "He's not my brother," he said.  "He's my cousin."

"But you said you hardly know him," she said.

"I don't.  I met him for the first time a few weeks before I met you. I
don't live on the Far Coast."

"Where do you live?"

"In Krondor," he answered.

She nodded.  "I was hoping you could tell me about him."

Nicholas felt sorry for the girl, since he realized that her
teasingjMeoccupation with Marcus now masked a deeper emotion.  " don't
know what to tell you.  Most of us are from Krondof.  Maybe one of the
soldiers .. ."

She shrugged.  "It's all right.  We're probably not going to get out of
here, anyway."

THE KING '$ BUCCANEE K

Nicholas said, "Don't say that."  His tone was sharp and commanding.

She looked at him with eyes wide and Harry sat up, half-asleep, and
said, "What?"

He realized he had spoken loudly.  "I mean, don't say it, even if you
think it.  Despair is a plague.  If we give up here, we're going to
die.  There's no choice but to move ahead."

Brisa lay back, beside the snoring Nakor, and said, "I know."

Nicholas glanced up and down the beach, realizing it was too soon for
either Marcus or Calls to return.  All they could do was wait.

NEAR SUNDOWN, CA LIS came into view, and a few minutes later, Marcus
approached from the other direction.  Calls said, "There's nothing that
looks remotely like a trail or even a difficult climb."

Marcus said, "Nothing to the south, either."

Nicholas said, "Then we either climb here or move farther to the
south."

"Why south?"  demanded an exhausted Marcus.  "I just said there was
nothing there."

"Because south is where we are heading anyway.  If we're going to face
an arbitrary choice, we may as well move toward our eventual goal."

Amos nodded.  "If we're going to do something, that's as sound a plan
as any I can suggest.  Let's get some sleep and start at first
light."

Nicholas said, "Good.  Eat what we can't carry so we'll have as much
strength as possible."

Nakor and Anthony approached in the tailing light, carrying some wood.
"We left these up on the rocks to dry," said the little man.

Anthony said, "If you can get a flame started, they should burn."

Calls gathered together the remnants of the previous night's fire,
small pieces of wood that hadn't completely burned, and hacked away at
the char, creating a small pile of splinters and kindling.  He took his
belt knife and a flint he kept there and struck sparks.  Soon he had a
small flame, which he care-folly fed with larger pieces of wood until
he had a substantial fire going.  Then the wood carried by Anthony and
Nakor was carefully placed atop the flames, and soon a good-size blaze
held the cold night at bay.

The sailors gathered around and Anthony took a brand and started a
second fire a short distance off, so that more could feel the warmth.
He and Nakor moved the sicker men closer to the heat, and they settled
in for the long night.

Nakor sat beside Nicholas.  No one was in the mood to talk; most either
tried to rest or ate what they could of hard biscuits, dried apples,
and half-cooked fish.  Without preamble, Nakor said, "Water is a
problem."  Nicholas said, "Why?"

Nakor said, "We've not seen any source of fresh water nearby.  We have
the skins we salvaged from the ship, but not enough of them, and we
can't haul casks very far."

Amos said, "Certainly we can't haul them up the cliffs."  Nicholas
sighed.  "What do you suggest?"  Nakor shrugged.  "Have everyone drink
as much as they can before we start off.  That will help.  If we find a
place to climb close to where Marcus stopped, we can send some men back
to refill the' skins.  If we're a long way down the coast, we make do
with what we have."

"What about food?"  asked Nicholas.  "There won't be much by tomorrow,"
answered Anthony as he sat down near the fire, weariness etched on his
features.  "A man died a few minutes ago."

Amos swore.  Calling a pair of sailors to him, he said, "Get some
canvas.  We can't sew him into a shroud, but you can wrap him in sail
and tie rope around it.  Then tomorrow we'll carry him out to the rocks
and bury him at sea, or as close as we jpan get."

The two men nodded and left to do as they were bid.  Amos sounded old
as he said, "There will be others."  LIFE one spoke after that.

NEXT day and a half they trudged down the coast.  ned for a halt
regularly, for the lack of food, scant heat were taking their toll.
Late in the second day,

Marcus said.  "This is where I stopped my search before."  Nicholas feU
a sense of despair.  It had taken almost two days to get those sick and
injured down the beach as far as

Marcus had traveled in a half day by himself.  Nicholas forced aside
his dark mood and said, "You and Calls scout ahead."  Silently he added
a prayer that they quickly find a way up.

Marcus and the half-elf both turned and jogged away from the resting
sailors.  Amos motioned for Nicholas to walk ahead with him, and when
they were out of earshot of the others he said, "We're going to have to
start up the cliff tomorrow, no matter what."

Nicholas said, "We're going to start dying soon."

Amos said, "We're dying already.  In two or three days, even if we find
a clean ascent, half the men won't have the strength to make the
climb."  He flexed his hand as if it was stiff, and he said, "I might
be one of them."  Glancing around, he said, "My hand is throbbing.
There's a weather front heading this way."

"Storm?"

Amos nodded.  "Usually.  Sometimes just a break in the weather."

Glancing at the darkening eastern sky, Nicholas said, "It's going to be
dark in a couple of hours.  Let's call it a day and rest.  We'll need
it."

Amos nodded and they returned to the others.  Amos ordered the meager
stores passed out among the men while Nicholas went to where Harry was
sitting, massaging his aching feet, with Brisa beside him.  The girl
had her knees drawn up under her chin and was hugging her legs, as if
cold already.

"How are you doing?"  Nicholas asked.

; Harry said, "My feet hurt and I'm hungry."  Then he grinned.  "Makes
me something unique around here, doesn't

Nicholas couldn't help but smile.  Harry was the last person who would
lose his good spirits, he knew.  "I want you to bring up the rear
tomorrow," said Nicholas.  "We're going to have to attempt the cliffs
and I need someone at the rear who can make sure no one falters or
loses heart."

Harry nodded.  "I'll do what I can."  Turning to the girl, Nicholas
asked, "How are you?"  Soudy she said, "My feet hurt and I'm hungry."
Nicholas laughed.  "You two are a pair."  He rose and moved .  over to
talk to some of the other men.

Brisa watched him depart, staring after him a long minute, then said,
"He really tries, doesn't he?"

Harry said, "I guess.  It's in the blood, I think.  Born to service and
obligations of the nobility and that."

"You?"  she said, half-mocking.

"I'm not a prince.  I'm a second son of a minor noble, which means I
have fewer prospects than your average ale merchant, unless I can hook
my fortune to one of the mighty."

Brisa said, "Him?"  indicating Nicholas with a thrust of her chin.  Her
tone was disbelieving.

"Don't scoff," said Harry.  "Nicky's a lot more than you'd think.  He's
going to be a very important and powerful man someday.  Brother to the
King, you know."

"Right," said Brisa, her tone clearly disbelieving.

"I'm not joking," said Harry.  "He's Prince Arutha's youngest son.
Truly.  And Marcus is the son of the Duke of Crydee."

"Scruffy-looking bunch for nobles, if you ask me."

"Well, believe what you want.  But he will be an important man
someday."

Brisa snorted.  "Assuming we live that long."

Harry had nothing to say to that.

Brisa leaned in to Harry.  "Don't get any ideas.  I'm just trying to
stay warm."

Feigning hurt, Harry said, "OK, I'm a substitute for Marcus, is that
it?"

Brisa sighed.  -"No, I just feel the need and you're safe."

"Now I really am hurt," said Harry.  "Safe?"

Brisa kissed him chastely upon the cheek.  "You have charms, Squire, in
a clumsy, boyish way.  Don't take it too hard.  You'll grow out of
it."

She snuggled down into the crook of his arm, and he en-jeyed the
feeling.  But he still felt stung.  "Clumsy?"

AND MARCUS did not return that night..  sunrise, Nicholas had them up
and moving.  An hour later, Marcus came into view, waving his hand
above his head.  Jbjteholas hurried to meet him and said, "What did you
find?"  -V Ca lis marks a spot about a half-mile from here.  We think
it's a way up."

, P*ppping his voice so that those approaching behind couldn't
overhear, Nicholas said, "We must try today.  Many of the men aren't
going to make it as is.  We can't wait any longer."

once.

Marcus looked at the ragged band of seamen and nodded

It took them some time to reach Calls, as the sick and injured could
not easily make it across the sand.  Nicholas hurried across the deep
sand to where the efling waited.  Calls indicated a ledge about ten
feet above them.  He made a stirrup with his hands, and Nicholas
stepped in.  With a boost, Nicholas climbed up on the rise to discover
a large outcropping of rock, with a small cave leading off into the
cliffs.  Marcus boosted Calls up, and then Calls dropped his hand for
Marcus to leap and grab.  When all three were on the ledge, Nicholas
said, "The cave?"

"No," said Marcus.  It's shallow and goes nowhere.  It'll provide
protection for those who stay behind."

Nicholas said, "No one stays behind.  Anyone we leave will die."

Marcus's voice grew harsh, but it was with frustration, not anger, as
he said, "Nicholas, some of the men can barely walk with help.  They're
not going to be able to climb that!"  He pointed upward and Nicholas's
eyes followed.

Near the entrance to the cave, two faces of stone met in a V. Along one
face a narrow path rose, following along until it switched back.  From
where Nicholas stood he couldn't see what became of the ledge after
that, "Have you been up there?"

Calls said, "I have.  It moves halfway up the face of the cliffs, then
stops, but about six feet above the end of the ledge a stone chimney
rises.  From what I could see, it can be climbed to the top of the
cliffs."

"How?"  asked Nicholas.

"It's the hardest part.  But if two or three of us can work our way up
there, bare-handed, we have enough rope to lower down a line from the
cliffs to the top of the ledge and pull up those who need help."

Then Marcus said, "But the seriously injured and ill won't be able to
make it whoever's coming up that chute will need to work hard.  We
can't dead-haul ten or fifteen men more than three hundred feet up.
Those makeshift ropes won't take it,"

Nicholas felt a sense of helplessness flowing over him, and angrily
shoved it aside.  "We'll do what we can.  The first thing is to get
everyone up here."

The stones on which they stood were growing hot with the midday sun, so
the Prince instructed everyone who could to shelter in the cave.  He
took Amos aside and said, "As soon as the sun is off the cliff face,
I'm going up with Calls and Marcus."

"Why you?"  Amos demanded.

"Because unless I'm completely off, we're the three most fit here."

"But you've never tried anything remotely like this before?"

said Amos.

"Look, sooner or later everyone's going to have to try, or rot on this
beach.  If I'm going to fell and get splattered on the rocks, I'd just
as soon do it discharging my duty as having someone try to haul me up
on a rope."

Amos swore.  "You're getting more like your father every day.  Very
well, but once that rope's secured, I want Ghuda up there."

"Why?"

"Because we certainly don't need his sword down here, but who knows
what's up there!"  he said impatiently.

"Very well.  But you're coming after him."

"After my men," insisted Amos.

Nicholas put his hand on Amos's shoulder.  "Some of them aren't coming.
You know that."

Amos turned away, looking over the ocean.  "I'm their captain.  I must
be last to come up."

Nicholas was about to argue, but something warned him off "Very well,
but you are coming."

Amos nodded and went away.  Nicholas returned to the cave mouth and
sat, waiting for the sun to move off the rocks.

NAKOR CAME TO sit beside Nicholas.  The Prince was watch-inejiie shadow
that had crept about an inch or so from the face orf&e rocks.  "You go
soon?"  asked the little man.

"Nicholas nodded.  "A few more minutes, to get the sun off *1| Ant
rocks.  They're still pretty hot to the touch."  ^"How do you feel?"

- Nkholas shrugged.  "Hungry, tired, and not a little worried.?

"Varied?"

Nicholas stood and motioned for Nakor to move outside with him.  Making
a show of looking at the angle of the sun, he

THE KING'S BUCCANEIR

lowered his voice and said, "There are a half-dozen men who can't make
it up those cliffs, Nakor, maybe more."

Nakor sighed.  "Everyone dies.  We know that.  Yet the death of one
close to us is always troubling, even if it's someone whom we've said
no more than a few words to in a few minutes."

Nicholas turned his back to the cave, looking down at the beach and the
ocean beyond.  An afternoon breeze had risen and blew his
shoulder-length hair behind him.  "I've seen a lot of death recently. I
don't know if I can get used to it."

Nakor grinned.  "That's good.  One can be philosophical in the ease of
a comfortable room, with a glass of fine wine in the hand, a log upon
the fire, but in the heat of the moment, when lives are at risk, one
doesn't think.  One acts."

Nicholas nodded.  "I think I understand."

Nakor put his hand upon Nicholas's arm.  "Do you know why some men will
die today?"

"No," Nicholas answered bitterly.  "I wish J did."

"It is because some spirits love life while others grow fatigued."

"I don't understand."

Nakor moved his hand in an all-encompassing circle.  "Life is stuff."

"Stuff?"

"The stuff everything is made out of."  He looked out at the ocean.
"You see all that, water, clouds, you feel the wind.  But there's stuff
you can't see, too.  Stuff that fools like Anthony insist is magic. All
of that, from your boots to the stars in the heavens, it's all made of
the same thing."  A."  "This 'stuff," as you call it?"

?;;.; Nakor grinned.  "If I could imagine a more elegant name, I " call
it something else.  But whatever this basic stuff is, it icthing you
can't see; it's like glue it holds everything aer.  And one of the ways
it manifests itself is what we call LIFE."  He looked Nicholas in the
eyes.  "You have gone through [ much in a short time and you are not
the boy who left Krondor 'so recently.

f "But you are not yet the man you will be.  So understand

Aus: sometimes death comes unexpectedly, and those it takes to
pjms-Kragma's halls go unwillingly.  That is fate.  But when the spirit
has a choice, as these men here have, then you must accept that
choice."

"I'm still not clear about your meaning," said Nicholas.  His
expression showed he was trying to understand.

Motioning with his head back toward the cave mouth, Nakor said, "Some
of these men's spirits are ready to die.  It is their time to move on.
Do you see?"

Nicholas said, "I think so.  That's why a man with injuries more severe
will make it while another will die?"

'Yes.  You must not feel responsible for this thing.  It is a choice
each man makes, though he may not know he does.  It is beyond the realm
of princes and priests.  It's between a man's spirit and fete."

Nicholas said, "I think I understand.  When the ship went under the
water the second time, I was choking on seawater.  I couldn't breathe
and was being pulled farther and farther down, and I thought it was my
time to die."

"How did you feel?"

"Terribly afraid, but then at the last, before I was cast upward into
the air, I felt a strange calmness."

Nakor nodded.  "It is a lesson.  But it wasn't your time.  For some of
these men, it is time.  You must accept that."

"But I don't have to like it."

Nakor grinned.  "That is why you may be a good ruler someday.  But for
the moment, you need to climb that cliff,

don't you?"

Nicholas smiled, and it was an expression of relief and fatigue.  "Yes.
I must lead now, or I never will."

Nakor said, "Have you thought of the amulet?"

Nicholas nodded.  "Pug said to give it to Anthony, and he's to use it
only against the greatest need."  He stared into the cave, as if he
could see Anthony back at the rear, tending the injured and wounded. "I
trust he'll know what is the greatest need.  For now, I think anything
we may survive without aid doesn't meet that description."

"You must go."

Nicholas looked upward and saw that the sun was now fully hidden from
the race of the cliffs.  He nodded and crossed to the cave mouth.
"Marcus, Calls.  It's time."

Calls nimbly jumped up and gathered a long coil of rope, and tied it
firmly into a large loop.  Then he slipped one arm

and his head through the coil.  Marcus and Nicholas did the same.  When
all three were at the top, they'd tie the three coils together and
lower the rope down, providing an easier way upward.  Harry came to
Nicholas and said, "I wish you'd let me go instead."

Nicholas grinned.  "You?"  Putting his hand on his friend's shoulder,
he said, "I thank you, but I'm not the one whose hands grow clammy
standing on the rampart of the castle, remember?  You never did care
for heights."

"I know, but if one of us is going to fall " "No one is going to
fall."

Nicholas walked past his friend, into the cave mouth.  To the sailors
gathered he said, "We should be at the top before sundown.  We'll lower
the rope and you can start climbing."  To Amos he said, "You judge the
order of the climb and who is to help those less able.  If we can, I
want every man up there by nightfall."

Amos nodded, but they both knew it was an impossible request.  One of
the sailors hobbled forward, his leg swollen from a broken ankle.  The
man's face was ashen with pain, but he gamely said, "I'll make sure as
many make the climb as can, Highness."

Nicholas nodded and moved toward the cave.  Glancing over his shoulder,
he saw Amos hand the man his own dagger and he quickly turned away.  He
knew why the man had asked for the weapon.  Hunger and thirst were not
clean ways to die.

Nicholas climbed up on the narrow trail and moved to the base of the
chimney, where Calls and Marcus waited.  Harry followed after.  Calls
said, "I will go first, since I am the most r experienced.  Marcus, you
come next.  Nicholas, watch clearly

_ TOete we place our hands and feet.  Something that looks solid

'. (Bay not be; there are cracks in the stone behind which water

-BMhers.  If it freezes, it weakens the rocks.  Test each hand- and

foothold before trusting it with your full weight.  If you become v
fatigued or get into trouble, say something.  We are not in a hurry."

Nicholas nodded, relieved the el fling had taken charge, This was not a
time to dwell upon rank.  He turned to Harry and said, "When we drop
the rope, call for the others to begin climbing."  He put his hand on
Harry's shoulder and whispered, "And make sure Amos comes before you.
If you have to

286 Raymond .  Feist hit him over the head with a rock and we have to
haul him up the cliff, don't let him stay behind with the wounded."

Harry nodded.

Calls placed his hands on a small outcropping of stone and pulled
himself upward, bracing his legs on either side of the chimney.
Reaching out to the opposite side of the fissure, he found another
handhold and moved upward.  Marcus and Nicholas both watched closely,
and when Calls was ten feet up the chimney, Marcus began his ascent.

Nicholas watched his cousin, and when he had enough height, the Prince
reached up and placed his hands where the others had.  He felt sudden
panic, as there wasn't much to grip.  For an instant he hesitated, then
he pulled himself upward, putting his feet where he had seen the others
place theirs.  A dull ache struck his left foot and he swore softly,
"Not now,

damn it!"

Marcus looked down.  "What is it?"

"Nothing," answered Nicholas.  He turned his mind away from his balky
foot and stared up, surprised at how deep the gloom in the chimney was
against the bright sky.  Willing himself to see Calls and Marcus, he
watched how they moved.  He reached across the chimney and put his hand
upon the opposite face and pulled himself upward.

Like three insects climbing a wall, they inched their way up the
rocks.

TIME BLURRED.  FOR Nicholas it became a series of pauses, watching
those ahead, then moving up a little at a time.  Three times Calls
called down warnings of possible weak purchase along the way, and once
his foot slipped, sending small rocks cascading down upon Marcus and
Nicholas.

^Several times Nicholas halted to catch his breath, but he fbuo that
most of the time moving was no more demanding on his arms and legs than
hanging motionless.  He was tired, simply focused his mind on the task
of putting one than the other, of moving a foot, securing it, and self
up a little bit higher.

he looked down and was surprised to discover that they had come only a
third of the way up the cliff from the path.  He decided to avoid that,
as the disappointment that struck him was accompanied by a stab of pain
in his left foot.

Despite his being in the shadows, the heat caused sweat to run down his
face, blinding him momentarily when he looked up.  He wiped his eyes
upon his shoulder several times, and cursed the need.

Time passed as he struggled to keep up with Calls and Marcus.  Each
passing hour brought them closer to the top, but when he had begun to
feel optimistic he heard Calls say, "We have a problem."

Nicholas looked up, but couldn't clearly see the el fling past his
cousin.  "What?"  he called.

"The chimney widens here."

"What do we do?"  asked Nicholas.

"This is tricky.  When you get here, you'll see that the left side
tapers up and away.  It looks like you only need to extend out a little
to reach it, but it's dangerous.  Better to back down a little, swing
both feet to that side, and propel yourself up with your back on the
right side, feet on the left.  Do you understand?"

Nicholas said, "I think so.  I'll watch Marcus."

Marcus remained motionless for what seemed a long time, and Nicholas
felt his arms and legs starting to knot as he held the same position
without moving.  He felt a stab of panic as his left hand began to slip
upon the face of the rock, then he gripped harder.  Breathing deeply,
to become calm, he told himself, "Don't let your concentration
lapse."

Time dragged on, and Nicholas felt small cramps and aches and knew that
he had never been so tired before, when suddenly Marcus said, "Calls
has cleared the wide spot."

Nicholas watched as his cousin climbed another ten feet or so, then
swung his right leg and planted it firmly on the left fibce, his back
against the right.  Bracing himself with one leg, pc'd lift the other,
then use his hands against' the rocks to raise his body to the new
height.  The progress was slow, but to Nicholas it didn't look too
difficult.  A small voice warned, Don't take anything for granted.

When he reached the point where Marcus had turned, he suddenly felt a
hot stab in his left foot.  "Damn," he said softly as he attempted to
put his weight upon it.  His left leg trembled and he had to shut his
eyes to concentrate on keeping pressure on the foot.  His every
instinct was to pull back, but he willed himself to continue.  Then his
right foot was firm against the opposite wall and he withdrew pressure
from his left.  Taking a deep breath, he glanced up.

Marcus was now shifting back to his original position, when suddenly
his left foot slipped.  He cried out as he scrambled to find a grip,
and suddenly he was hanging by his hands from a tiny ridge of stone,
his feet scrambling for purchase on the smooth rock face.

Nicholas felt a stab of panic through his stomach and shouted, "Hang
on!"  He forced his aching legs and knotted back to obey as he muscled
his way up the chimney.

Marcus shouted, "Get back!  If ... I fall ... I'll hit you."  From the
gasps between each word, Nicholas could tell that he was struggling
heroically just to keep his handholds.

Nicholas ignored the warning and forced himself to a reckless pace.  He
blinked against dirt and gravel that rained down upon him as he moved
closer to Marcus.  He could see nothing of Calls.

Reaching a point below Marcus's dangling feet, he shouted,

"Hold still a moment!"

Marcus hung there silently, while Nicholas shimmied up below him.
Gently he put one hand upon Marcus's boot and said, "Don't kick me, or
we'll both fall."  He resisted the almost instinctive urge to grip the
boot before his face.

Wedging himself as firmly into place as he could, Nicholas put his hand
under Marcus's right foot.  "Push down slowly!"

he shouted.

Marcus put his weight upon his cousin's hand.  Nicholas grimaced at the
effort, feeling his shoulders burn from the effort as the skin beneath
his tunic was scraped raw by the stone.  His legs trembled and his left
foot burned as if on fire, but he held firm as Marcus pushed down.

' Nicholas found himself taking shallow, rapid breaths and farced
himself to breathe deeply.  Tears ran down his face from the pain in
his back and legs, but he held himself as taut as a string, as rigid as
an iron rod, for he knew that to relent in tui ;^nqentration for an
instant would cost both Marcus and

Then suddenly the weight was gone and Marcus was again moving upward,
Nicholas wished to the gods he could relax, but he knew he was in the
most perilous position he had been so far in the climb.  He needed to
lower himself down slightly, then start upward again.

With burning shoulders and legs, Nicholas felt himself slide down a few
inches, and suddenly he knew he was wedged in.  "Ah .. . Calls!"  he
called.

"What?"  came the question from above.

"I've got a small problem."

"What?"  asked Marcus, looking down.

"I've let my feet get above my shoulders.  I can't lower my feet, and I
can't get enough push to get my shoulders higher."

"Don't move," shouted the el fling  "I'm almost at the top!"

Nicholas knew that once Calls was up there he could lower the rope and
pull him up.  All he had to do was hold tight.

Seconds slowed and passed before Nicholas's mind's eye like a parade of
snails upon the garden path.  He forced himself to look at the
unforgiving rock face opposite him, for he knew that if he looked down
he might fall.

He felt panic start to rise, and his left foot now throbbed as badly as
when it had been injured back at Crydee.  He wanted to flex his calf to
remove some of the discomfort, but couldn't without slipping.  He
closed his eyes and turned his mind to Abigail.

He remembered sitting in the garden with her, that last night, and he
remembered the swell of her bosom against the gown she wore, the
ringlets of her hair, golden with highlights from the torches on the
wall.  She smelled of summer blossoms and spice, and her eyes had been
enormous pools of blue.  He relived the moment of their first kiss and
could feel her full lips Upon his.  He had to get to the top of the
cliff, he told himself.  lr he ever hoped to see Abigail again, he must
not let himself fe

Suddenly he felt something slap him in the face as a voice

, "Tie it around your waist!"  y: Nicholas opened his eyes to see a
rope before him and he .. Hfch d for it with his left hand.  He pulled;
more line was fed Out to him, and he snaked it around his waist.
Pushing his shoulders hard against the rocks, ignoring the pain of torn
skin >-and burning muscles, he reached below and found the rope !  with
his right hand.  He pulled it up and around and awkwardly tied it about
his middle.  "I don't know if it will hold."

"It's not far.  Just grip tight with both hands."

He gripped the rope with his right hand and shouted, "Ready?"

"Ready," came the answer.

He let go with his left hand, grabbing the rope as his feet lost
purchase on the opposite wall.  Suddenly he was hanging from the rope,
twisting as he felt it slip _ around his waist.  He swung into the
rocks, bruising his race.  The rope seemed to hold, and he shouted,
"Pull!"

Faster than he had thought possible, he rose, scraping every exposed
inch of skin on unyielding rock.  Then he was at the rim of the cliff,
and saw two large brown eyes staring down at him.

The goat gave a surprised bleat and scampered away as Nicholas was
dragged up and over the edge of the cliff.  He let himself be pulled
away from the brink, rolled over on his back, and stared at the blue
sky.  Then he tried to sit up.  Every muscle in his stomach and back
clenched in spasm and he cried out in pain.

"Don't move," cautioned Marcus.  "Just lie there and rest."  Nicholas
turned his head and saw Calls standing a short distance away, putting
down the rope.  "He pulled me up by himself?"

Marcus nodded.  "He's a lot stronger than I thought."  Calls said, "I
have unusual parents."  Without further comment, he took Marcus's rope
and tied it to the end of his own with a strong knot.  He ran it out
and re-coiled it until he had inspected each foot for possible frays
and damage.  Judging it suitable for the task, he said, "I need the
other."

Marcus helped Nicholas sit up, and while every muscle in his body was
agony, he could move.  He let Marcus pull the rope off his shoulder,
and looked around.  They were in a small grove with tough grass growing
below odd-looking trees, with branches that grew upward in points like
a ring of blades, from the base to the top, some twenty feet or more
above their heads.  large broad green leaves grew like giant fans,
providing .A murmur of water nearby announced the presence of a and
near the edge he saw a small band of goats, , __e one who had greeted
his arrival.  went rto the edge and shouted down, "Can you hear me?"

A faint response indicated they could, though Nicholas couldn't
understand the words.  He motioned for Marcus to help him to his feet,
and when he was standing he said, "I'm glad that's behind us."

Marcus smiled, the first open expression other than hostility Nicholas
had ever seen in him.  "I'm glad you were behind me," he said,
extending his hand.

Nicholas shook it.  "I'd say it was my pleasure, but I'd be lying."  He
stretched his shoulders and commented, "I don't think there's an inch
of me that doesn't hurt."

Marcus nodded.  "I know."

"How high did we climb?"

Marcus said, "Less than three hundred feet, I judge."

"I thought it was a couple of miles."

"I know the feeling," said Marcus.

Calls stood with his feet planted in the ground and said, "I could use
some help."

Marcus said to Nicholas, "You rest," and went to hold the rope with
Calls.

After less than five minutes, Brisa's head appeared above the edge of
the rim, and she clambered over.  She rose and dusted herself off and
smiled at Marcus.  "I've done a lot of climbing in my day.  Made sense
for me to come up first.  Ghuda's next."

Nicholas hobbled up to stand behind Marcus, and he took a grip on me
rope.  Even though there were now three others beside him, the little
effort he could expend to assist them caused his shoulders and legs to
cramp.  But he was determined to help, and after a few minutes, Ghuda
appeared.

The large mercenary pulled himself over the edge and stood up at once.
He looked at Calls and said, "I'll spell you."  He cook the el fling
place at the head of the rope and planted his feet.  "If we had another
hundred feet of rope, we could wrap it around that date palm."

"Is that what it is?"  said Nicholas, grunting with exertion.

"Yes.  I'll show you how to climb one if you'd like.  Should be dates
up there we can eat.  It may be fall at home, but it's spring here."

"I don't think I'll be wishing to climb anymore today," Nicholas
answered as a sailor climbed over the edge of the cliff.  As Ac sailor
got to his feet, Calls said, "Lend a hand."

Saying nothing, the sailor came to where Nicholas was and took his
place on the rope.  Nicholas stumbled to the edge of the pool and
knelt, his entire body protesting.  He drank deeply.  He pulled himself
upright and took a deep breath, then looked up.  Suddenly the sky
turned above him and he fell into a black pit.

NICHOLAS REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS in the dark.  He saw" Harry's face
above him, illuminated by firelight.  "How long?"

he asked.

"You passed out a couple of hours ago.  Ghuda said to just let you
rest."

Nicholas sat up and found he was still light-headed and bruised from
head to toe, but he didn't have the horrible cramps that had seized him
after letting go of the rope.

Harry helped him to his feet.  Nicholas looked around and saw that a
fire had been built in the center of the clearing.  Men sat around
eating quietly.  "Is everyone up here?"  asked Nicholas.

Amos came, and said, "All who are going to come."

Nicholas counted and found only forty-six in the clearing.  "Another
eleven?"

"Six were too ill to climb," said Amos bitterly.  "And the rope parted
as the other five were climbing.  Night was coming, and they panicked
and didn't wait long enough to let the men before them get up the rope.
It could hold three, but not five."

Harry said, "Calls and Ghuda lowered the rope as far as they could and
I climbed up with the broken part and fastened it with a good knot and
I climbed up.  I was the last that came."

Nicholas said, "Perhaps we can lower some food."

Ghuda said, "Come with me."

Nicholas glanced at Amos, who nodded.  Calls approached and the three
walked through a small screen of tough grass, and then into another
opening.  Nicholas halted.

Before them the grass stretched out a few dozen paces, then, oeyond
that, sand.  Under the moonlight, sand stretched as far as the eye
could see.  Galls said, "The men below are must accept that.  We will
need all the food and carry."

Nicholas-L~~; answered Ghuda.  I saw it just after the sun set, before
irg n fy dark, but my guess is a three- or four-fflay crossing.  We
cart hope to End another oasis out there."

"There's something else," said Calls.

"What?"  asked Nicholas.

It was Ghuda who answered.  "Those goats.  Someone left them here.
There was a glyph tattooed into the ear of the older ones.  The young
ones did not have it."  He stroked his grey beard.  "I've traveled the
Jal-Pur.  If the desert men leave animals at the oasis, it's because a
particular tribe claims that water.  Other tribes leave them alone.  It
can cause blood feud to take another tribe's water without its
permission."

Nicholas said, "You think someone is coming here?"

"Sooner or later," said the mercenary.  "I don't know if there are
smugglers using the cliffs or if these are just wanderers who don't
like strangers, or why they'd have a herd out here at the edge of the
world, but I can promise they'll not look happily on our having
butchered their entire herd.  They won't leave them here long untended,
as goats would strip this oasis of every plant in less than a year.
That little herd was someone's food reserve, and they won't be thrilled
by our eating their stores."

"And we've two swords, a bow and quiver of arrows, and two dozen
daggers and knives among forty-six of us," pointed out Calls.

"Not much of an army," agreed Nicholas.  "How are our food and
water?"

"We have enough dates, goat meat, and water to last five days if we're
careful," said Ghuda.

Recalling some desert lore he had heard as a child, Nicholas said,
"Should we move at night?"

Ghuda said, "Given our health, that's best.  I'll show everyone the
proper way to rest during the day, and we'll move at night."

Nicholas nodded.  "Then we'll spend tonight and tomorrow regaining our
strength.  We'll start at sundown tomorrow."

Wke winds came.

M. Nicholas lay on the ground dozing, a stick held in the crook of his
arm, propping up a makeshift shelter above him.  Ghuda had insisted
that everyone try to find a way to shade himself during the day, using
whatever was handy, to keep an airspace between the material and the
skin.  They had all donated whatever clothing they possessed beyond
tunics and trousers.  All vests, great cloaks, sail scraps anything
used to protect them from the bitter cold of night, even food sacks had
been cannibalized to make head coverings.  They had even taken the
clothing from those who had died the first night in the desert.  As he
tried to rest during the second day of unrelenting heat, Nicholas
understood why Ghuda had been so insistent that the protection of the
living was for more important than any concern for the dignity of the
dead.  They all had to have shade for their heads and protection for
their feet.  The were hotter than Nicholas had imagined possible.  ^The
desert was nothing like what Nicholas had expected.  ~~He S5$*tt
citizens of the Kingdom, he knew of the Jal-Pur Desert at the northern
frontier of the Empire of Great Kesh, but he had never seen it.  He had
imagined an endless expanse of shifting sand.  - .  Instead, dtis
desert was mostly broken rocks and salt flats,

with enough sand wastes in between to make Nicholas thankfril it wasn't
all sand.  Whenever they came to the sand there was an audible groan
from at least half the party.  The travel was slowed by more than half
as fatigued legs had to fight terrain that slipped away underfoot and
provided nothing to push against as they tried to step.

The wind rubbed his nerves raw; it was a dry thing, sucking moisture
from the body even if cold.  And there was always a grit in it, a sand
so fine that no amount of cover could keep it out of eyes, mouths, or
noses.  As much as his parched mouth made Nicholas dream of water, he
longed to wash his face, his hair, and his clothing.  The constant
friction of the fine grit had rubbed raw spots on arms and legs, as
well as making food crunch between the teeth.

They had moved out two nights before and made slow but steady progress.
Ghuda had taken it upon himself to circulate through the parry,
ensuring that no one broke the order of march, drank before it was
permitted, or stopped walking.  They all knew that any who fell would
be left behind.  There simply wasn't enough strength among them for any
to carry anyone else.

Nights in the desert were as bitter cold as they had been on the beach,
and moving kept everyone warm, but exposure was taking its toll.  Then
when the sun rose, the heat came in waves.

Nicholas remembered the day before.  At first the sky had brightened,
and when the sun topped the plateau, it seared.  As soon as the sun had
cleared the cliffs, Ghuda had ordered the halt He then squatted and
took out one of the sticks a long twig cut from a plant in the oasis
and showed how to sit upright with the stick holding his cloak above
his head, fashioning a tent.  He then hurried to supervise everyone
else's attempts.

When sundown had come the night before, Ghuda had ordered everyone to
their feet, telling them to scan the horizon for any sign of water,
either birds in flight or changes in the heat pattern.  There were
none, and they discovered that three more men had died.  Now they were
forty-three.  Nicholas knew that when they rose for their third night's
trek, it was likely more men would not get up.  He felt a dull ache of
frustration at not being able to do more for them.

Nicholas dozed, unable to sleep.  When he at last fell into a deeper
sleep for a moment, the movement of the stick jerked him awake.  A few
had tried to dig holes or use rocks for the sticks, but they were
resting upon hardpan, and it was as unyielding as stone.  Ghuda had
promised that while they would feel tired, they would get enough rest
during the day to continue on at night.  At this point, Nicholas
doubted it.  When he peered out at the desert surface, waves of heat
rose in shimmers that distorted the horizon.

Nicholas let his mind wander as he tried to sleep.  The desert made him
remember his brother Borric's tale of being carried as 3 prisoner
through the Jal-Pur, but nothing he had told Nicholas compared with
this.  Since leaving the oasis behind, there was no sign of life upon
the plateau.  Nicholas thought about his brothers, and how they had
changed during their journey to the Empress's court in the City of
Kesh.  They had blundered into a convoluted attempt to destroy the
Empress's family by pulling the Empire into war with the Kingdom.
Borric had been captured by slavers and had escaped and during his
travels had met Ghuda and Nakor.  There had been another, a boy named
SuH-Abul, who had been killed attempting to aid Borric, The experience
had made Borric much more considerate of the little brother he had once
teased unmercifully.  Nicholas felt a stab of nostalgia and came Billy
awake.  He suddenly felt very young again, and wished deeply he could
be back at home once more, a little boy in the bosom of his family,
defended from the harsh realities of the world by a warm and gentle
mother and strong, protective father.

Nicholas closed his eyes again and tried to will sleep to come.  His
memories drifted and soon he was thinking of Abigail, but in this dream
he couldn't quite make out her face.  He knew she was beautiful, but
details shifted in his memory and suddenly she resembled a serving girl
in Krondor or a girl glimpsed in.  the village of Crydee..  A voice cut
through his half-dream.  "It's time."

* -,; Shaking himself awake, Nicholas unbent from his cramped
!y?jwit*on and stood, pulling the loose cape around his shoulders.
c?**Withe ick in his left hand.  Without being told, he starteoVpecring
at the horizon, toward the sunset, seeking any sign of birdstoding for
water.  The others looked to different quarters, but no one shouted any
news of birds.

Nicholas glanced around them and saw that two more figures still lay
upon the ground.  Swallowing bitter certainty, he went to examine the
two and for a moment felt a stab of fear when he saw one of them was
Harry.  He knelt next to his friend and was almost overcome with relief
when he heard a taint snore.  Shaking him awake, he said, "It's
time."

Harry came slowly awake, blinking eyes swollen with heat and lack of
water.  "Huh?"

"It's time to move."

Harry came reluct andy to his feet, and Nicholas said, "I don't know
how you can manage to truly sleep."

"You get tired enough, you sleep," said Harry thickly.

Ghuda came and said, "One more dead,"

Now they were forty-two.  Others quickly stripped the body and passed
out the clothing to those who needed additional protection from the
sun.  Ghuda handed a waters king to Nicholas, who shook his head no.

"Drink," commanded the mercenary.  "It's murder to drink more than your
share, but it's suicide not to drink when it's time.  I've seen men
refuse their ration and be dead two hours later before they had a
chance to ask."

Nicholas took the skin, and the moment water touched his lips, warm and
sour as it was, he started drinking.  "Two mouthfuls only," cautioned
Ghuda.

Nicholas obeyed and passed the skin to Harry, who also drank his
allotment and passed the skin along.  Nicholas was glad che men were
Royal Kingdom Navy, for their discipline kept a desperate situation
from becoming hopeless.  He knew each of them longed to gulp as much
water as possible, but each followed orders and limited their intake to
two swallows.

Nicholas glanced at Amos, who stood motionless, watching three of his
men push rocks over the dead man.  Nicholas knew he had seen many of
his crewmen dead over the years, but he was doubly troubled by the
death of these men, who had left Krondor expecting a simple voyage to
the Far Coast, then home to their Admiral's wedding.

Nicholas wondered how his grandmother was enduring Amos's absence.  He
knew that word of the raids had reached Krondor by now, and most likely
his father would be leading a fleet of relief ships to the Far Coast,
ready to run the Straits of Darkness even as the weather of late rail
and early winter closed them down.  Aid would be coming over the North
Pass through the Grey Towers mountains, from Yabon, as well.

Nicholas then wondered how his uncle Martin was doing.  Was he still
alive?  Thinking of Martin, he turned to look at Marcus.  Marcus had
changed his attitude toward Nicholas profoundly since the climb up the
cliffs, and while no one would ever accuse his cousin of being a
demonstrative man, Nicholas could feel the difference in him when they
spoke.  They might never be friends, but they were no longer rivals.
Both knew that whoever Abigail chose, they were agreed to honor her
choice.  Ghuda signaled and they set off.  They moved south, for the
same reason they had traveled south along the beach; with no clearly
superior choice, they picked the route that would lead most directly to
their ultimate destination.

Within an hour of sunset, the air turned cold.  Those walking along
began gathering their assortment of shirts, tunics, and cloaks around
them.

They tried to keep their rest breaks to a minimum, but they couldn't
move continuously throughout the night.  One feet Amos had gleaned from
the position of the scars and the rising and setting of the sun was
that indeed the seasons were backward here, and the days were
lengthening, as spring approached summer which meant the days would be
getting hotter.  Nicholas judged that at the present rate they must
find shelter and water in two more days or they would all die.  They
trudged on through the night.

Now THEY WERE thirty-four.

Nicholas knew that this night's march would be their last unless they
found water.  They were moving at roughly half the speed they walked
the first night.  Ghuda estimated they had come less than ten miles the
previous night, and they would be lucky if they could match that
tonight.

Ghuda rose from his tiny tent of shirts and cloaks, and said, It's
time."

X They scanned the horizon and suddenly one of the sailors Aotited,
"Water!"

Ghuda glanced at the direction the man pointed and Nicholas foUowea his
gaze.  There, in the west, a faint blue shimmering on the horizon
beckoned.  Nicholas said, "Ghuda?"

The old mercenary shook his head.  "It could be a mirage."

"Mirage?"  asked Harry.

Nakor said, "Hot air does runny things.  Sometimes it acts like a
mirror in the sky, showing you the blue of the sky on the ground. Looks
like water."

Ghuda didn't move, as he stood rubbing his chin.  He looked at Nicholas
and his expression showed he did not want to make the decision.  If it
was a mirage, they were all dead.  If it was water and they ignored it,
they were dead.

Nicholas said, "Keep looking until the sun's down."

It was Calls who saw them.  "Birds."  The sun was just vanishing below
the western horizon when he spoke.

"Where?"  said Nicholas.

"There, to the southwest."

Nicholas stared and saw nothing.  All the remaining sailors peered to
where the el fling pointed, but no one confirmed his sighting.

"Your eyes must be magic," said Amos, his voice gravelly from lack of
water.

Calls said nothing but started walking toward his sighting of birds.

AN HOUR LATER, they reached the edge of the desert.  In the darkness it
was hard to see, but they all felt it underfoot.  Suddenly there was a
springy feeling instead of the harsh, unyielding sand or rock, Brisa
fell to her knees and said, "I've never smelled anything so sweet." Her
voice was a croak of dryness.

Nicholas bent and plucked a long blade of tough, dry grass and rubbed
it between thumb and finger.  If there was ever water in it, it was now
a memory.  He said, "Calls?"

The el fling said, "That way," pointing to the southwest.

Leaving the desert and entering the grasslands added a spark to the
party.  They moved a little fester and with more purpose.  But Nicholas
knew they were still only hours from death.

The terrain rose slightly and the sandy soil underfoot soon changed to
hard dirt.  As night deepened, Calls said, "Over there!"

He took off at a weak half-trot and Nicholas and the others attempted
to follow his lead.  At a staggering, lurching run, Nicholas forced his
fatigued legs up the small rise and then he saw it in the moonlight.  A
spring!  He half ran, half stumbled down the little hillock to the
depression.  A few birds nesting in reeds squawked and took flight as
Calls plunged facedown into

THE K/we 's BUCCANEER

water.

Nicholas was there a moment later and did the same.  He took a long
drink and was about to take another, when Ghuda's large hand gripped
his collar and pulled him back.  "Drink slowly, or you'll just vomit it
all back up," he warned.

He repeated the warning to the others, who barely seemed to hear.
Nicholas let the warm water run down his face.  It was muddy and had an
aroma and taste he thought it best not to dwell on, with the nesting of
birds so close by, but it was water.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and inspected this second oasis.  The
water hole was screened on three sides by palm trees, while to the east
the desert continued.  Nicholas moved among the men with Amos and
Ghuda, ensuring they didn't drink too much too fast.  After the first
gulping swallows, most seemed content to follow orders, while a few had
to be physically pulled away from the edge of the pond.

Calls said, "I'll scout around."

Nicholas nodded and motioned for Marcus to accompany him.  Seeing
Marcus unarmed, Nicholas pulled a large knife from his belt and handed
it to him.  Marcus nodded thanks and followed after Calls, saying
nothing of the unspoken warning: there might be others nearby, now that
they were free of the desert, and those others might be hostile.  They
moved off to the southwest.

Some of the men had recovered enough of their strength for Amos to
organize a foraging party and post some sentries.  A couple of the
fitter sailors climbed trees to bring down dates.  Nicholas signaled
for Harry to accompany him.  He left the oasis, heading toward the
northwest, and when they had traveled a hundred yards, they saw that
the desert was changing.

"Look," said Harry.

Nicholas studied where he was pointing, and nodded.  Odd-looking plants
stood in clumps all over the landscape, and in the distance some sort
of alien trees rose up, rough and without leaves.  But they didn't look
dead.  Nicholas said, "Perhaps they' fe dormant in the heat."

"Maybe," agreed Harry, who knew less about plants than Nicholas.
"Margaret would know."

Nicholas was surprised by the remark.  "How?"

"Last time we were in the garden, she told me she's spent a lot of time
in the forest with her father, brother and .. . mother."

Nicholas nodded.  "I'm scared, Harry."

"Who isn't?  We're a long way from anything familiar and I don't know
how we're going to find the girls, let alone get them home once we
do."

Nicholas shook his head.  "Not that.  Anthony will lead us to the
girls, I'm certain."

"You think?"  asked Harry.

Nicholas thought it best not to mention Anthony's feelings for
Margaret, not because he considered Harry a serious rival for the
girl's affection, but because he wanted to spare his friend any
distress, and most of all, because he was simply too tired to deal with
it.  He just said, "I think so."

Harry said, "How about getting home?"

Nicholas surprised Harry with a grin.  "With the most famous pirate in
the Bitter Sea with us, you can ask that?  Why, we steal a ship."

Harry grinned, but it was a weak one.  "If you say so."

"No, what has me scared is that somehow I'm eoine to

C -1 O t>

cause us to tail.

Harry said, "Look, I'm a good-for-nothing, or so my father's told me
often enough, but I wasn't totally asleep on those rare occasions when
he forced me to help him run the barony.  And I've seen enough of your
father's court to know that a lot of what makes one man a ruler and
another not is simply a willingness to be wrong."

Now it was Nicholas's turn to say, "You think?"

"Yes.  I think a lot of it is just saying, "Here's what we are going to
do, even if it's wrong," and then doing it."

"Well," agreed Nicholas, "Father always did say that you can't be right
unless you're wilting to risk being wrong."

A shout from the water hole caused them both to turn and hurry back,
Marcus and Calls had returned, and Marcus said, "You'd better come and
see this."

Nicholas, Harry, Amos, and Ghuda followed Calls and Marcus out of the
oasis and across a gentle depression to a rise.  When they reached the
crest, they moved down into a small gully, then up to an even higher
ridge.

Once they had topped it, Nicholas could see that they were at the
southwest corner of a plateau, or tableland, and that the terrain fell
away rapidly, turning greener as it receded from the plateau.  The
desert extended off to the northwest a great deal farther than
Nicholas's eye could follow and at last he said, "South was the right
choice."

Calls said, "Certainly.  Had we moved westward, we surely would have
died."

Marcus said, "There's more.  Look."  He pointed, and in the distance
Nicholas made out a faint haze in the air.

"What is it?"

"A river," said Calls.  "Given the distance, a large one, I'd say."

"How far?"  asked Amos.

"A few days' travel, maybe more."

Nicholas said, "We rest for the remainder of the day and all day
tomorrow, then we leave at dawn the day after."

They turned away from the vista and Nicholas put all thoughts of
failure behind as they returned to the oasis.

THIRTY-FOUR SURVIVORS of the wreck of the Raptor moved purposefully
down the incline, heading for the distant river.  They had been on the
march two days, and after the desert's terrible heat, the trees' shade
made the still-hot weather seem clement to them.  There was ample
water, as whatever source fed the spring on the top of the plateau also
emptied into a rill they had discovered flowing south out of a fissure
in the rocks.  Calls advised following it, as it likely ran down to the
river, and if not, at least they would have water for part of their
journey.

Near noon, they paused to rest and Calls moved out to scout ahead.
Nicholas was coming more and more to stand in awe of the hal Ifs
strength and stamina.  While everyone else showed the ravages of the
wreck and the subsequent journey, Calls looked much the same as he had
the day they had met, save for a little dirt and a torn tunic.

Calls returned almost at once, saying, "Nicholas, you'd better see
this."

Nicholas gestured to Marcus and Harry to come as well, and the four of
them hurried down a small vale the water ran through, reaching an
incline of rocks.  Calls motioned for them to follow him as he climbed,
topping a ridge about a dozen feet above their heads.

THE K/NG 's BUCCANSE R

Nicholas did so, and when he was standing next to Calls, they could
clearly see the river, now a thin blue ribbon cutting through green
grasslands.

"How far?"  asked Nicholas.

"One, two more days."

Nicholas grinned and said, "We're going to make it."

Marcus smiled faintly, as if not convinced, but Harry returned the
grjn.

Returning to the others, Nicholas said, "We're moving in the right
direction."  That simple statement seemed to pick up the spirits of the
entire company, even Brisa, who had fallen into an atypical silence
since crossing the desert.  Nicholas almost wished she'd return to her
rude teasing of Marcus, so he'd know she was back to her old self, but
while the girl wasn't sullen, she was distant and spoke only to answer
direct questions.

Calls returned to his scouting and the others waited, resting during
the hottest hours of the day, while he found the easiest way down to
the grasslands below.

After more than an hour had passed, Nicholas started to feel alarmed,
for Calls was unusually reliable when it came to being where he said he
would be when he said he would be there.  Nicholas was about to send
Marcus after him when the half-elf returned, bearing a creature across
his shoulders.  It resembled a small deer, but had two twisting horns
that swept upward and back from the head.

Ghuda grunted.  "Some sort of antelope, though I've not seen that kind
in Kesh."

Calls threw it down and said, "There's a herd down near the edge of the
grasslands.  I took this one and dressed it out.  We'll have ample to
eat if that band doesn't wander too far."

A fire was quickly built and the creature was cooked, and Nicholas
could swear he had never had meat this savory and filling.

THEY WERE LESS than a day from the river when Nicholas saw the smoke
west of them.  Calls and Marcus saw it at the same instant and Nicholas
signaled a halt.  He motioned to Ghuda to take Harry and circle from a
more easterly quarter, while Marcus and one of the sailors were to
approach from the western side.  He indicated that Calls should come
with him and headed straight toward the smoke.  They were now traveling
through high grass, sometimes reaching to their chests, and the going
was slow.  There was always water nearby, and Calls's prediction of
ample hunting in the area had proven true.  While their fare wasn't
rich, it was enough to return the enure company to a semblance of
health.  Nicholas wondered how he looked.  Everyone else was filthy,
ragged, and gaunt, but most sprains, bruises, and cuts had healed.

Reaching a small rise, Nicholas looked down on a scene of destruction.
Six wagons were drawn up in a circle, near the river, and two of them
were burning.  Another two were on their sides.  A dozen horses lay
dead in their traces, and there were bodies scattered around.  From the
gaps in the circle of wagons, it was obvious others had left the scene
of battle.

Nicholas said, "I'm going straight in.  You move around the edge of the
clearing and see if anyone's still around."

Calls nodded and Nicholas moved down the hill as the el fling vanished
into the high grass.  Nicholas reached the first wagon and glanced
around.  The raid had happened no more than three or four hours
earlier, from the state of the still-burning wagons.  The others had
burned out, leaving charred skeletons.

The wagons were high-sided, with large iron frames that held canvas,
forming a roof and covering the sides.  The canvas could be raised to
admit air and light, and to make unloading easier, or lowered to
protect cargo.  The wagons were commodious, ample for large cargo or
many passengers.  The rear of the wagons was solid wood, hinged at the
bottom so that, let down, the rear served as a loading ramp, with a
smaller, man-sized door in the middle permitting access when the ramp
was up.  The overturned traces were set up for four horses each.

Nicholas turned over one of the bodies and saw a man of average height,
slightly darker in skin than himself, but not as swarthy as most
Keshians.  He could have been a citizen of the Kingdom from his look.
He had a ragged wound in his chest, obviously a sword blow, that had
kilted him quickly.

It took only a few minutes to realize that nearly everything of value
had been taken.  Nicholas found a sword under one of the dead horses
and pulled it free.  It was a broadsword, again like those common to
the Kingdom.

THE JC/WG "S BUCCANEE K

Marcus appeared with the sailor, and Nicholas handed him the sword.
"We're too late."

Marcus said, "Or luckier than we have any right to be."  He pointed to
the far side of the circle and Nicholas looked.  "There's twenty,
thirty dead men there."  He indicated the bodies scattered outside the
wagons and said, "A big company hit this caravan big enough to have
chopped us without a second thought, I'd guess."

Nicholas nodded.  "Maybe you're right.  We have no idea who these
people are or who raided them."

Ghuda and Harry appeared from the east and began examining bodies over
there.  Nicholas moved toward them and said, "Ghuda?  What do you
think?"

The old mercenary scratched his face.  "Traders and hired guards."  He
glanced around and said, "They were hit first from over here,"
indicating the tall grasses Nicholas had left.  "That was a feint, and
then the main party hit from the river side."  He pointed at the mass
of bodies on that side.  "Most of the fighting was there.  It was fast
and over quickly.  These" the dead outside the wagons "are either
attackers or those who tried to run."

To the sailor, Nicholas said, "Go back and get the others, and bring
them here."  The sailor saluted and ran off.

"Bandits?"  asked Marcus.

Ghuda shook his head.  "I don't think so.  This was pretty well laid
out.  Soldiers, I'd say."

Nicholas said, "I don't see any uniforms."

"Soldiers don't always wear uniforms," observed Ghuda.

Just then Calls appeared, a slight figure before him.  It was a small
man, obviously terrified, who threw himself down upon the ground before
Nicholas and the others and began speaking at a furious rate.  "Who is
this?"  asked Nicholas.

Calls shrugged.  "A survivor, I think."

"Can anyone understand that chatter?"  asked Nicholas.

Ghuda said, "Listen to what he's saying."

Nicholas listened and suddenly realized the man was speaking heavily
accented Keshian, or a language so close to Keshian that there was
little difference.  The difficulty in understanding him stemmed more
from the accent and his nearly frantic pleas for them to spare his life
than from its being a foreign tongue.

Marcus said, "Not unlike Natalese, really."  The language of

Natal was an offshoot of Keshian, as Natal had once been a province of
the Empire.

"Get up," said Nicholas in Keshian.  He was not comfortable in the
language, but he had studied it.

The man understood well enough to obey.  "Sah, Encosi."

Nicholas glanced at Ghuda who said, "Sounded like 'yes, Encosi," to
me."  When Nicholas showed he didn't understand, Ghuda said, "Encosi Is
a title, meaning 'master," or 'boss,1 or 'lord."  Used in the area of
the Girdle of Kesh when you don't know what someone's official rank
is."

"Who are you?"  Nicholas asked the lit de man.

"I am being Tuka; wagon driver, Encosi."

"Who did this?"  asked Nicholas.

The man shrugged.  "I am not knowing which company, Encosi."  The way
he shifted his gaze from face to face, it was clear he wasn't entirely
convinced those he spoke with might not be responsible.

"Company?"  asked Harry.

"They flew no banner, and wore no" he used a word Nicholas didn't catch
"Encosi," said Tuka to Harry.

Ghuda said, "I think he said they wore no badges."

The man who had named himself Tuka shook his head vigorously.  "Yes, a
non-lawful company, no doubt, Encosi.  Brigands, most certainly."

Something about the way he spoke confused Nicholas.  He motioned for
Ghuda to step away and said, "He doesn't believe that.  Why is he
lying?"

Ghuda glanced over Nicholas's shoulder.  "I have no idea.  We don't
know what the politics around here is like, and it may be we've
wandered into some sort of fracas between two lords or two business
organizations or who knows what.  It could also be that he does know
who the raiders are, but pkying stupid will keep him alive."

Nicholas shrugged and turned toward the man.  "Are you the only
survivor?"

, The man looked around as if trying to decide which answer f* uld best
serve him.  The expression was not lost on Ghuda, Lwho drew out a
hunting knife and stepped before the man.  "Don't lie, you scum!"

The man fell to his knees and started to beg for his lire, imploring
them to spare him because of his three wives and uncountable children.
Nicholas glanced at Marcus, who nodded slightly to let Ghuda continue.
The big mercenary made an almost comic show of menacing the lit de man,
but whatever humor was in it was lost on Tuka.  He crawled upon the
ground and wept copiously, screaming that he was innocent of any
duplicity and calling on at least a half-dozen gods unknown to Nicholas
to protect him from harm.

At last Nicholas waved Ghuda away and said, "I won't let him harm you,
if you tell us the truth.  We have nothing to do with those who burned
these wagons.  Now, who are you, where were you headed, and who raided
you?"

The little man glanced around the circle of faces, and after another
short spurt of imploring heaven for aid and comfort, he said, "Encosi,
mercy upon me.  I am being Tuka, a servant of Andres Rusolavi, a trader
of majestic accomplishments.  My master holds patents from six cities
and is considered friend by the Jeshandi."  Nicholas hadn't a clue who
or what the Jeshandi were, but motioned for the little man to continue
his narrative.

"We were bound "home from the Spring Meeting, carrying cargo of great
wealth, when we were struck this morning by a band of riders who forced
us to circle.  My master was served by Jawan's Company, who fought
well, and we were protected against this trivial raid, but then we were
assaulted from the river, by men in boats, who overcame us.  All of my
master's servants and Jawan's Company were put to the sword, and my
master's four remaining wagons were taken away."  The man looked
terrified as he said, "I was upon that wagon" he pointed to one of the
two overturned wagons "and when it upended, I was thrown into the grass
there."  He pointed to a point near where Calls had found him.  "I am
not being a very brave man.  I hid."  He said the last as if shamed to
admit his cowardice.

Nicholas said, "Do we believe him?"

Ghuda asked him to step aside and said, "I don't think he's lying.  He
expects we know who these Jeshandi are and who this Jawan was, or he
would have said who they were.  But he didn't .  expect us to know his
master, so that's why he told us what an important man he is."  Ghuda
turned to the man and said, "Are you of Rusolavi's house?"

The man nodded furiously.  "As was my rather.  We are his free
servants!"

Ghuda said, "I think we'd best keep who we are to ourselves for a
while."

Nicholas nodded.  "You circulate and tell everyone to watch what they
say around this fellow, while I ask him some more questions."

Nicholas motioned for the little man to accompany him over to the
wagons, and made a stab at finding out what this valuable cargo was.
The others appeared soon after and Ghuda warned them all about keeping
their identity secret.

At one point, after Nicholas had some sense of what the caravan was
carrying, Tuka asked, "Encosi, which company is this?"

Nicholas glanced at the ragged band of sailors and soldiers who had
survived the trip from Crydee, and said, "It's my company."

The man's eyes widened, "May I have the honor of your name, Encosi?"

"Nicholas," said the Prince, and he almost added, "of Krondor," but
caught himself.

The man's expression turned to one of puzzlement, but he said, "Of
course, mighty one.  Your reputation precedes you.  Your deeds are
legendary, and every other captain shakes with fear or trembles in envy
at your name."

Nicholas didn't know what to make of the Battery, but as he told the
little man to follow him, he said, "We're not from around Here."

"By your accent and manner of dress, I am gleaning that feet, Encosi.
But your fame spreads throughout the land."

"Speaking of which," said Nicholas, "what land is this?"

Tuka looked confused at the question, and it wasn't a function of
language.  Nicholas judged the context wrong, and said, "How far are we
from your destination?"

The little man brightened and said, "We are but four days from the
rendezvous at Shingazi's Landing.  There my master intended to load our
cargo upon barges and take them down :-r- "Where?"  asked Nicholas as
they reached the others.  "At this Tuka looked even more confused.
"Where?  Why, the Gty of the Serpent River.  Where else would one go in
the Easdands, Encosi?  There is no other place to go."  Nicholas
glanced at his companions, who waited.

MARGARET CRANED HER neck, attempting to see around the large rudder.
"It's a seaport," she said.

"How interesting," said Abigail sarcastically.  She had alternated
between bitter humor and black despair since they left the pursuing
ship behind.  "We were going to reach one sooner or later."

"One thing you learn in the wilderness, Abby, is that you're a fool to
follow a trail without marking your way."

"Whatever that means," said Abby.

Margaret turned around and sat down on one of the beds.  It means that
when we escape, we don't want to find we haven't a clue to how to get
back."

"Back where!"  said Abby, her bitter anger now directed at Margaret.

Margaret gripped her friend by the arms.  Keeping her voice low, she
said, "I know you're upset.  I felt just as distressed when we lost
Anthony and the others.  But they're coming.  They may only be a day or
two behind.  When we get free of these murderers, we'll need to
backtrack along this route, for that's where help will be."

"If we get free," said Abby.

"Not if when!"  insisted Margaret.

Abby's eyes teared and she let go of her anger.  "I'm so frightened,"
she said as Margaret took her in her arms.

Soothing her friend's terrors, Margaret said, "I know.  I'm frightened,
too.  But we've got to do whatever we need to, no matter how scared we
are.  There's just no other way."

Abby said, "I'll do what you ask."

"Good," said Margaret.  "Always stay close to me, and if I see any
opportunity to escape, I mean to take it.  Just follow me."

Abigail said nothing.

The door to the cabin opened unexpectedly.  Two black-clad sailors
entered, taking up guard positions on either side of the door.  Instead
of Arjuna Svadjian, a woman entered.  Her hair was nearly black, which,
coupled with fair skin and blue eyes, gave her an exotic appearance.
She wore a robe which, once inside the cabin, she threw back across her
shoulders, showing she wore Little beneath; her breasts were covered by
a light halter, while around her waist she wore but a simple short
silken skirt.  The scant garments were finely fashioned and well made,
and she wore a ransom in jewels.

Margaret knew this was no tavern dancer or even a rich courtesan, for
there was something terrifying in this woman's eyes.  She spoke easily,
in the King's Tongue.  "You are the Duke's daughter?"

Margaret said, "Yes, I am.  Who are you?"

The woman ignored the question.  "You are then the daughter of the
Baron of Carse?"  she said to Abigail.

Abigail only nodded.

The woman said, "You will be taken from here, and whatever is asked of
you, do it.  You must know that you may live well, live poorly, or
watch some of your countrymen die incredibly painful, lingering deaths
I can assure you we have the means to make it seem an eternity.  It is
your choice.  I urge you to choose well."  In an offhanded manner she
added, "The pain of your countrymen is of no consequence, but you
nobles of the Kingdom have a strong sense of being caretakers to these
cattle.  I hope this proves sufficient motivation for your coo pet-at
ion

She motioned with her hand, and from outside the cabin two more guards
entered, dragging a young girl with them.  Without taking her eyes from
Margaret, the woman said, "Do you know this girl?"  Margaret recognized
her: she was one of the kitchen staff from the castle, named Meggy.
Margaret nodded.

"Good," said the woman.  "She is not very well, so killing her will
only lose us one mouth to feed."  She waited a moment, then said, "Kill
her."

"No!"  screamed Margaret as one of the two guards quickly drew a
dagger, gripped Meggy by the hair, and pulled her head back.  With a
swift stroke of the blade, he easily slashed her throat.  So quick was
the act that the girl had only a moment to emit a strangled cry and
then her eyes glazed over and she collapsed to her knees, as blood
fountained from her neck.  Vi, "You didn't have to do this!"  accused
Margaret, while Abisul stood mute, eyes wide in horror.

"A demonstration," said the woman.  "You have special value to me, and
I will not risk harming you as long as I have other options.  But I
will not hesitate to take the youngest child from your home and slowly
cook him over coals before your

THE KING 's BUCCANSE R

eyes to get your cooperation.  Am I making things clear to you?"

Margaret swallowed hot anger, leaving the taste of raw bile in her
mouth.  Her eyes were moist with tears of rage, but she forced her
voice to calmness as she said, "Yes.  Very clear."

"Good," said the woman.  Turning, she drew her robe about her and left.
The guards who had dragged the girl in picked up her lifeless body and
carried it out.  The other two guards closed the door, leaving the
cabin as it had been before, save for the spreading crimson pool on the
deck.

WHEN EVERYONE HAD gathered at the site of the ambush, Nicholas had the
area searched.  They discovered three swords in the tall grass, as well
as a handful of daggers.  A barrel of hard bread and dried beef was
found and quickly passed among the men.

Tuka observed the ragged band and said, "Oh, Encosi, it would seem your
company has fallen upon hard times."

Nicholas observed the little man and judged him a shrewd customer. "You
could say that," he answered.  "As you have, it seems."

The little man visibly sagged at that.  "So true, mighty Captain.  My
master will be sore vexed to have lost so valuable a caravan.  His
standing in the Dhiznasi Bruku will diminish, and I shall be the one
held accountable, no doubt."

Nicholas didn't know what a Dhiznasi Bruku was, but he was darkly
amused by the little man's last remark.  "Why should your master,
obviously a man of perspicacity, hold you, a lowly wagon driver,
responsible?"  Tuka shrugged.  "Who else is there being alive to
blame?"

Ghuda laughed.  "No matter how far you travel, some things never
change."

"This is so," said Nakor, who had come up behind the Prince.  "So it
would be likely that this intelligent man might also be thankful for
the recovery of his property."

A feral light arose in Tuka's eyes.  "Would so mighty a captain accept
a commission from one being so lowly as myself?"

Ghuda imperceptibly shook his head no, and Nicholas said, "I would not,
but I would accept one from your master should you be empowered to act
upon his behalf."

"Ayee," said Tuka with a genuine note of frustration.  "You make sport
of poor Tuka, Encosi.  You know that I cannot.  I may endure shame and
punishment from the Bruku, perhaps being cast out and fated never to
know honest work again, but I cannot be binding my master to any
contracts, oh no."

Nicholas rubbed his chin, at a loss for what to say next.  Ghuda,
however, said, "Well, I suppose we could go after these brigands and
simply take from them what they took from your master."

Now Tuka looked thoroughly stricken.  "Oh, mighty Gap-tain, should you
do that, I shall be again cast upon the river of hopelessness.  No,
some bargain must be possible."

Amos, who had been standing silently nearby, finally said, "Well, laws
of salvage are pretty much the same everywhere."

Nicholas turned and said, "On the sea, perhaps, but in where we're
from, we hang those who receive stolen goods, remember?"

Amos sighed.  "The niceties of civilized law; I'd forgotten," he said
dryly.

Nicholas said, "Tell you what: we'll see what we can do after we've
scouted out these bandits, and if we can recover anything, well take
the usual fees."

Something like hope appeared in Tuka's expression.  "How many warriors
in your service, Encosi?"

"Thirty-three besides myself," said Nicholas.

Tuka pointed to Brisa.  "Including the girl?"  he asked, instantly
seizing upon any chance to bargain.

A dagger suddenly appeared between Tuka's feet, vibrating in the earth
from the force of the throw.  Brisa smiled with as nasty an expression
as she could muster.  "Including the girl," she said.

'"Women warriors," said Tuka, with a forced smile.  "I am being a
progressive man.  Thirty-three warriors and you, Encosi.  From here to
Shingazi's Landing, with a bonus for fighting, you Ipouki be entitled
to sixty-six Khaipur cer landers and "

Not waiting for the man to finish, Ghuda grabbed him and pulled him
around roughly.  Seizing his tunic, he half lifted the little man and
said, "You seek to cheat us!"

"No, master of kindness, I was merely beginning my accounts!"  He
loofced about to faint.  "I mean sixty-six cer landers

THE JC/NG 's BUCCANEE it each day, with food and drink, and a bonus to
the captain when we reach Shingazi's Landing!"

Nicholas shook his head.  "When we reach the City of the Serpent River,
and your master, you mean."

Turning pale, Tuka looked as if he might offer another option, but
Ghuda hiked him up so that his toes dangled an inch above the ground.
"Eeep!"  the little man said as he rose into the air.  "If that is the
Encost's pleasure, then I'm sure my master will be obliged."

Ghuda set him down and Nicholas said, "Oh, your master is obliged, if
he wants to see his cargo back."

Tuka looked as if he were dancing on hot coals as he shifted his weight
back and forth from foot to foot; at last he said, "Done!"

Ghuda said, "I'll take Calls."

Nicholas nodded.  He said to Marcus, "Supervise one more sweep through
the surrounding grass and see if there's anything useful we've missed."
Turning to Tuka, he asked, "Is there any place between here and
Shingazi's Landing where those men on the wagons could have offloaded
what they've stolen to the boats?"

"No, Encosi.  They were small boats, in any event.  If they have large
riverboats, they will be at Shingazi's Landing."

"Then that's where we're bound," said Nicholas.

NICHOLAS CONSULTED WITH Amos, and quickly they evaluated their forces.
The company now possessed one bow, five swords, and enough knives and
daggers to arm the others.  Of those men who survived the wreck, all
were seasoned soldiers, or sailors with some experience in a fight.

Nicholas discussed a variety of plans with Amos, but mostly to keep his
own nervousness under control, as he knew little of warfare save from
his lessons.  Theory he had more of than any man present, he was sure,
but in battle he was the least experienced.  Marcus had fought goblins
with his father, and even Harry had ridden out with his father to chase
off bandits before coming to Krondor.

Calls returned near midafternoon.  He leaned on his bow and said,
"Ghuda watches.  There was a supply of wine or ale "

"Fine spirits," supplied Tuka.

"Well, those with the wagons are determined to drink most of it before
joining their fellows at the landing.  They've pulled off the road and
are working on a heroic drunk."  Motioning for Nicholas to move off out
of Tulca's hearing, he said, "There's more.  They have prisoners."

"Prisoners?"

"Women."

Nicholas thought for a long moment, then slowly, with great drama, drew
his sword.  He advanced upon Tuka, who turned pale as the rough-looking
young man bore down upon him.  "Encosi?"  he croaked.

Putting the point of his sword to the little man's throat, Nicholas
said, "Tell me of the women."

Tuka fell to his knees, crying, "Spare me, master, for I am being a
fool to lie to so august a captain as yourself.  I am telling you all
if you will but grant me leave to breathe until Lady Kal takes my
life."

"Speak," demanded Nicholas, trying his best to look threatening.

He must have been convincing, for Tuka told everything in a flood of
words.  The women were a noble's daughter, the Ranjana by tide, though
Nicholas didn't have any idea what that meant, and her four maids. She,
from the city of Kilbar, was bound to someone called the Overlord,
ruler of the City of the Serpent River.  She was to be his wife. Tuka's
master, Andres Rusolavi, was being paid a large sum to broker the
arranged marriage and provide safe transport for the girl from the city
of Khaipur to the City of the Serpent River.

Tuka swore that he believed the bandits to be men sent to cause
friction between the Overlord and the Dhiznasi Bruku which Nicholas
guessed to be a trading consortium or association and drive a wedge
between them.

"Who would wish to do so?"  asked Ghuda.

Tuka looked confused.  "Surely you are not being from so distant a
place that you do not know the Overlord is being a man of multitudinous
enemies?  Most certainly it is being the work of the Raj of Maharta, he
being the ruler with whom the Overlord is presently at war."

Nicholas said, "We are from a very distant city."  My master, and his
associates, seek to bring favor upon

THE KING 's BL/CCANEE R

their lot by sending gifts to the Overlord along with his newest
wife."

Ghuda said dryly, "And they're probably sending gifts to this Raj, as
well."

Tuka grinned.  "My master is known as a man to consider all options,
Sab."

Sab was a term Nicholas did recognize, and he knew it meant "master."
Nicholas said, "So, if we rescue this girl and her companions, we stand
to gain from both your master and this Overlord."

, Tuka said, "My master, most certainly, Encosi, but the Overlord .. .
?"  He shrugged.  "He has many wives already."

Calls said, "Attacking will be little problem."

"But keeping the girts alive will be," said Amos.

Hunkering down in the dirt, Nicholas said, "How are they deployed?"

Calls drew with a dagger in the dirt.  "Four wagons, and they're pretty
confident they're not going to find trouble, because they've made no
laager.  They've only pulled off to the roadside."  He made four long
lines in the soil, representing the wagons.  "The girls were in the
second wagon."

"How many men?"

"Four per wagon, all well armed."

"How close can we get?"

"There's a lot of tall grass away from the riverside.  I think five or
six of us could get within a dozen paces of the wagons."

Nicholas thought.  "How many can you kill from that distance?"

Calls said, "All of them, if I had enough shafts.  I could probably
bring down three or four before they were aware what was going on. More
if they're drunk enough."

Nicholas said, "I'm going to circle through the grass with Marcus and a
few of the men.  I'll come in from this end while Ghuda will lead
another ten or so from this side.  The rest will attack along the
length of the wagons, and I want you to give the order to attack,
Calls.  We'll come when we hear shouts."

Calls thought a moment, then said, "You want me to kill those closest
to the women?"

Nicholas said, "No telling what they'll try to do: kill them or use
them as hostages.  We can overwhelm sixteen of them, but we can't
ensure the women will be safe.  That's your job."

Calls nodded.  "I'll keep the bandits away long enough for you to reach
them."

"Good."

Nicholas instructed the men who were selected to attack the bandits. He
turned to Anthony and Nakor.  "Stay here with those who aren't strong
enough to fight, and follow after things get quiet.  We may need your
skills."

Anthony said, "I've found a couple of things here that I can use on
wounds."

Nakor nodded.  "I'll wait."

A half-dozen others were told to wait behind, including Brisa, who
seemed not in the least anxious to join the attack.

It took them until almost sundown to reach the point where Ghuda
waited.  He lay on a rise overlooking the last wagon in the train. When
Nicholas came up beside him, he said, "They're pretty drunk already; I
think there was a fight a while back over the women. Look."

Nicholas looked where he indicated, and saw a body lying under one
wagon.  "They're not gentle about settling disputes, are they?"

"Indeed," said Ghuda.  "What's the plan?"

"I'm taking a bunch around to the far end," said Nicholas.  "Calls will
keep the bandits off the girls while we hit them from three sides."

Ghuda said, "Basic, but I can't think of anything better."

Nicholas signaled for those not staying with Ghuda to follow him and
Calls.  CaEs took the lead and moved along the back side of a ridge
that paralleled the road.  When he was opposite me second wagon, he
motioned for Nicholas to lead his company to the far end.

Nicholas ran along half-crouched, and when he was at his designated
position, he motioned the men to be ready.  Everything depended on
speed and surprise.  If the bandits got organized, fifteen well-armed
men fighting in concert would be more than a match for Nicholas's
band.

Suddenly a shout erupted from the men with Calls, and Nicholas was up
and running.  He didn't look to see if the others were behind; he
assumed they were.

A blur of images greeted him.  A man stood up, holding a small cask
from which he poured amber liquid down his gullet, and he turned to see
Nicholas running at him; he stood blinking in confusion as the
attackers came at him, letting the liquor pour down his chin.  He
finally dropped the cask and pulled his swordi but someone threw a
dagger, catching him in the shoulder.

Nicholas dashed past him and killed a man who was turning to see what
the noise was.  Then another swordsman stood opposite him, and the duel
was on.

Nicholas was vaguely aware of the fighting around him, but kept his
concentration on the man facing him.  He was middle-aged, a veteran,
and his attack was basic and direct.  Nicholas took only a minute to
discern the pattern of his attack and kill him.

Suddenly the fighting was over.  Nicholas looked around and realized
that his own men had struck a disorganized and drunken band, and that
most of the bandits had been killed before they knew they were under
attack.

Nicholas saw one of the sailors from Amos's ship.  Grabbing the man, he
said, "Gather up every weapon you can find, and anything else that
might be useful.  Make sure no one dumps the bodies in the river."

He went to the second wagon, where five women, all about his own age,
were cowering in terror.  Two of them had their clothing torn, and
their faces were bruised.  Thinking of nothing else to say, Nicholas
asked, "Are you all right?"

One of the women, wearing fine silk robes, said, "We're not hurt."  Her
wide brown eyes and trembling voice indicated she wasn't certain if
they had been saved or simply had traded in one band of captors for
another.  Nicholas paused a moment when he was struck by her striking
beauty.

Shaking himself out of staring at her, Nicholas said, "You're safe
now."

He looked around and found Ghuda.  The old mercenary was inspecting the
camp.  When Nicholas reached him, he said, "These were not trained
soldiers, Nicholas."

Nicholas looked around and was forced to agree.  "They've picked one of
the least defensible places on the road to camp, and they had no
sentries."

Ghuda scratched his beard.  "Either they thought there was no one
around .. ."

"Or they expected reinforcements," said Nakor, appearing at Nicholas's
side.

3/S Raymond E. Feist

Nicholas said, "We'd better get organized and get moving as soon as
possible."

"Too late," said the little man, pointing to the ridge where Ghuda and
his company had waited before the charge.

Upon the ridge a line of horsemen watched impassively.

ISCOVESY

icholas signaled.

Quickly men ran to places of defense behind the wagons, while others
stripped the dead bandits of their swords and bows.  Marcus appeared at
Nicholas's side carrying a short bow.  "Not to my liking," Marcus
observed, testing the bow's draw, "but it'll do."

Tuka said, "Jeshandi!"  as he pointed to the dozen men on horseback.

Nicholas said, "Are they friends?"

The little man looked clearly worried at the question.  "There is being
a bond of peace upon the Spring Meeting, where all may come and trade.
But the meeting ended and we are on their side of the river."

"Their side of the river?"  asked Harry, holding a well-used short
sword.

Tuka nodded.  "From Shingazi's Landing to the north, then westward to
where the Serpent River comes near to meeting the Vedra, and from the
river to the desert, the grasslands are the home to the Jeshandi.  None
may pass without their leave.  At times their hospitality knows no
ending, but at other times they can be little better than brigands.
That one who is in front with the red tassels upon his bridle is a
Hetman, that being a very important personage."

THE

BUCCANEER

Nicholas said, "Well, we can wait as long as they can."

Then another dozen men each appeared on the northern and southern edges
of the ridge.  Nicholas said, "Maybe we can't wait."

He climbed up on the wagon and held his sword high, so they might
clearly see it.  Then he made a show of putting it in the scabbard at
his side.  Nicholas leaped down from the wagon and said, "Ghuda, come
with me.  Marcus, you and Calls be ready to give us cover if we need to
get back here in a hurry."

Ghuda joined Nicholas and the two of them walked to a point halfway
between the wagons and the ridge.  Two riders left the others and
slowly picked their way down the ridge.

As they neared, Nicholas studied them.  Each rider carried a bow and
quiver, as well as an assortment of swords and knives.  They wore long
dark cloaks over tunics and trousers, and on their heads they wore
conical hats of indigo or red, some with cloth neck coverings.  Their
faces were protected against' the dust by cloths that left only their
eyes exposed.

When they reached Nicholas and Ghuda, they reined in.  Nicholas touched
his hand to his forehead, his heart, and his stomach in the fashion of
the desert men of the Jal-Pur and spoke their formal greeting.  "Peace
be upon you."

Speaking tn the variant of Keshian that seemed the common language in
this land, one of the riders said, "Your accent is terrible."  Jumping
from his horse, he added, "But you have manners."  He waved his hand.
"And peace be upon you as well."  Then he stepped closer and Nicholas
saw a pair of vivid blue eyes above the indigo face covering.  Pointing
to the wagons, he said, "What passes here?"

Nicholas told of the raid and their retaking of the wagons.  When he
was finished he said, "We are leaving the lands of the Jeshandi and
mean you no disrespect.  This caravan was on its way from the Spring
Meeting."  He hoped that he was convincing in his claim that whatever
peace bond was in effect at the meeting carried force until those at
the meeting- had quit Jeshandi territory.

The rider who spoke removed his face covering, and Nicholas saw a young
face, dominated by high cheekbones and piercing eyes.  Something
familiar confronted Nicholas and he suddenly understood.

Turning to the wagons, he said, "Calls!  You'd better come here."

As the el fling leaped down from the wagon, Ghuda said, "What?"

"Look at his face," said Nicholas.

The rider said, "Do you take offense at my face?"  His manner was tense
and he seemed ready to settle the issue at a moment's notice.

"No, just that we did not expect to meet one of your kind here, under
these circumstances."

The rider's tone grew clearly belligerent as he leaned forward, stared
Nicholas in the eyes, and said, "And what do you mean, 'one of your
kind'?"

Calls reached them in time to hear the last exchange and he spoke.  "He
meant he did not expect to meet one of the edhel here."

The rider looked puzzled and said, "Whatever that word means, I will be
addressed by my name and title."

Calls hid his surprise poorly.  "Your name and tide?"

"I am Mikola, Hetman of the Zakosha Riders of the Jeshandi."

Nicholas bowed again, distracting the Hetman from Calls's confusion. "I
am Nicholas, captain of this company and enemy to no man who would be
my friend."

"Well spoken," said Mikola with a broad smile.  "But I care nothing for
the concerns of city men."  He pointed an accusing finger at Nicholas
and the smile vanished.  "What concerns me is who is going to pay me
for my goats!"

Nicholas said, "Your goats?"

"Certainly.  Did you not see the tattoo in the ears of the mature
goats?  Did you not recognize my mark?  Don't tell me you didn't notice
as you slaughtered and ate them.  And what were you doing so near the
edge of the world?"  Not waiting for Nicholas to answer, he said, "We
shall camp here and discuss many things.  But most of all, we shall
discuss your payment for our goats."

He remounted his horse and rode up the rise, shouting orders to his
companions.

Ghuda said, "What was that all about?"

Nicholas said, "He is an elf."

Ghuda said, "I didn't notice anything, and his ears were hidden.
Besides, I've never met one before Calls."

Calls nodded.  "You may not have met any of my mother's people, but it
is so.  He is of the edhel, and more, he doesn't know what the word
means."  Calls stared after the rider, obvious concern on his face.

AFTER NIGHTFALL THEY were hosted in the tent of Mikola.  Calls remained
silent through most of the evening.  The leader of the Jeshandi might
be upset about his goats, but his sense of hospitality was clearly
demonstrated by the feast his people provided to the survivors of the
wreck of the Raptor.

Tuka came with Nicholas, Harry, Ghuda, Nakor, Marcus, Amos, and Anthony
to the Herman's tent, which he called a yurt.  It was a large circular
creation of felted goat's hair and sheep's wool stretched over a wooden
lattice, and Mikola's could comfortably seat two dozen people.  The
interiot was hung with standards and pennants of different colors and
fashion, red cloth with gold icons, animal hides with beaded work
around the edges.  The air was heavy with the smell of spices, for an
incense burner provided fragrant relief from the more pungent odor of
horses and human sweat.  It was clear to Nicholas that these people
didn't often have access to water for bathing.

Brisa was told, to her irritation, that women were not permitted in the
Hetman's yurt, save for wives, and then only for his pleasure.  She did
not make a scene, but her muttering gave clear indication of what she
thought.  Nicholas noticed Marcus's smile when he overheard the girl's
foul language; Nicholas was certain his cousin was feeling the same way
he was about the girl: glad to see her old spirit returning.

After they had eaten a particularly fine meal, accompanied by some
robust wine, Nicholas said, "Mikola, your bounty is without measure."

Mikola smiled slightly, and said, "The Laws of Hospitality are
inviolate.  Now, tell me a thing: I have an ear for accents, and have
never heard your like.  Where are your people from?"

Nicholas told them of their journey, and Mikola seemed unfazed by their
claim to have come across the great sea.  There are many tales of such
journeys in ancient times."

Looking directly into Nicholas's eyes, he said, "Which god do you
worship?"

Sensing something strained in his tone, Nicholas trod lightly.  "We
revere many gods among our company "

Nakor interrupted, "But above all is Al-mar al

The Hetman nodded.  "You are outlanders, so your worship is your own
concern, and so long as you take hospitality with the Jeshandi your
safety is guaranteed.  But know that once you depart these lands,
should you ever return you will swear to worship the One True God, of
whom all others are but a facet, or forfeit your lives."

Nicholas nodded and glanced at Nakor.  Calls said, "What do you know of
those ancient tales, Hetman?"

"We were once of that land from which you come," said Mikola.  "Or so
the Book tells us, and in it only the true words of God are written, so
it must be so."  Looking at Calls, he said, "There is something else
you wish to know?"

Calls nodded.  "You are kin to my people."

The Hetman's eyes widened slightly as he said, "You are of the
long-lived?"

Calls brushed back his hair, showing his slightly upturned ear. "Al-mar
al be praised," said Mikola.  In turn, he brushed back his long blond
hair and revealed the expected pointed ear.  "Yet yours is different. 
How is this so?"

Calls spoke slowly.  "My mother is of your kind.  She is Queen of our
people, in Elvandar."

If Calls expected a reaction to this, there was none forthcoming.
Mikola said, "Tell me more."

"My father is human, though gifted of special magic."

"In truth, he must be," said the Hetman, "for in the longest memory of
our tribe no union of the long-lived and short has produced offspring."
He clapped once and a serving man brought a bowl of water.  He washed
his hands as he said, "For this reason, such a union is forbidden among
the Jeshandi."

"Such unions are not forbidden among my people," said Calls, "but they
are rare and almost always unhappy."

Mikola said, "Are you short-lived or long?"

With a wry smile, Calls answered, "That remains to be seen."

"In the Book," said Mikola, it is written that the long-lived were
wanderers in this land when the faithful came from across the sea.
Bitter was the struggle between us until those of the long-lived heard
the word of God and embraced the faith; Al-mar al is ever merciful.
Since then we have lived as one."

Calls said, "That explains much."

"The Book explains everything," said the Herman with certainty.

Nicholas looked at Calls, who indicated that he was finished.  Nicholas
said, "Mikola, we can not begin to thank you for your hospitality."

"No thanks are required; it is the giver who should be grateful, for it
is written that only in giving may one come to learn generosity."
Picking his teeth with a long sliver of wood, he said, "Now, how do you
propose to pay for my goats?"

A round of haggling commenced, and Nicholas knew he was at a
disadvantage, because the sale had been made; they were only arguing
price.  As the night wore on, the quality of the animals continued to
rise while Nicholas could do lit de beyond arguing they were stringy,
tough, and lacking flavor.  In the end he paid at least three times
their worth.  If Mikok was curious about the mark of the Kingdom on the
gold coins Nicholas gave him, he hid it; he was pleased with the
quality and weight of the coins, and that was enough.

Then Nicholas bargained for weapons and stores, and by the time they
were done, his entire company was outfitted, he was tired, and it was
late.  He bid the Hetman good night and returned with his companions to
the wagons.

On the way, Nicholas said, "Calls, what were you saying about the
passage from the Book explaining a lot?"

Calls shrugged.  "I have always been taught that the edhel, the elves,
were one race, with one Queen, my mother, and one home, Elvandar.
Before that we were servants of the Valheru.  After the Chaos Wars, we
split into three distinct groups: the eledhel, my mother's people; the
moredhel, whom you call the Brotherhood of the Dark Path; and the
glamredhel, or mad ones."  Looking over his shoulder a moment, he said,
"Now I see that there are those of our kin who never knew of our home
in Elvandar.  Our lore speaks only of those who live on the same
continent as your Kingdom.  We know nothing of these people

"And they know nothing of yours," said Nakor.

"What was that about Al-mar al  asked Nicholas.

THE K/NG'$ BUCCANEER

Nakor shook his head.  "Bad things.  Religious wars, the worse kind.
Centuries ago, there was a great schism in the Church of Ishap, between
those who believed that he was the One God Above All, and those who
believed he was "Al-mar al or all gods, each of the lesser gods being
but one of his different facets.  As such things tend to do, the schism
also masked a power struggle within the temples of Ishap, and at last
the followers of Al-mar al were declared heretics and hunted down.
Legend has it that those in Great Kesh fled into the desert and died,
but some few departed by ship, sailing into the Endless Sea."

Ghuda said, "That would explain why they all speak Keshian."

"More like Keshian that was spoken a few hundred years ago," said
Harry.

Tuka said, "Encosi comes from across the great sea?"

Nicholas said, "I told you we came from a distant city,"

Something in Tuka's eyes betrayed his thinking as he said, "So then it
must be a matter of great importance that brings such a company across
the great sea, yes?"

Nicholas said, "A matter for me to discuss with your master."  Seeing
the little man's dreams of wealth dry up, he added, "To your credit,
along with the return of the Ranjana to the Overlord."

Tuka said, "My master will at his most generous judge my
accomplishments barely sufficient to offset my failures in protecting
his caravan."  "Take us to your master, and we'll make it worth your
while."

Once again the man's expression changed.  "Oh, thank you, most generous
Encosi."

"We have some learning to do about the way things are done here, so in
exchange for our generosity, you will tutor us in the customs of this
land."

"Most assuredly, Encosi."

Reaching the wagons, they discovered Brisa being guarded by two of the
sailors.  "What's happened?"  asked Nicholas.

One of the sailors said in the King's Tongue, "She was about to
strangle that girl in the wagon when we pulled her off, Highness."

^"r

Nicholas said, "Don't call me that any mote  I'm the captain of this
company, and speak Keshian or Natalese."

The sailor switched to the Natalese dialect and said, "I don't know
what caused it, but I found this one trying to murder the girl with all
the jewelry."

"Jewelry?"  said Nicholas.

"The one the others call the Ranjana."

Kneeling down, Nicholas said, "Brisa, what happened?"

"No one calls me that name "

Putting up his hand to silence her, Nicholas said, "Start at the
beginning."

"I was minding my own business when that snot-nosed child called me
over and asked me to get her this box that was in the first wagon."
Narrowing her eyes, she gazed at the second wagon.  "So, I figure why
not?  I got it, and she opens it and starts putting on all this
jewelry.  Then she orders me to draw water so she may bathe.  I told
her to draw it herself, and then she called me "

Nicholas stopped her again.  "So you tried to kill her?"

"Only a little.  I would have stopped before she was completely
dead."

Nicholas stood.  "I think I'll go visit our guest."

He went to the second wagon and saw that it had been completely covered
by having the canvas sides lowered.  At the rear, Nicholas paused to
knock on the door.

A voice from within asked who was there, and he answered, "Nicholas ..
, Captain Nicholas."

The door opened and a young girl's face appeared.  She said in very
imperious tones, "My mistress is distressed over the attack of the
whore.  She wilt see you tomorrow.  Don't kill the whore until my
mistress is awake to watch."

The door closed and Nicholas stood there blinking.  He resisted the
urge to open the door and enter, judging everyone would benefit from a
good night's sleep.  Besides, he really didn't know what he would
say.

He returned to the campfire where Brisa sat and said, "I'll straighten
this out in the morning."

"She called "

"I know what she called you," interrupted Nicholas.  "I'll sort it out
in the morning.  Now get some sleep."

Nicholas had Tuka, Amos, Marcus, Ghuda, and Nakor join him by the fire.
Nicholas said, "Tuka, we can make you, if not a wealthy man, at least a
prosperous one.  If you seek to mislead us, thinking somehow to gain
advantage later, my friend here" he indicated Ghuda "will be pleased to
wring your neck.  Now, tell us of this nation."

The word seemed lost on Tuka.  "Nation, Encosi?"

"This land.  Who rules?"

"On this side of the river, the Jeshandi claim all these lands as
theirs."

"On the other side of the river?"

"No one, Encosi.  We are too far from the City of the Serpent River for
the Overlord's soldiers to reach, so he has no claim.  And the other
cities are on the other side of the mountains.  Those who live here are
their own masters."

They talked on into the night, discovering what to Nicholas and the
others were strange and alien things about this land they found
themselves in.  There were no kingdoms or empires or any large
political entities close enough that Tuka even understood the term.
This was a land of city-states and independent rulers, each claiming
whatever lands they were able to subjugate by force of arms.  In the
Eastlands, the realm dominated by the City of the Serpent River, power
resided with a loose confederation of clans, tribal people related to
the Jeshandi.  Now they were dominated by this Overlord, a man who had
come to power twenty years earlier, and who kept his position by
pitting one clan against another.

As the talks wore on, Nicholas realized that to travel from any point
in this land to another required the services of a mercenary army,
hence Tuka's belief that Nicholas was a "mighty captain," and his
thirty-three companions a mercenary band.

When the little man had told them as much as they could absorb after so
many fatiguing days and so large a meal, Nicholas ordered everyone to
turn in.  Nicholas asked Amos to select a few men to stand guard,
though there seemed little need with the Jeshandi camped so close.  He
still wanted a soldier by the Ranjana's wagon.

After sleeping on the ground for more than two weeks, the bedroll he
had purchased from Mikola felt like the softest feather bed he had ever
known.  Nicholas lay down and, for the first time since the wreck, fell
into a deep, relaxed sleep.

NICHOLAS JERKED AWAY as a scream rent the air.  Coming to his feet with
his sword in hand, he blinked like an owl startled by light as he
attempted to get his bearings, A couple of the sailors were also
standing with their weapons drawn.  Then another scream caused them to
turn toward the second wagon.  Nicholas put away his weapon, for the
scream was clearly one of outrage, not pain or fear.

Nicholas approached the end of the wagon and found one of the soldiers
from Crydee there.  He shrugged apologetically and said, "Sorry,
Captain, but she wanted to see you and I wouldn't wake you, so she
started shrieking."

Nicholas nodded and motioned for the man to step aside.  Nicholas
knocked on the wooden door and waited for a moment; a face appeared.
The same girl who had greeted him last night said, "You're late!"

Nicholas said, "Tell your mistress I'm here."

"She will see you presently."

Nicholas was feeling grumpy from having been awakened from a sound
sleep and from not having had anything to eat.  He said, "She will see
me now!"  as he pushed past her.  He stooped as he entered the low
wagon.

Inside he discovered the wagon had been converted into a bedchamber,
with bedrolls at the far end wide enough and long enough so the five
women who traveled together could sleep in comfort.  In the end where
he stood, both sides of the wagon were piled high with small trunks,
which he suspected carried their personal belongings.  A tent flap on
the left side of the wagon, away from the campfire, was opened, letting
in the sun so the Ranjana could primp before her mirror.

Nicholas got his first good look at the young woman in good light.  He
was impressed.  His first impression had been one of a pretty girl; now
he realized she was easily as beautiful as Abby, though she was like
night to Abby's day.  Where Abby was blond with fair skin, the Ranjana
was dark, with black hair and skin the color of lightly creamed coffee,
"She had enormous brown eyes with impossibly long lashes, and she had a
full mouth, which was at the moment set in a particularly unattractive
line.  She hurriedly closed her red silk blouse, which had revealed a
black breast band designed to heighten the curve of her bosom. Nicholas
flushed slightly at the exposed skin.  Her expression robbed him of
that momentary awareness as she turned her wrath on him.

"You dare enter without my leave!"  she demanded.

"I dare," he replied.  "You may be someone of importance where you hail
from, Ranjana, but here I rule.  Never forget that."  Bending one knee,
so he could look the sitting girl in the eyes, he said, "Now, what is
this nonsense about your expecting me to come to you at your whim?"

Anger flashing in her eyes, she said, "No more nonsense than your
expecting me to come at yours.  I am the Ranjana!  Of course you will
come when I call you, peasant!"

Nicholas flushed.  He had never been addressed in this fashion in his
life and he didn't like it.  He was tempted to explain to her that his
father was a Prince and he was brother to a man who would be King, but
decided simply to put it in more basic terms.  "Lady, you are our
guest, and it would take very little to turn you to prisoner.  I don't
know what fate those from whom we rescued you had in mind for you, but
1 can guess."  Inspecting the other four girls closely, he said, "The
five of you would bring us enough wealth on the slave block to live on
for several lifetimes."  Pointing an accusing finger at her, he added,
"Though we would certainly lose some profit for your foul temper."  He
rose.  "So don't tempt me!"

He turned away, and she said, "I haven't dismissed you!"

Reaching the door, he turned and said, "When you learn some manners and
some gratitude for those who saved you from cutthroats, we'll talk.
Until then you can stay in this wagon!"

He left the wagon and closed the door behind, saying to the guard,
"Don't let them leave for a while."

The soldier saluted and Nicholas returned to his bedroll.  He rolled it
up and motioned to Marcus and Amos to follow him.  A short distance
from the others, he said, "Only the three of us, and Calls, know what's
really at stake here, so we can't lose sight of that.  But this
situation1 we find ourselves in has possibilities."

"How?"  asked Amos.

"We can take this loud and rude child to her future husband and put
ourselves in good stead with him, and arrive in :, the city with a
plausible story: we're another mercenary company and we just happened
by at the right time."

j> Marcus called Tuka over to where they stood.  When the little man
joined them, Marcus asked, "What can we expect when we reach this City
of the Serpent River?"  "Encosi?"

"He means, does the Overlord keep a watch at the gate, or shall we have
to inform any official of our presence in the city?"  said Nicholas.

Tuka smiled.  "You shall be wanting to hire a crier to announce to all
your great deeds, so that you may be offered rich commissions, Encosi.
As far as the Overlord is concerned, what occurs in the city is of
little consequence, so long as his peace is not being too disturbed."

Ghuda said, "I've visited some places like that.  Treat it like an
armed camp and you'll do well."

Amos said, "We've got one small problem before we need to worry too
much about the city."

Nicholas nodded.  "Shingazi's Landing."  Marcus said, "You think those
bandits in the boats will be waiting there?"

"We have to assume so, otherwise it could be a short trip."  He asked
Amos, "Did everyone get armed?"

"Not as well as I would have liked.  We have a half-dozen short bows,
and every man has something that looks like a sword.  No shields, and
the ones the Jeshandi use are made out of hide, anyway.  No armor.  As
mercenary companies go, we're a pretty poor one."

Nicholas said, "We do have one advantage."  That being?"  asked Harry. 
"They don't know we're coming."

AN HOUR AFTER Nicholas had left the Ranjana's presence, one of the
handmaidens had tried to leave the wagon and was prevented from doing
so by the guard.  That set up a howling exchange between the guard and
two of the girls and forced Nicholas to return.  At the end of his
patience, he simply used a strong hand and pushed the girls back
inside, closing the door, then ordered it barred.

As he left, he noticed Brisa looking on with an expression that could
only be called insufferably well pleased.  With the coming fight on his
mind, Nicholas was in no mood for smugness.  . "Give me half an excuse,
and I'll toss you in there with them."

Brisa pulled her dagger and made a show of testing the edge with her
thumb.  "Oh, please, brave Captain.  Please."

Nicholas waved her away in disgust.  A shout went up from the Jeshandi
camp, and suddenly there was a flurry of movement.

Amos came to Nicholas and said, "They're striking their camp."

Nicholas nodded.  "We'd better be on our way, as well.  Tuka says that
if we roll all day and an hour into the night, we can arrive at this
landing at sunset the next day."

Amos stroked his chin.  "Talk it over with Ghuda, but I think it might
be wise if we pulled up a little short and showed up at dawn the day
following."

Nicholas considered.  It was a truism of battle that had been drilled
into him by his teachers that men were at their worst at dawn.  Either
still asleep or fatigued from long, boring, quiet guard duty, they were
at their least alert just before sunrise.  "I'll talk to Ghuda."

A few minutes after the order was given to move, every Jeshandi tent
had been taken down and the community was moving out.  Nicholas was
impressed.  Before his own little caravan was ready, they had
completely vanished from sight.

The heat along the river was more moderate than upon the plateau, but
not by much.  And what was gained in slightly cooler temperatures was
more than offset by biting flies.  Nicho-las rode on the second wagon,
the Ranjana's, next to Ghuda, who turned out to be an experienced hand
with horses in harness.  As the four wagons were moved out, Nicholas
could hear the Ranjana's complaints echoing from within his wagon.  The
girl seemed oblivious to the fact that mere hours before, sixteen
bandits had held them prisoner, and one had died because he had wanted
to indulge himself in the pleasure of their bodies.

After a few minutes, Nicholas was startled by a touch on his shoulder.
He almost jumped off the wagon, but he maintained enough composure to
turn and discover a face looking out of a tent flap in the front of the
wagon.  One of the handmaidens r.iafli "My mistress complains of the
heat."  .  "Good," said Nicholas.  Something about the girl irritated
[glum more than anyone he had known since his older sister,

Er'

who had been a serious plague for a small boy.  But even Elena had
turned into a reasonable human being once Nicholas had stopped playing
little-brother tricks on her.

A moment later the complaint was repeated.  Nicholas turned and saw a
different girl at the window.  "If your mistress had the manners to
personally come and ask me nicely to take down the canvas walls, I
might consider it."

There was a flurry of voices from within and the first maid reappeared.
"My mistress requests most modestly that the walls of the wagon be
raised to admit some air."

Deciding not to push the issue, Nicholas turned and climbed down from
the wagon.  As they were moving slowly enough to permit those not in
the wagons to walk alongside, it was not difficult for him to walk
along and untie the cords binding the canvas sides.  He then pulled the
cords that raised the canvas and tied them off.

A particularly pretty maid leaned out.  "My mistress thanks the brave
captain."

Nicholas threw a half-aggravated glance over his shoulder and saw the
Ranjana staring off to the side of the road, ignoring him.  He decided
the maid had presumed to be polite on the Ranjana's behalf.

The day passed without incident, and Nicholas took stock of their
situation, conferring with Ghuda on various options.  At one point the
old fighter said, "There's one thing about those boys that troubles
me."  "What?"  asked Nicholas.

Ghuda flicked the reins and said, "They weren't what they seemed to be.
When we buried them I got a good look, and they weren't soldiers."
"Bandits?"

"No."  Ghuda looked concerned.  "If this Tuka is telling us true, the
raid was conducted in pretty decent fashion, nothing fancy, but
effective.  The company set to guard this wagon train was good,
according to Tuka.  But those fifteen we hit were as green a bunch as
I've seen in the field.  Decent swordsmen, who could fight as
individuals, I think, but there was nothing like order among them."  He
shook his head.  "Half of them .. . their hands were soft, and despite
their clothing, they weren't poor bandits.  More like rich boys in
costume."

Nicholas shook his head.  "What do you think?"

"I think someone expected these wagons to be found, maybe by the
Jeshandi."  Ghuda scratched his chin.  "I think we're only seeing a
little bit of what there is to see."

Nicholas said, "So you think there may be no one waiting at Shingazi's
Landing to meet those men."

"Or someone who's there to ensure that if they do show up, they don't
go any farther."

Nicholas nodded.  He climbed down from the wagon and ran to the first
wagon, to where Tuka sat next to Marcus.  "Tuka," Nicholas called.

The little man looked down.  "Yes, Encosi."

"Is there anyplace between here and Shingazi's Landing that you would
judge a likely spot for an ambush?"

Tuka thought, then said, "Yes, Encosi.  There is being a wonderful
place a half-day before us, where a small band might be causing great
difficulty for an army."

"Wonderful," said Nicholas.  He said to Marcus, "Pull up."  Waving to
the other wagons behind, he ran to the third, where Calls rode next to
Harry.  To the half-elf he said, "Tuka says there's a perfect place for
an ambush a half-day ahead, and Ghuda thinks that's likely."

Calls nodded and jumped down without a word, setting off at a half-run.
Moving to the fourth wagon, where Amos and Brisa rode, he informed them
of the reason for the unexpected scop.

Amos leaped down and said, "Well, Ghuda knows his craft, I'll
warrant."

Nakor and Anthony had been riding in the rear of the last wagon, with
the men who still needed attention.  They came up and Nakor said,
"Ghuda knows enough to lead his own company, should he have the
ambition."

Glancing around, he said, "Anthony.  This is as good a x as any."

Nicholas said, "For what?"  Anthony said, "To see if I can locate the
prisoners again.  I fe aven tried since the shipwreck."

Nicholas nodded and Anthony closed his eyes.  After a long Minute, he
said,- "It's feint, but there."  He pointed to the

Nicholas said, "Well, that's where we're going.

CA LIS LAY ON the ground.  He pointed.  "There."

Nicholas squinted against the setting sun.  They lay in the tall grass
to the west of a large inn, surrounded by a low wall.  What Nicholas
strove to see was a company of men who were keeping to themselves in
the for corner of the yard.  After counting, he said, "There are
twelve, I think."

Ghuda said, "There are a lot more inside, from the sound of it."

What they could hear were clearly celebratory, shouts and laughter,
music and the playful noises of men and women enjoying themselves.
Nicholas crawled backward down the hillside.  They were close enough
for him to take no chance of being seen, even with night rapidly
approaching.

As the others followed, they hurried back toward the waiting wagons,
camped a mile down the road.  Ghuda had already suggested to Nicholas
that they make cold camp, in case someone at the inn was alert enough
to notice light in the distance.  The Ranjana had let it be known that
she didn't care much for the notion, and was even more irritated at
being ignored by Nicholas.

When they were a bit down the road, Ghuda said, "It's that dozen or so
hanging out by themselves in the court who make me nervous.

"Why?"  asked Nicholas.

"Those are professionals, if I know my trade.  They were the ones who
led that raid, who coordinated its timing, and the others are .. . J
don't know who they are.  But while they're in the inn getting drunk
and getting into fights over the whores, the professionals are outside
having a meeting about something."

"Betrayal?"  asked Nicholas.

Ghuda shrugged, the gesture clear in the falling light.  "It's on my
mind.  Those who were left to bring in the wagons were certainly
abandoned to their fate.  If their mission is to mess up Tula's
master's alliance with this Overlord, why didn't they just kill the
girl?  Or why not take her to the slave auctions?  Or hold her for
ransom?  Why not put her on the boats?  And why would they leave all
those jewels she's wearing?  For bandits, they're pretty indifferent to
plunder."  Ghuda scratched his chin.  "There are a lot of questions
here, and I don't have any answers."

Nicholas said little as they made their way back to the campsite.  As
they approached, a voice cut through the darkness.  "Good evening,
Captain."

Nicholas waved at the sentry, who had hidden himself behind a low scrub
bush, and smiled slightly at the title.  It had taken a while to get
everyone into the habit of calling him Captain, but now they all did,
including Amos, who seemed to like the irony of it.

Reaching the center of the wagons, which had been drawn up into a
defensive square, they found Marcus and the others eating a cold meal.
Kneeling next to his cousin, Nicholas said, "Most of them are getting a
snootful in the inn."

Marcus said, "When do we hit them?"

"Just before dawn," answered Nicholas.

Brisa, who was sitting next to Marcus, observed, "You said most of
them."

Nicholas said, "There are about a dozen that look like they know what
they're doing, and they may be a problem."

"How big a problem?"  asked Marcus.

Ghuda said, "They look like seasoned veterans."  He glanced around at
the races of the sailors and soldiers who were close by and said,
"We've a good number of hard men with us, too, but we're poorly armed
and some of us aren't back to full strength yet."

Nicholas nodded.  "But we do have surprise on our side."

"I hope you're right," said Ghuda.

Harry asked, "How are we going in?"

Nicholas took out his dagger and said, "The inn sits beside the
landing, with one side right up against the river."

Tuka said, "Encosi, there is a trapdoor below the storage room, that
Shingazi put in to make it easier to bring in ale and food from the
river."

"You've been there before?"

"Many times," said the little man.

Ghuda said, "I'd say from the look of the place that the Owner doesn't
expect much trouble."

Tuka said, "No, Sab.  The Jeshandi ceded the land to his father years
ago, and traders and travelers are putting in there ;jnost regularly.
Shingazi has many friends and no enemies, as "* is being a fair trader
and innkeeper.  It would be most difficult for any company bringing
trouble to Shingazi's Landing.  It would be making them many
enemies."

Nicholas said, "So if we hit these bandits there, we're going to be
making things difficult for ourselves?"

"Sorry I am to be saying this, Encosi, but that is true."

Nicholas said, "If we don't show up, someone's going to come looking
for us.  Those who were left with these wagons may have been lazy and
sloppy, but they couldn't take more than another half-day to reach the
landing, so, by late tomorrow, someone's going to come looking."

"And there goes our surprise," said Calls.

Nicholas said, "Marcus and Calls, each of you take five men and all the
bows.  I want CalSs's group to circle around and come back up the river
toward us.  Marcus you'll be coming down along the river.  The rest of
us will trail down the road, and leave it this side of the last ridge
before we see the inn.  We'll circle around and come over that ridge
opposite the main gate."  He thought for a minute, then said, "If
they're drunk enough, maybe we can slip in and disarm them."

"If that dozen who were outside are all asleep," said Ghuda.

"No, if they leave only three or four sentries."

"That low wall gives no defense, Nicholas, but it provides a little
cover," said Ghuda.

Nakor said, "I have a trick."

All eyes turned to where the little man sat next to Anthony.  Nakor put
his hand on Anthony's wrist.  "He'll help me,."

"I will?"

Nakor had taken to carrying his rucksack again and he reached in and
said, "Ha!  The merchant has repaired his storage room!"  Pulling out
his plunder, he held it up for all to see.  "Anyone want an apple?"

Nicholas laughed.  "Sure."  Taking a bite, he said, "What's the
trick?"

Nakor said, "I'll swim down the river, climb up through the trapdoor
that Tuka said is there, and light a bunch of wet grass.  It'll make a
lot of smoke, and when it's really burning, I'll start shouting
"fire!"

Nicholas laughed.  "I thought you meant magic."

Nakor made a face.  Nicholas hah0 expected him to say, "There is no
magic," but instead he said, "How do you think

THE JCfNG "S BUCCANEER

I'm going to get in unseen, if the trapdoor is bolted, and start the
fire?"

Nicholas said, "Ghuda?"

"If we take out guards outside, there's only the one door and a couple
of big windows .. . maybe."

Nicholas said, "Let's try it."

Brisa said, "I may be a little stupid, but why are we attacking this
place?"  From the sound of her question, it was clear that she didn't
like the idea, "Why don't we just circle around it?"

"Because that's where the boats are," said Harry.

"Boats?"

"Which we'll take downriver co the City of the Serpent River," said
Nicholas.  Looking at Tuka, he said, "How long to the city by wagon?"

"Almost impossible," said the little man.  "The trails south of the
landing are for hunters and horsemen.  There is no more road.  Even if
a road was being there, such a journey would be taking months.  My
master is expecting myself and the other wagoners to return to Kilbur
with the empty wagons, after the cargo and the Ranjana were put on the
boats.  By the river it is taking only weeks."

"So," said Nicholas.  "They've got the boats and we need them, and we
don't want to turn every mercenary band in this land against us, so we
want to do this without damaging the inn."  Having a confused,
hung-over band of men scrambling to get out of a burning building in
the middle of the night sounds like the best plan to me."

They discussed the details of the plan for an hour, then ate cold food.
Nicholas was suggesting to everyone that they turn in and rest as much
as they could when one of the sentries came hurrying into the camp.
"Captain!"  he said.

"What?"  asked Nicholas, seeing the alarm on the man's &ce.

"The inn at Shingazi's Landing is burning."  Nicholas looked to the
south and there a red-yellow glow pjuld be seen just above the
horizon.

"HEY REACHED THE crest above the inn as the fire reached its it.
Nicholas and the twenty fittest soldiers and sailors had run the mile
and a half to this point, while the rest remained behind guarding the
wagons.

From their position on the hill, they could see that the entire
building was engulfed in flames.  And in the light of the fire, they
could clearly see the bodies scattered around the courtyard.

Ghuda counted.  "Seems like someone had the same idea as we did, but
used a real fire instead of smoke.  I count thirty or more bodies in
that courtyard.  Those poor bastards came out the door and windows and
were cut down as they did."  He considered.  "It's the same tactic they
used in Crydee."

Nicholas felt his neck hairs stand up.  "You're right."

They walked down the hillside, seeing details of the carnage as they
neared the inn.  They stepped over the low wall and picked their way
through the litter of bodies and debris.  Tuka knelt to inspect the
dead.  After a minute, he' said, "Encosi!  These are clansmen!"

He pointed to one man who wore a silver lion's head on a leather thong
around his neck.  He moved quickly from body to body and said, "This
man is being a Bear clansman, and this over here is from the Wolf's
clan.  This is an alliance, all who must have turned against the
Overlord."

Ghuda walked to the farthest corner of the yard, as close as he could
get to the heat coming off the building and said, "Nicholas, over
here!"

Nicholas, with Calls, Amos, and two of the soldiers, hurried to where
Ghuda stood.  There he pointed at a pile of bodies, some of which were
smoking in the heat from the fire.  "There are those mercenaries I told
you about."

"Damn," said Amos.  "When you spin a tale of betrayal, you really know
what you're talking about."  He glanced around.  "Someone's gone to a
lot of trouble to get everyone involved in this caper very upset."

Nicholas knelt down and tried to see something.  Amos followed his gaze
and said, "Gods preserve us!"

"What is it?"  asked Marcus.

"That helm, there, on the man beneath those two other dead men."

Marcus looked.  "The red one?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"What about it?"  asked Marcus.

"I've seen its like, though when I last saw it, it was black."

Nicholas said, "Father's spoken of its like.  A full metal helm,
covering the face, dragon crest, with two wings down-swept to cover
both sides, and all the rest."

"Did he tell you who wore them?"  asked Amos.

"Yes," said Nicholas.  "He did.  Murmandamus's Black Slayers

Tuka said, "That's the helm of the Red Slayers."  Nicholas said, "And
what do you know of them?"  The little man made an elaborate gesture, a
ward against evil.  "They are very bad men.  They are a brotherhood of
warriors and they serve the Overlord of the City of the Serpent
River."

Nicholas glanced at Calls, Amos, and Marcus.  While he seemed to be
addressing everyone, he was speaking only to them.  "We're heading in
the right direction," he said.

SIVES

man coughed.  Nicholas and the others turned toward the sound and moved
quickly.  Two men lay dazed against the outside of the wall, and Ghuda
helped two of the soldiers pull them farther away from the fire.

One had a cut to the head that bled copiously, and the other had taken
a crossbow bolt in the shoulder.

The man with the bolt in his shoulder was unconscious, but the man with
the scalp wound was starting to move.  "Give me some water," said
Ghuda.

One of the soldiers passed over a waters king and Ghuda cleaned off the
man's face.  Amos said, "Gods!  If that isn't the ugliest man I've ever
seen .. ."

Spitting water, the man blinked his eyes and shook his head.  "Ooh," he
said, putting his hand to his temple.  "That was a mistake."  He opened
his eyes again and looked from face to face.  Looking at Amos, he said,
"You're not exactly my idea of beautiful, either."

The man had a brow ridge that looked like nothing so much as an
extrusion of granite.  It was covered in dark hair, an eyebrow that
formed a single line above the man's eyes.  They were dark pits, sunken
deep below the ridge, and separated by a glob of a nose, one that might
have once held a shape, but had been broken so many times since that
there was no hint of its original design left.  A ragged beard covered
most of the jaw, but it was clear it jutted out in a pugnacious
fashion, and the man's lips were odd-looking, as if they had been
struck so many times the swelling was permanent.  What skin they saw
above the beard had pock marks and scars and was blotched and mottled
in the firelight.  He was, Nicholas thought, as Amos said: the ugliest
man he had ever seen.

His unconscious companion, on the other hand, was as handsome as the
other was not.  Dark hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, and a fine
profile were evident in the firelight.

Ghuda gave the ugly man a hand to rise to his feet and asked, "What
happened?"

The man put his hand to his head.  "All sorts of murderous treachery."
Glancing around the group, he said, "And I don't think that's much of a
surprise to you, judging how you're armed."

Nicholas, seeing that all his soldiers were still holding their weapons
at the ready, gestured to them to put up their weapons.

"Who are you?"  asked Marcus.

The man said, "I'm Prajichetas, and this is my friend Vaja-siah.  Call
us Praji and Vaja."

Ghuda said, "Were you part of this band of mercenaries?"

He said, "Not so you'd notice.  We were looking for passage up river,
heading for the wars "

'Wars?"  asked Nicholas.

"Who's this?"  asked Praji of Ghuda.

"He's the captain."

"Him?  Looks like a boy "

Nicholas said, "Talk to me."

"He's the captain," said Harry.

Praji said to Ghuda, "I'll believe he's your son, or your pet, or your
"

Nicholas had his sword point at the man's throat.  "I'm the Captain,"
he said softly.

> >,- Praji looked him up and down, then carefully moved the |*point
aside with his hand.  "Anyway, Captain," he said to Nich-'* "we were
heading upriver to the wars "

"What wars?"  interrupted Amos.

The man turned quickly to look at Amos and put his hand to his head.
Closing his eyes, he said, "That was a bad idea.  Anyone here have a
drink?"

Nicholas said, "Sorry, but we do have water."  "That'll have to do,"
said Praji.  He took the offered water-skin and drank deeply.  Anthony
came over and examined his friend, opening up his tunic.  "This isn't
bad," he judged.  "He's wearing a mail shirt under this tunic.  It took
most of the blow."  He managed to pull the crossbow bolt out of the
man's shoulder and stanched the blood flow with a rag from a pouch he
had prepared against the consequences of the raid.  "He'll live."

"Good," said Praji.  "We've been through too much for the bastard to
die without me."

"You were speaking of wars," said Marcus.

Fixing him with a squinting eye, he said, "Was I?"

"You were heading upriver," suppliecTAmos.

"And we were looking for passage to a village called Nadosa, between
Lanada and Khaipur, on the Vedra.  We hooked a ride with a wool trader
who dropped us off a few miles south of here, and we hiked in here.  We
were going to journey up to the western headwaters of the river there
are always wagon caravans heading from there to Khaipur anyway, we
found this merry band of cutthroats and clan boys, and when the drinks
started flowing, we joined in.  Someone was buying for the house, and
I'm not one to pass up free ale."

"So you're not with this group?"  asked Nicholas,

"If we had been," he said, "we'd be over there."  He pointed to the
bodies that were now smoking near the burning wall of the inn.

"What happened?"  asked Nicholas.

The man sighed.  "We was sitting around and drinking with a bunch of
foolish children, and some regular mother-murderers, and the bloke
who's been buying all the ale comes over and whispers that there's some
work for us and we should join the other professional soldiers outside
the inn.  We didn't like the way it sounded, so we came out, but we
headed a little away from the others, keeping the bulk of them between
us and the guy who called us out.

"Suddenly there's shouting and crossbow bolts are flying everywhere.
Vaja and I jumped over the wall and landed hard.  I saw him get hit and
suddenly everything went dark."  He frowned and reached inside his
tunic.  Feeling around, he found what he had been looking for and
pulled out a pouch.  "Good," he said as he loosened the drawstring.  He
took out a tiny roll of parchment, less than three inches wide, and a
finely pointed piece of wood.  He licked the end of the wood, which
Nicholas noticed had been blackened, and unrolled the little parchment.
Looking down a line of scrawls, he poised the writing tool over the
parchment and said, "Is Overlord one word or two?"

THOUGH MOST OF the dead were already half burned, there wasn't enough
wood close by for a pyre, so Nicholas ordered them buried.  By the time
they had finished and brought the wagons up, it was midday.  The man
called Vaja regained consciousness an hour after they found him, and he
corroborated Praji's story.

Leaving the two wounded men to rest, Nicholas took Calls, Marcus, and
Harry on a quick search of the area.  Whoever had killed the
mercenaries and clansmen had left it completely.

When they returned, Nakor greeted them with the news that most of the
lower storage room Tuka had told them about had survived the fire.
Nicholas led a group of men through the smoking char of the inn and
found the trapdoor.  While it was blackened, it was intact.  The Prince
lowered himself down into the room and was followed by Tuka, Ghuda,
Nakor, and Marcus

Harry handed down burning torches to Marcus, then joined them. Nicholas
turned and almost fell over the body of a man.  He was unburned, but
his face was contorted into a mask , of pain.  Tuka looked at him and
said, "Shingazi.  He must have tried to hide down here when the fire
came."  Nakor examined him and said, "He died from smoke, I ihink.  Not
pleasant."

"There's a pleasant way to die?"  asked Harry.  , Nakor grinned.
"Several.  There's a drug that will kill you, " iwt in the last few
minutes of life, you'll experience ecstasy I:.beyond imagining, and
then a particularly beautiful woman " "" "Enough," said Nicholas.  "See
what you can find down here that might be useful."

They searched and suddenly Marcus said, "Look at this!"

Nicholas crossed to the section of the cellar where his cousin waited
and there they found an armory.  "Looks like our host was ready to
outfit an army."

Nicholas saw stacks of chain mail, unmarked shields, swords of all
description, crossbows, bows of various sizes, arrows, bolts, and
knives.  Nicholas said, "Get some men down here and start passing these
up."

Ghuda broke open a barrel and reached in.  Pulling out some dried meat,
he tasted it.  "A little smoky, but not bad."  Nicholas looked around
and said, "Let's get it all up so we can see what we've got."

He returned to the trapdoor and Harry gave him a boost up.  Leaving the
burned-out inn, he heard shouts coming from the wagons.  Glancing
heavenward, he swore.  The voice belonged to the Ranjana.

Reaching the wagons, Nicholas saw the young noblewoman standing before
Amos, hands on her hips in a defiant pose, as she shrieked like a
wounded cat.  "What do you mean, no boats!  I am supposed to be in the
City of the Serpent River within two weeks' time "

Nicholas said, "What's this?"

A guard stood nearby, nursing an impressive set of scratch marks on his
cheek, and said, "I tried to keep her in the wagon, Higher Captain, but
she overheard someone say the inn was destroyed "

"And came to see for myself what situation you fools have taken me
into," she finished.

"What we've done," Nicholas said, his patience nearing an end, "was
save your life, and your virginity, and your wealth, and put up with
your nonsense..  .. Now get back to your wagon!"  The last was a loud
shout of anger.

The girl turned defiantly and strode off, managing to keep her chin up
the entire way without tripping.  As she reached the back of the second
wagon, she turned and said, "When the Overlord hears what I've had to
endure at the hands of a dirty, rude, and barbarous mercenary, you'll
wish you had been born a slave!"

Nicholas watched her and then turned to Amos.  "Dirty?"

Amos grinned.  "You're no nosegay, Nicky.  None of us are."

Nicholas looked at the company and realized they all looked filthy and
villainous.  He ran his hand over his chin and realized that the beard
he had shaved on the Raptor was now a ragged stubble.

Looking around, he said, "Well then, I guess we'll take some baths."

Amos grinned.  "If you say so, Captain."

Groaning in disgust, he pushed past Amos and shouted at those men
carrying goods out of the inn, "Find out if there's any soap down
there."

A SUPPLY OF clothing had been found in the basement along with the
other goods, and most of their ragged, filthy clothing had been
replaced.  It was an odd assortment of items, from men's plain trousers
and tunics, to a few items of fashion, richly appointed.  Ghuda and
Tuka both surmised the more expensive items were things either left
behind or used as security against room and board by those short of
funds.  From the look of things, Shingazl had been a soft touch or in
love with odd fashions.

Nicholas ordered the discovered clothing washed to rid it of the reek
of smoke, and then for the men to bathe before changing.  In the late
afternoon heat, the clothing quickly dried on lines tied between the
wagons.  By sundown, all the men had bathed, and those who were
inclined had shaved or trimmed their beards.

One thing that pleased Marcus was the discovery that another longbow
was counted among the many weapons.  By the time the men were cleaned
and ready, Amos and Harry ap-preached carrying a charred iron-bound
wooden chest.  "Look what we found," said Amos.

They opened it: it was filled with small pouches.  Nicholas opened one
to discover gems.  Others contained jewelry, silver, nd gold.  "We're
rich," said Harry in awe.  '. Nicholas took one of the bags of gold and
carried it over to where Praji and Vaja rested in the shade of a wagon.
Both men eaten and were now dozing.  Praji stood as Nicholas approached
and Nicholas tossed him the bag.  "For you."  praji listened to the
sound of coins as he hefted the bag and !"  "What for?"

"I could use two men who knew their way around the City |of the Serpent
River."  He pointed to the bag.  "You keep that, ?"ifor your trouble
and to help you on your way, whatever you decide, but we're a new
mercenary company and we have no one but that little wagon driver who
knows his way around down there.  And we can always use a couple of men
smart enough to avoid getting murdered when everyone else around them
couldn't."

Praji glanced down toward his friend, who was half-asleep and said,
"Well, we're not fit for traveling on foot as is; Vaja will be all
right by the time we reach the city by wagon.  But one question .. ."
"What?"

"Are you for the Overlord or against him?"  The expression on the man's
face showed it was an important question, and Nicholas said, "Neither;
we have other matters of importance.  But from the presence of that Red
Slayer's helm back there I suspect we may find ourselves on the other
side of the battle lines once they're drawn."

Praji rubbed his bearded chin as he said, "Well, we'll ride along with
you, and by the time we reach the city we'll have a better take on one
another.  We're not inclined to sign compacts until we've seen more of
you.  Fair?"  "Fair," agreed Nicholas.

Then Praji grinned, which was a scary sight, and said, "Now that the
Overlord's on my list, I can't very well help anyone who's with him,
you see?"  "List?"  asked Harry.

"I've got this list, see, and when someone does me din, I put his name
on it if I can't sort him out on the spot.  I'm not saying I'll be able
to settle accounts with everyone on it, but I never forget."

Harry was about to comment when Calls appeared suddenly, jogging into
camp from the south.  He had been scouting all day, and when he reached
Nicholas, he said, "We've got company."

"Where?"  asked Nicholas.

"Four, five miles down the river.  A company of riders, twenty-two by
my count.  They're armed to the teeth and know how to set out sentries.
Regular soldiers wearing black tunics and carrying a banner, a black
flag with a golden serpent on it.  It looks like they're breaking camp
and getting ready to ride at sundown."

Praji had been leaning against the wagon.  "Those are the Overlord's.
Damn for from the city for regulars."

Nicholas signed for Ghuda and the others to join him, and when he had
shared Calls's intelligence, asked the mercenary, "What do you
think?"

Ghuda shrugged.  "I've seen enough bloody double-crosses in my life,
and half of them in the last two days; I expect they're up here to find
the wagons, kill the 'guilty," rescue the princess, and ride home in
triumph."

Praji said, "Are you saying all this was a setup of some kind?"

Nicholas said, "If I told you the wagons had been attacked by clansmen,
what would you say?"

There was a brightness in the man's eyes that spoke of a quick wit.
"I'd say the clans were trying to cause major trouble for the
Overlord's treaty with the northern trading alliances.  Which would
surprise no one.  What would surprise everyone .  would be that they'd
be so dumb about doing it publicly, especially leaving witnesses."

"And what would you say if someone told you all the clansmen were found
killed?"

"That's tricky," answered Praji.  "Depends on who killed them.  If it's
the Overlord, they " He interrupted himself.  "If it could be made to
look like there was some sort of falling out, it would drive the clans
apart."

Ghuda said, "How secure is the Overlord?"  Praji shrugged.  "There's
been talk of rebellion for twenty years.  He's still there."

Nicholas said, "Well, we've walked into a fight that's not ours, but
those on either side won't care about that, so we'd better get ready to
fight."  Glancing around, he said, "If those , Soldiers are another
part of this plot, they're going to expect ;i Meen clansmen with those
wagons, so I want sixteen men on ^>** wagons.  Drive them back over the
ridge."  He pointed to "":.  "I want you to head south again, and when
you see the s approach, I want you to shoot a shaft into the courtyard
[warning; can you do it without hitting anyone there?"  ** us gave him
a look that said he needn't have asked.  las pointed to where he wanted
him stationed, and then to Ghuda.  "I want you to stay here with me,
with some lying in the courtyard.  Those soldiers will expect to see
corpses spread around, so we won't disappoint them.  When they reach
the wagons, we'll be behind them."  Ghuda nodded.  "Amos, you're in
charge of the wagons.  Once you're over the ridge, build some campfires
down the ridge so the riders will see the light in the sky, but not the
fires.  And build them so that the riders will be looking into them as
they crest the ridge.  I want them outlined against the flames when we
come up behind them."  Amos saluted with a smile and motioned for the
wagons to be hitched up.

Nicholas said, "Harry, you take the girls down by the river, in the
tall grass, and keep them out of sight and quiet."  Brisa said, "What
about me?"

Nicholas said, "Go with Harry.  If the Ranjana makes a sound, you can
go back to killing her."  Brisa grinned.  "Thanks."

Soldiers and sailors jumped into action and Nicholas said to Praji, "If
you're going to help, better move your friend out of harm's way.  He
doesn't look like he's ready to fight."

Praji said, "He's not, but I am.  I'll put him in one of the wagons,
and ride with your ugly friend there."

Amos looked over his shoulder and feigned an injured look.  "Ugly?"

Those stores that had been carried out into the courtyard were quickly
hidden out of sight as the wagons were driven off.  By the time the sun
was lowering beyond the horizon, Nicholas had everyone in place.

He chose to lead those in the courtyard himself, and lay waiting for
the signal.  As time passed, he found that his left foot was throbbing
a little.  He was irritated by it more than pained, and he pushed it
from his thinking as he reviewed his plan of attack, looking for any
flaws.

He became so lost in his thinking that he was startled when a single
arrow landed in the center of the courtyard with a thunk.  Instantly he
was alert.  The sound of riders could be heard, and he gripped his
sword tightly.

The sound of horses hooves upon the ground grew louder, and then the
company of soldiers was riding into the clearing south of the inn.  A
man swore.  "Where are those damned wagons?"

"I don't know, Captain.  They should have been here by now," said
another voice.

A third said, "Look, Captain, there's a glow in the sky; there are
fires on the other side of that ridge."

"Those lazy bastards couldn't travel the extra quarter-mile!"  said the
voice that Nicholas knew belonged to the man the second speaker had
addressed as "Captain."  "Well, we'll do what we came for."  He heard
weapons being drawn, and then a half-grunt, half-yell as someone drove
his horse forward.

Nicholas waited only a moment for them to leave the inn behind, and he
was on his feet.  Softly he said, "Now!"

His men were up and running, and those with bows took up position in
the road.  As he hoped, when the riders crested me hill, they were
clearly visible against the glow of the campfires.

"Now!"  shouted Nicholas, and the bowmen let loose with a flight of
arrows.  Amos's men did the same from the other side, and before they
knew what happened, half the horsemen were falling from their
saddles.

Those without bows shouted and charged, and the horsemen, who had been
confident of finding sixteen probably drunken and inexperienced men at
the wagons, were now being attacked by thirty battle-trained soldiers
and sailors.

One rider attempted to charge back down the hillside, and he was taken
from his saddle by a long arrow.  Nicholas glanced behind and saw Calls
hurrying up, notching another arrow.

Then the captain on the ridge ordered a charge and the remaining nine
horsemen rode for their lives.

Two more were taken from their mounts by bow fire but the others rode
low over the necks of their animals.  "Shoot the horses!"  shouted
Nicholas.  "Don't let anyone escape."

The sound of steel against steel told Nicholas that some of the men who
had fallen were not dead, and had come to their feet ready to fight.
The first rider bore down upon those in front of Nicholas, and he got
ready to take the charge in turn.  Practicing against a horseman who
knew the intended target his Prince's son was one thing.  This was
quite another, and olas knew it.

Nervous sweat ran down his back, and he felt the grip on sword grow
clammy.  He flexed his knees, and as the charg-horseman closed, he held
his sword high, in a cavalry pose.  To stand before a charging horse
and rider with only a broadsword was foolish, Nicholas knew.  Had he a
bastard sword such as Ghuda carried or even a heavy falchion, he could
risk taking the horse's legs out from under him while avoiding the
rider's attack.  But with a broadsword, he had to attempt to get the
horse to shy or change course, while protecting himself from both
animal and rider.

As the rider bore down on him, the horse screamed and its front legs
collapsed.  The rider was thrown forward; like a trained acrobat, he
attempted to take the fall on his shoulder and roll.  Someone in the
gloom had shot the horse or struck it with a blade.

The rider landed heavily, and let out a painful-sounding grunt, but he
scrambled to his feet.  Nicholas charged.  As the man lurched upward,
Nicholas drove his shoulder into him.  The man cried out in pain and
Nicholas surmised he had broken something in the rail.  Lashing out
with his sword, Nicholas took the man in the arm and the soldier's
sword fell from limp fingers.  He scrambled backward and turned to
flee.  Two of Nicholas's men ran up and grabbed the soldier, driving
him to the ground, where they quickly had his hands tied.  Nicholas had
ordered prisoners if possible.

He glanced around and saw the fight was over.

NICHOLAS ORDERED A campfire built and then checked on his own men.  The
surprise was so effective that not one of them suffered worse than a
shallow cut on the arm, and that man looked embarrassed at being the
only one.  The rest suffered only bruises, muscle pulls, or sprains.

Nakor inspected the wounds of the two prisoners and reported to
Nicholas, "The captain may live, though his arm wound is deep, and he
has broken ribs, but the other man will certainly not.  It's a wound to
the stomach and the man ate before the attack, he told me.  He's an
experienced soldier and asked for a quick death."

Nicholas shuddered and saw that Ghuda nodded.  "Belly wound's a bad way
to die."

"Is there anything you can do?"  asked Nicholas of Anthony.

"If I had all my usual herbs and other curatives, perhaps, but even
then it would be tricky.  A healing priest might save him with prayer
and magic, but out here, with what I have, no.  There's nothing I can
do."

Amos took Nicholas by the elbow and took him out of earshot of the
others.  Lowering his voice, he said, "Nicky, I've not said a word to
you since you've taken command, because by most standards you've chosen
to do the right thing, and what mistakes you've made were not the sort
even an experienced leader could have avoided.  But now you've got to
understand some of the harder choices of your rank."

"You mean I have to let Ghuda kill that prisoner?"

"No, I mean you're going to have to kill them both."

"Crowe," said Nicholas with resignation.

"What?"  asked Amos.

"It's a story my father told me, of the ride north during the time the
Brotherhood of the Dark Path invaded the Kingdom, before he found you
and Guy du Bas-Tyra in Armengar.  They were being tracked by a party of
Black Slayers."  He closed his eyes.  "A man named Morgan Crowe, a
renegade, spied them out, and Father had to order him killed."  He
shook his head.  "He said that of all the men whom he had to pronounce
punishment on, that was the hardest."  Looking into Amos's eyes, he
said, "I don't even have the pretense of right by law here, Amos.  This
isn't the Kingdom, and this man isn't trying to kill me because of
anything more than an order given him by his master.  He's not a
traitor to my King the way Crowe was."

Amos said, "I understand, but out here there's no faw, save what we
make for ourselves.  You're a captain of a company on a sea of grass,
and you must act as if these were pirates boarding your ship for
plunder.  You've got to order them dead after you get as much
information out of them as you can."

Nicholas looked hard into the eyes of the man who would be, gods
willing, his step-grandfather.  At last he took a deep breath and
nodded firmly.

Returning to the circle around the fire, he nodded once to Ghuda, who
slipped away.  "Bring the captain here," he ordered

Two men brought the injured captain, who moaned as he was eased to a
sitting position at Nicholas's feet.  Nicholas said, "What's your
name?"

"Dubas Nebu," he said, "Captain of the Second Company of His Radiance's
Own."

' Praji had ambled over and said, "Damn, it's the Overlord's private
guards."

Nicholas said, "Meaning?"

Praji scratched his face and said, "Either the Overlord's in on all
this or he's got a traitor high up in his own government."

Praji reached down and tore open the man's tunic, which brought forth a
scream of pain.  "Get this animal away from me!"  cried the captain.

Praji found something about his neck and pulled it free.  "Look at
this," he said, handing it to Nicholas.  He examined the talisman, as
Praji added, "Clan symbol."  Then his tone turned puzzled.  "Though
I've never seen its like before."

Nicholas said, "I have."  The token was of two snakes, in a pattern
identical to that of his own ring.

Amos started to say something, but Nicholas cut him off, "Everyone,
leave me alone with this man,"

Amos again started to speak, then stopped himself and nodded.  He
signaled for the others to follow him, and when Nicholas was alone with
the wounded man, he knelt opposite him.  "You fool," he whispered in
his best conspiratorial tone, "what were your orders?"

Captain Dubas's eyes were bright with his injury, and his face was
drenched in perspiration, but he didn't seem unclear as he said, "I
have no idea what you're talking about, renegade."  Nicholas reached
into his belt pouch, pulled out the ring that Calls had brought to them
from Elvandar, and showed it to the man.  "I don't wear this save when
I need to identify myself!"  Nicholas said.  "Now, what fool ordered
you here?  We were to kill the clansmen and bring the Ranjana to the
city."  Dubas said, "But .. . Dahakon told me that .. . there was to be
no other company."

Nicholas pulled his dagger and put it against the man's chest, "I
should kill you now, but someone higher up has made a mess of this."

"Who are you?"  asked the captain.  "What were your orders?"

Pain made Dubas's face pale and he said, "I was to take those who came
with the wagons.  The Red Slayers are already on their way back with
the boats ... I don't understand..  .."

"What about the prisoners?"  asked Nicholas.

"There were to be no prisoners," said Dubas.  "I was to kill the girls
and bring their bodies in with me."

"No, the other prisoners.  From the ship?"

Dubas said, "The ship .. . ?"  Suddenly understanding registered.  "You
know of the ship!"  Before Nicholas could react, the captain lunged
forward, throwing himself atop Nicholas.  He cried out in a weak croak
as Nicholas's blade was driven into his chest by the force of his own
weight.

Seeing the struggle from a few yards away, Amos and the others hurried
back.  "What happened?"  asked Amos as he pulled the dead man off
Nicholas.

"He killed himself," said Nicholas bitterly.  "I was being clever and
overplayed my hand."

"Did you learn anything?"  asked Harry, helping his friend to his
feet.

"I did get a name."

"What name?"  asked Praji.

"Dahakon."

"Oh, that's just wonder rul said Praji.  "You've a grand assortment of
enemies, Captain."

"Who is Dahakon?"  asked Marcus.

"He's the Overlord's Grand Adviser, and the meanest son of a bitch in
the Eastlands, the RJverlands, hell, the whole damned world."

Nicholas said, "And from what I can see, he's a traitor."

"Can't be," said Praji.

"Why not?"  asked Harry.

"Because he's the man who's kept the Overlord in power since he took
control of the city, twenty years back.  He's the man that's truly
feared in the city."

"Why?"  asked Marcus.

"He's a magician."

Nicholas said, "That's special around here?"

"Ha!"  said Praji.  "Obviously you're from one hell of a long i Way
off."  In serious tones he added, "Captain, there's only one ^magician
in the Eastlands.  That's Dahakon.  Used to be a few 5 here and there,
but it's death for any magician to be found in !"  Ac city.  And it's
not a pretty death, from what the rumors say: v he eats them."

Nicholas glanced at Nakor and Anthony and shook his head slightly.
Praji continued.  "It's said that he's the man who created the Red
Slayers, and they do his bidding, not the Overlord's.  He talks to the
dead and has a soul drinker for a lover.  She's the one who keeps him
alive; he's supposed to be hundreds of years old."

Nakor made a sign.  -"Very bad.  Necromancy is the worst practice there
is."

Anthony nodded, and Nicholas could tell he was shaken.  Pointedly he
said, "We've no magicians among us, so we needn't worry."

"That's good," said Praji.  "No, Dahakon can't be the traitor; he could
remove the Overlord any time he wished."

Nicholas sighed.  "Well, we'll never figure out who's behind this
plotting standing here.  How's the best way to get down to the city?"

Praji said, "Boats.  But with this place in ruins, you'll never get a
river caravan to put in; they'll figure we're the murderers who've done
the job, and if the Jeshandi wander this way anytime soon, you'll have
some fast talking to do while they roast you upside down over a fire;
back when they granted this land to Shingazi's father, they put this
little inn under their protection."

He glanced around, as if speaking the nomads' name might make them
appear.  "Best we be moving south, down the river road.  There's a
village five days from here, and boats put in there from time to time.
If we don't find a boat ride along the way, we can be in the city in a
month or two."

Nicholas said nothing.  A month would be far too late.

ABIGAIL SCREAMED.  "GET away from me!"  She kicked out and the thing
pulled away.

Margaret said, "I don't think it's going to harm you."  "I don't care,"
said Abigail angrily.  "They're disgusting."  The creatures she
referred to were human-shaped, but rather than having skin, they were
covered in green scales.  A broad brow ridge dominated the forehead,
and large black reptilian eyes stared out of an expressionless face.
The teeth were odd, not as sharp as a reptile's, yet not as regular as
most humans'.  If they had gender, there were no external indications
of sex; the chest was flat and without nipples and the crotch appeared
smooth.  Margaret didn't know what the creatures were, but she knew
they were somehow related to the one that had occupied the cabin next
to their own on the black ship.

The girls had been taken from the ship in a large boat, rowed to the
docks by a crew of men in black tunics and trousers, wearing red head
coverings.  Rather than being taken to a slave pen, as Margaret had
expected, the girls had been loaded aboard a caravan of wagons and
taken out of the city, to a large estate surrounded by high walls.
There they had been taken to the rooms they occupied now, and Arjuna
Svadjian resumed the questioning.  Margaret was now convinced there was
a pattern to his seemingly random questions, but she couldn't quite
make it out.  She knew much of what he asked was to mask the design of
his interrogation, which his manner and choices of topics made it
difficult to guess at.  They never saw the mysterious woman who had
ordered the murder of the girl to demonstrate that their countrymen's
lives depended upon the girls' cooperation.  Once Margaret asked Arjuna
about her, but he ignored her and posed another question.

Asking Abigail to help discover what his purpose was had helped the
girl come out of her last round of despair.  Now she was angry, and she
seemed ready to help Margaret in her next attempt to escape; Margaret
had again stated her intention to get away as soon as possible.

Their routine became predictable.  They were allowed their privacy,
save when Arjuna came to question them.  At breakfast, the noon meal,
and supper they were served by attendants who refused to speak.  In the
afternoon, they were permitted to spend a few hours in a garden under a
gauzy awning that cut the harsh glare of the sun.

Then things had changed.  That morning, instead of Arjuna coming to
question them, the two creatures had been admitted to the room. Abigail
had fled to the farthest corner, while Margaret had stood ready to
defend herself with a chair.  The two creatures had hunkered down and
watched for a while, each studying one of the girls.

Abigail had returned at last to sit on her bed, and for another hour
one of the creatures had sat staring at her.  Then it had tried to
touch her.

Margaret said, "Have you ever heard of anything like these?"

"No," said Abigail.  "They're some sort of demon."

Margaret studied the one who stared at her.  "I don't think so. There's
nothing that seems magical about them.  But their skin looks like the
hand I saw when J looked out the window on the ship that one time."

The door opened and the servants brought in the morning meal.  The
girls didn't feel much like eating, but they knew that if they didn't,
they would be force-fed.  As they ate, the interest of the two
creatures seemed to increase and they tried to get closer.  Abigail
drove off hers by throwing a plate at it, while Margaret simply ignored
the other.

After the meal, Arjuna entered, and before he could speak, Margaret
shouted, "What ate these creatures?"

In his always calm tone, he said, "These?  They are harmless.
Companions for you."

"Well, I don't want them here!"  insisted Abigail.  "Take them away."

All Arjuna would say was "They will do you no injury.  They will
remain."  He pulled up a chair and said, "Now, what do you know of the
legend of Sarth?"

Margaret looked at the creature who stared at her, and for a moment
there was something in its dead eyes that glimmered with intelligence.
She felt a shiver down her back and turned away.

THE BOATS MOVED lazily down the river.  Nicholas sat on the foredeck of
the first, a lumbering thing of high gunwales, a half-barge, with a
mast that lay folded along its length, as they used the currents of the
Serpent River to carry them toward their destination.  Two long oars
beat halfheartedly against the current, keeping them moving faster than
the water just enough so the tiller would do some good.  They'd been
aboard the boats for a week now, and would reach the City of the
Serpent River soon.

Nicholas reviewed their situation.  Between what they had salvaged from
Shingazi's Landing and the treasure, Nicholas's Company, as they were
now calling themselves, was well outfitted and relatively wealthy. They
had moved downriver to the village that Praji had spoken of, and rested
there.

At first the villagers had fled in terror, believing them to be
bandits, but Nicholas had waited calmly with the wagons for a day until
one of the braver men had ventured out of the nearby woods to speak
with him.  It took only a few kind words and a gold piece to convince
the man they weren't going to steal everything in sight, which they
could have done while the villagers were hiding.

The villagers had turned out and feted the company for more than a
week, and Nicholas's injured recovered.  He had haled to lose the time,
but Nicholas had agreed that everyone needed rest before they attempted
to move south by wagon.  And the village was the most logical place to
hail any passing river traffic.  During this time, Praji's companion,
Vaja, had recovered sufficiently to join in conversations with the
others.  Nicholas discovered him to be a vain man, proud of his
handsome profile and curly locks.  The younger women of the village
reinforced his high opinion of himself, lavishing attention on the
handsome fighter, bringing him water, fresh fruit, and honeyed bread
during the day and, Nicholas suspected, more intimate proof at night.
Nicholas had also discovered that Vaja's noble-sounding speech was an
affectation, and that, on balance, he wasn't a very intelligent man.
Praji seemed to be the brains of the pair, but he was content to let
others think the more charismatic Vaja was.

While his men had convalesced, Nicholas had undergone a quick course of
instruction from Ghuda on the deployment of men at the company level.
If Praji and Vaja stayed with them, they would number thirty-five
soldiers and Brisa.  The sailors had grumbled about the drills, but the
soldiers had mocked them unmercifully until they had become practiced
enough to hold their own In the mock drills and combat.  Each man was
put through endless sword and bow practice, until all were able to use
the weapons, even if with only marginal skill.  From what Praji and
Tuka said, thirty-five was a small number for a company of any repute
some of the larger numbered as many as six hundred but it was
sufficient for them to be believable

, mercenaries.

At the end of the week, a river caravan hove into sight and Praji had
run up a white banner, the sign for a parley.  The first boat came
close enough to shore for Nicholas and the caravan captain to
negotiate, and after nearly ten minutes of shouting across the water,
Nicholas had to have someone swim out and

, give the man gold.

Nicholas elected to send Harry, while Marcus, Calls, and the other
bowmen were ready to provide either punishment or retreating cover
should either prove necessary.  But as soon, as the captain of the
boats saw the gold, the other boats swung into shore.  It had taken
nearly two hours to board everyone.

In the distance, Nicholas could see a dark smudge on the horizon, and
he asked Praji, "What is that?"

"Smoke, from the City of the Serpent River.  We'll be there before
nightfall."

They had spent the entire journey considering their options and now
they had a plan.  At least, Nicholas hoped it was a plan, for he
couldn't admit to the others he had the feeling that he was leading
them into disaster.  The only thing that kept him going was the thought
of Abigail and Margaret coming to harm, and the certainty that behind
all the mysterious betrayals of the last two weeks stood the Pantathian
serpent priests.

CITY

icholas tensed.

The Serpent River had been cutting through marshlands for an hour, and
now they were crossing a huge lake.  The boat crew began rowing in
earnest once they were in the lake, as the currents were diffusing into
the large body of water.  The tiller man leaned hard against his pole
and the boat turned, toward the river emptying from the lake on the
cast side.  Nicholas sat up straighter to get a better look at the
distant city.  Turning to Praji, he asked, "Where are we?"

"Lake of the Kings," answered Praji.

"Why is it called that?"  asked Nicholas.

Praji lay back against a bale of cargo while Vaja slept nearby; they
were hardly ever apart, it seemed to Nicholas.  "This city started a
long time ago as a meetin' place for the southern tribes of the
Eastlands.  Over the years the city built up and now you can't hardly
tell the city men are kin to the Jeshandi and the other plains tribes."
Praji started cleaning his nails with the point of his dagger.  "Each
tribe had a King, see, and each year it was a different tribe's turn to
preside over the annual meetin'.  That sort of turned into each year
the city got a different King hell-bent on getting even for whatever
the other Kings did to his tribe for the thirteen years before fourteen
big tribes, you see?

"Anyway, the folks who lived in the city got pretty tired of it after a
couple of hundred years and there was a big revolt, and when it was
over, all fourteen Kings and quite a number of their kinfolk was dumped
into this here lake.  That's why it's the Lake of the Kings."

"What happened then?"  asked Nicholas, as Marcus and Harry came to sit
and listen.  They were now about halfway across the lake and could see
another river emptying out of it, a river that seemed to wind around to
the east side of the city.

"Well, for a while they tried getting along without rulers, but after a
few major fires and some riots where hundreds died, they decided that
was a stupid idea, and they decided their clan chiefs could have this
council.  As there was members of the same clan in more than one tribe,
that seemed fair, and nobody got too upset, and things was pretty good,
as I hear it, for a few hundred years."

"Then the Overlord showed up?"  said Harry.

"Well, he was around for a while, I guess," said Praji, He scratched
his chin.  "I've heard a few stories here and there about who he was,
but nobody knows for sure.  It doesn't pay to ask questions in too many
places."

"Secret police?"  asked Nicholas.

"Called the Black Rose, if you can swallow that.  Run by somebody known
only as 'the Controller," and nobody knows who he is.  Some folks
figure it's what keeps Dahakon in check; others think Dahakon is the
Controller.  Nobody I know knows, that's a fact."

Praji put up his knife.  "Here's what I do know about the Overlord. His
name is Valgasha, which isn't a Jeshandi name, nor from anyplace I've
ever been.  He's a tall man, 'cause I seen him once on a parade day at
the End of Summer Festival.  Big as your friend Ghuda, I'd say. Looks
about thirty, but I hear he looks like he did the day he took control,
and with those stories about his magician, who knows.  Has a pet eagle
he hunts like a falcon.  Folks say that it's a magic bird."

Nicholas asked, "How much longer to the city?"

Praji said, "Not too much longer."  He pointed to a distant stand of
trees on the far shore.  "Lake empties over there, into the river that
leads around the city."

Praji fell silent awhile, then said, "When we get there, we'd best find
you someplace to put up; a company's got to have a place where
potential employers can find it."  He said, "You got any objection to
simple living?"

Nicholas said, "No.  Why?"

"Well," answered Praji, "you've got more gold than sense, from what I
can see, and a small company living too high is a beacon for trouble.
Wouldn't do to put up at the pr iciest hostel in the city and have a
couple of hundred fighters come visiting the second or third night. But
if you live too plain, then folks will think you're broke or cheap." 
He thought about it a minute, then said, "I think I know the place. 
Just off the bazaar.  Modest, not too dirty, and the hostler won't rob
you blind."

Nicholas smiled.  "I assume it's someplace we might be able to hear a
thing or two?"

"You can assume all you like," said Praji with his broken-toothed grin,
"but the trick isn't hearing stuff, it's sifting out the truth from the
rumors from the lies."  He yawned.  "In twenty years on the road, I'll
tell you I've never seen anyplace quite like the City of the Serpent
River.  Now, you take Maharta, for one.  Clean city, brisk trading
town, lot of civic pride.  They call it the Queen City of the River,
and yet a man can get murdered for a copper coin there as easily as
anywhere else."  Praji continued his speculations on the strengths and
weaknesses of different cities he had visited, while Nicholas watched
the approaching city begin to take form in the distance.  Where only a
vague shadowy greyness had been visible on the horizon, now towers and
walls began to be visible.

There were marshes all around the lake, and low rush beds, making it
difficult to see where water ended and land began.  Somewhere beyond
the edge of the lake, a series of low earthen mounds rose, all barren
except for a few tough-looking plants.  To the right, the western side
of the lake, the ground rose away from the marshes.  Some broken
masonry proclaimed that once someone had built there, but the area was
completely deserted.  Above it stood a small cliff face, perhaps fifty
feet high, and on that Nicholas could see some activity, though it was
too distant to make out what it was.

"Farms," said Praji, as if reading Nicholas's mind.  "You'll see lots
of small ones in close to the city, for protection.  A few burned-out
ones on the far side of the river.  It's tough land to defend, and the
Overlord's soldiers won't stir unless someone's attacking the walls or
he's in the mood."  He spit over the side.

After a while they entered the eastern river and picked up speed as the
currents increased.  As they skirted the edge of the city, they saw a
burned-out farmhouse on the east bank.  "I see what you mean," said
Nicholas.

"Wasn't raiders did that," said Praji.  He pointed to a hill a
half-mile away upon which a large estate house rose, surrounded by a
high wall.  "That's the estate of Dahakon.  When he's not in the
Overlord's palace, that's where you'll find him, though why anyone
would want to is beyond me."  He made a good-luck sign.  "He decided
the farm was too close to his estates and ordered it burned by the Red
Slayers."

After they passed under a bridge that led to the magician's estate,
they entered an area of huts and houseboats clustered along both sides
of the river.  These were poor people by the look of things, fishermen,
workers in the city who couldn't afford to live there, and some farmers
with terraces of land behind their huts.  Small boats darted here and
there, running errands and carrying foodstuffs.  From several of the
boats, children waved and laughed as the river caravan passed, and
Nicholas waved back.

The farther downriver they moved, the more boats crowded around them.
Near the landing, Nicholas saw that some of the riverside buildings
were old, built up to two and even three stories high.  From the
balconies of several, women in varying states of dress sat, displaying
themselves and calling out their names to the river men

"Whores," said Praji indifferently.

Nicholas blushed as one called out to him and suggested something he
hadn't realized was possible.  Praji saw him turning red and laughed.
"Captain," he said dryly.

The eastern bank fell away as the river's mouth broadened, and they
entered an estuary.  Holding tightly to the right-hand shore, they
followed it around until they encountered the first of a large series
of docks and quays.  A small boat cut across their bow, heading for a
ship anchored out in deeper water, and the helmsman of Nicholas's boat
cursed the man at the tiller of the smaller craft as they barely missed
colliding.

Nicholas followed the craft and then his eyes settled on something in
the harbor.  "Marcus," he called.  Marcus moved forward.  "What?" "Tell
Amos to look over there."  He pointed.

Marcus looked, then nodded and went back to the stern of the boat.  He
shouted to the second boat, where Amos sat.  "Nicholas says to look
over there."

Amos shouted back.  "Tell him I already saw it.  It's the same one."

Marcus returned and said, "Amos says it's the same one."

Nicholas nodded.  "I thought so."

Riding high at anchor, her hold empty, the black ship sat like a beacon
for them.  Nicholas turned to Marcus.  "We did make the right
choice."

Marcus put his hand on Nicholas's shoulder and said nothing.

THEY LEFT THE boats and made their way through the crowded dockside,
down a broad street that led to a huge open-air bazaar.  Praji and Vaja
led the party through the press in the market, telling them to stay
close less they get lost.

Nicholas's senses were dazzled by the exotic display of costumes and
wares.  The people were as diverse as those in Krondor or the north of
Kesh.  Men and women of all colors, from fair-skinned and blond to dark
as night, thronged the market, shouting the value of their wares and
haggling over price.  The dress of the locals was diverse enough that
the outlandish dress of Nicholas's crew did not attract notice.  Garish
colors were common, so even Harry's choices of colors drew no
attention.

Praji turned the company south at a large intersection of two open
malls and down through another quarter of the bazaar.  Soon they left
the market and passed through a narrow street, to another, where they
found themselves before the hostel.  Praji entered with Nicholas and
shouted, "Keeler!"

A stout man, with a scar running down his left cheek, appeared from a
back room.  "Praji!"  he said, picking up a meat cleaver.  Slamming it
down into the wood of the bar for emphasis, he said, "I thought I'd
seen the last of your miserable face a month back."

Praji shrugged.  "Got a better offer."  He indicated Nicholas with a
bob of his head.  "This is my new captain."

Keeler squinted at Nicholas through beady blue eyes, then scratched his
stubbly chin.  "Very well.  What do you need .  - -Captain?"

"Quarters for forty of us."

"I've room for fifty," he said.  "Six private rooms that will hold up
to four each and a common sleeping room for twenty-six.  You can
squeeze a few more in if you're friendly," he added with a smile.

"We'll take them all," answered Nicholas.  "I'm seeking new recruits."
They had agreed that this story would give them a few days to sit and
apparently do nothing.  Mercenary companies did not tarry long between
assignments, and to linger in the city beyond a few days would begin to
attract suspicion.  Nicholas and Keeler agreed on a price, and Nicholas
gave the hostler a small pouch of gold as security against the bill.

Nicholas signaled to Harry, who stood at the door; Harry passed word
and the company entered.  The Ranjana threw Nicholas a black look as
she came in with her maids and inspected the hostel common room.
Nicholas had not shared with her the details of why the Overlord's
soldiers had come to Shingazi's Landing.  The girl had expected to be
taken straight to the Overlord's palace and was outraged that she was
being required to continue another day in Nicholas's company.  Putting
her under Brisa's watchful eye proved the proper solution; the Freeport
street girl informed the Ranjana that if she caused a fuss, Brisa would
be happy to cut her tongue out.

Once they were in their quarters, Nicholas inspected the hostel.  They
had use of the common room, its courtyards which Nicholas judged would
be sufficient for the men's drilling the stable, which was currently
empty, save for a shaggy donkey who viewed the approach of strangers
with beatific indifference, and the common room.  It was traditional
for the company occupying a hostel to decide if the common room would
be open to outsiders or not.  That was the first topic of conversation
for his first meeting with those he decided would act as staff: Marcus,
Ghuda, and Amos, as well as Praji.  Nicholas had concocted a story
about their being from a very distant city on the other side of the
continent, which Praji seemed to accept at face value; the lands
between the city-states were so chaotic that men seldom traveled more
than a few hundred miles from the place of their birth, and even widely
traveled soldiers for hire such as Praji had journeyed only as far away
as the city of Lanada, home of a Priest-King who was the current cause
of regional unrest, for he was involved in a three-way war

with the Raj of Maharta and the Overlord of the City of the Serpent
River.

Nicholas sat with his lieutenants in the common room, while Harry
oversaw getting the men into their rooms and stowing their gear.
Nicholas said, "Praji, what's the best choice?  Keep the commons open
or close it?"

Praji said, "If you close it, with you not being well known, that'll
make people curious.  If you open it, you can figure that within an
hour of sunset this place will be crawling with whores, thieves,
pickpockets, beggars, and a bunch of spies for different clans, guilds,
factions, and other companies."

Nicholas said, "Amos, what do you think?"

Amos shrugged.  "It's been my experience in places like this that you
can either go out and look for information or wait and let it come to
you."

Nicholas nodded.  "Let's open up the commons, but I want it made clear
that any man who drinks too much and says the wrong thing is going to
answer to me."  He tried to sound menacing, but felt foolish.  Still,
no one at the table smiled at the remark.

Looking at Praji, Nicholas asked, "Why would other companies come
snooping around?"

Praji says, "Maybe you've a contract they can poach.  If you're onto
something big, then maybe they can cut a better deal with your contract
holder; maybe they're going out on a * job that needs a bigger company
and they're looking for another small company or two to join forces
with."  Praji fixed Nicholas with a steady gaze.  "You don't need to
tell me what you're here for, as long as we're getting paid and you
don't get us hung for something I didn't have anything to do with, but
for a company of mercenaries you're looking pretty raw."  He hiked a
thumb toward Ghuda.  "He looks like he knows his way around, but the
others" he glanced over his shoulder to where a pair of sailors from
Amos's ship were entering the commons "they're something' else.  From
the way they jump to when ; they get orders, and keep to themselves and
never get into || serious arguments or fights, regular army is my
guess."  & Nicholas said, "You're no fool."

-1 ?

"Never said I was.  I just let people guess what they will, and usually
it's to my advantage."  Gesturing to where the bulk of

* the men were making ready their quarters, he added, "Those boys are
probably good soldiers, but as mercenaries they don't look convincing.
Now, Ghuda's a convincing mercenary."

Praji looked Nicholas in the eyes.  "There are three types of captains:
the first are mean bastards who'll scare their men into doing what they
tell them to; the second are the kind that make their men rich; the
third are the kind that men follow anywhere, because their captain
keeps them alive.  You don't look convincing being the first; sorry,
but you couldn't scare my old granny.  You're not throwing gold around
and wearing jewels on your fingers, so no one will think you're making
your men rich so you better work on convincing anyone who asks that
you're the third kind."

Nicholas said, "I've studied tactics and strategy all my life, Praji,
and I've led men into combat," He didn't add that his experience began
only a few days before meeting Praji.

Standing up, Praji said, "You talk a good fight.  When you want to tell
me what's going on, I'll tell you if Vaja and I want in.  Until then
I'm going to get some sleep."

After he was gone, Nicholas said, "Can we trust him?"  Ghuda said,
"Well, he's not the type to swear undying loyalty to the crown, but
he'll fight for whoever holds his bond, or," he added with a grin,
"against whoever ends up on his 'list."  I think he's what he seems to
be."  Marcus said, "What next?"

"We need to find out where the prisoners were taken.  With that many
prisoners being offloaded here, someone had to see where they've gone.
We just need to be careful.in how we ask."

Amos said, "I think I should nose around down at the docks."

"Take Marcus with you, and start looking for a ship to steal."

Amos grinned, "We're pirates again?"

Nicholas returned the smile.  "As soon as we find out where Margaret,
Abigail, and the others are, we're buccaneers."

Amos and Marcus left, and Nicholas said, "Ghuda, can you make the men
look more like mercenaries?"

Ghuda stood up as Harry and Brisa walked into the commons.  As they
approached the table, Ghuda said, "I'll talk to all of them in twos and
threes and give them some idea of what to expect and how to act."

"Thanks," said Nicholas as he left.

THE KING '$ BUCCANES R

Harry and Brisa sat down and he said, "All right, what do we do now?"

Nicholas said, "Well, first thing, I've got to figure out what to do
with the Ranjana."

Brisa said, "Sell her to someone."  From her cheerful smile, Nicholas
was almost sure she was joking.

Harry said, "Why not hang on to her for a while and see if we need to
get into the palace?"

"I don't understand," said Nicholas.

"Look," said Harry, "it's hard for me to imagine that a ship like that
could come sailing into this harbor with a couple of hundred captives
and not involve some official notice.  Maybe this Overlord's in on this
thing himself."  He shrugged.  "If he is, what better way to get in to
see him than to bring him his wife-to-be?"

"But he tried to kill her," Nicholas pointed out.

Brisa said, "That was out there."  She waved in the general direction
of the north.  "He can't very well kill her in the palace and blame it
on the clans, can he?"

Harry nodded.  "The palace is the safest place for her in the city." He
leaned forward.  "Look, hang on to her for a couple of days, and if we
don't need to go to the palace, you can pack her off back to her father
on the next river caravan heading north.  If you do need to get in,
she's your entrance."

"Seems pretty indifferent to the girl," said Nicholas.

Brisa snorted.  "Girl?  That bitch has a hide tough as a turtle's
shell.  Never mind the big eyes and pouty mouth, Nicky, she'd cut your
heart out and smile while doing it.  She may look like someone's
spoiled darling, but there's a toughness in her you surely can see,
given you hardly look at her above the neck."

Nicholas's eyes narrowed.  "Wait a minute!"

Brisa waved the objection away.  "She's a beauty, I know, but she's not
what she seems."

Harry nodded.  "I've talked to her and there's something .. . cold
about her."

Nicholas decided to ignore Brisa's accusation.  "Well, I won't decide
anything today.  Why don't you start snooping around.  Brisa, you know
your way around streets like these, and Harry, you can scrounge a bit."
He took some gold out of his purse and pushed it across the table
toward him.  "Buy anything you think we might need and take Anthony
with you to replenish his supplies."  He looked around.  "Speaking of
which, where is he, and where is Nakor?"

Harry said, "I saw Anthony in one of the back rooms looking over Vaja's
wound.  I haven't seen Nakor since we got here."

Nicholas waved them off and sat alone with his own thoughts for a
while.  Calls appeared and sat down unbidden, saying, "You look
troubled."

Glancing around the room, Nicholas said, "Let's go for a stroll."

They rose and left the common room, entering the short street that led
directly to the bazaar.

The bazaar was a giant square, divided by an open roadway running north
and south, and by another running east and west.  At the intersection a
large plaza had been built, and on the steps of that plaza an
assortment of beggars, fortune-tellers, and entertainers clustered. The
road leading from Keeler's hostel entered the bazaar from the south. 
There were a half-dozen roads entering from all sides, save the east,
which fronted on a wall that marked the outer boundary of the
Overlord's palace.  Entering the press of humanity that thronged the
bazaar, they passed by stalls erected for the day and listened to the
calls to examine pottery, jewelry, sweets, cloth, and every other
imaginable commodity.  Calls said nothing as Nicholas made a pretense
of examining some of the weapons that were being offered by a
one-legged man.  As they pushed past a fruit seller's cart, Nicholas
said, "I'm feeling .. . out of place."  Calls nodded.  "I understand."
"Do you?"  asked Nicholas, looking at the half-elf.  "I'm a little
older than your older brothers, yet I look your age," said Calls, "Yet,
to my people, I'm little more than a child."  He glanced around the
bazaar.  "All this is alien to me.  I've visited Crydee many times in
my life, and save for when your uncle Martin and Garret or the
occasional ranger from Natal visited Elvandar, I've never spoken to a
human for more than one or two evenings at a time.

"Yes, I know what it is to feel out of place."  Then he gave Nicholas a
rare smile and said, "But that's not what you're talking about, is
it?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "No.  I feel like an impostor pretending to
be Captain to a company of mercenaries."

Calls shrugged.  "You shouldn't.  At least, I don't think you should.
The others have accepted your leadership and so far you've done nothing
to show their judgment is wrong."

He paused as they moved aside to let a wagon full of slaves drive past.
Nicholas scanned the faces of those in the wagon on the off chance he
might recognize someone.  The slaves kept their eyes down and their
expressions placid, as if they knew their lives were forever under the
control of others.

Nicholas watched after the wagon a moment, then said, "Thank you.  I
guess that if I play the part well enough, it's of little consequence
how I feel about it."

Calls smiled slightly.  "You're a great deal like your uncle Martin; he
ponders things.  It's ironic, but you're probably more like him in many
regards than Marcus."

Nicholas smiled slightly.  "That would be ironic."

They spent a half hour wandering through the bazaar, dazzled by the
astonishing assortment of merchandise offered, until they found
themselves near the plaza at the center.  There they were assailed by
beggars asking for gifts in exchange for blessings, and curses followed
after them when they turned a deaf ear.  Fortune-tellers offered to
read their future in cards, bones, or smoke, and they, too, were
ignored.

As they circled the plaza, they came to another quarter of the bazaar
that was drawing a large crowd.  They worked their way through the
crowd to find a large platform erected halfway between the plaza and
the wall of the Overlord's palace.  The crowd spread out to about a
dozen yards from the wall, then left a clearing.  Glancing up, Nicholas
saw cages hanging from the wall.  In the cages were bodies, a pair of
skeletons, and one man who moved feebly.  Calls followed his gaze and
said, "Death by exposure is the local choice, I see."

"And a clear message to everyone in the city: don't cause trouble,"
said Nicholas.  He turned his back and looked at those upon the
platform.

An auctioneer was offering slaves for inspection.  Nicholas glanced
from face to face, half hoping, half fearing to see someone he
recognized from Crydee, but after a few minutes he % decided these
wretches were natives of the city.  A few young j girls brought
spirited bidding, as did one particularly strong-.:j, looking man of
middle years, but the rest of the slaves were either too old or too
young to be of profit.

Disgusted with the entire proceedings, Nicholas said, "Come along.
Let's return to the hostel."

They made their way back to the north side of the bazaar, and halfway
to the hostel, they saw people clearing the way for an advancing
company of men.  A boy beat a drum at the van, while behind him marched
a man carrying a pole.  Upon the top of the pole two ropes descended to
the ends of a rod, from which hung a banner, a long piece of grey cloth
on which a red hawk stooping over its prey was sewn.  Nicholas and
Calls stepped aside to allow them to pass and watched as two hundred
armed men strode by.  As they moved away, Nicholas turned to a man
following after them and said, "Who was that?"

"Captain Haji's Redhawks."  The man looked at Nicholas as if he was
crazy to have asked, and hurried along.

Nicholas said, "I guess Tuka wasn't exaggerating about the need to
announce ourselves."

"Perhaps," said Calls, "when we know what it is we wish to have known
about us."

"Good point."

They returned to the hostel and found that Marcus and Amos had
returned.  Nicholas sat at the table with them, while Calls went to his
room.  "That was quick," said Nicholas.  "Did you find a ship?"

Amos lowered his voice, so Keeler, who was tending bar, couldn't
overhear, "There are any number of ships that will do, now we know how
long the voyage takes, but there are two Kingdom ships in the harbor."
"What?"  said Nicholas.  Marcus said, "And one of them is the
Raptor."

NICHOLAS STOOD ON the end of the quay and stared in open-mouthed
amazement.

Amos said, "Close it, or you'll start to catch flies."

"How is this possible?"

Amos said, "Look closely.  She's not really how we turned her out.
There are some slight differences.  And I'd never rig her quite that
loose, even at anchor.  Sudden wind, and you'll lose a spar.  And some
of the shrouds and sheets are not right.  She's a copy of the Royal
EagU, and someone's tried to turn her into the Raptor" He then pointed
to the other ship, slightly smaller,

but otherwise the twin of the first.  "That's either an exact copy of
the Royal Gull, or the real one."

"I thought the real one sank off the Keshian coast in a storm two years
ago," said Nicholas.

"That's what I thought, but maybe not."

Nicholas nodded.  "That still doesn't answer the big question."

Amos said, "Yes.  Why are they here?"

The three of them said nothing more as they walked back to the
hostel.

BACK THERE, NICHOLAS asked several of the men if they had seen Nakor.
All of them answered no; the little man had vanished shortly after the
company had arrived.

Nicholas decided to return to the room he had secured for himself, to
rest awhile and ponder the mystery of those two ships in the harbor. As
he passed the door to the Ranjana's quarters, a shriek caused him to
halt.

As he reached for the door, it opened and a frightened maid said,
"Master.  Please."

Nicholas entered the room to find the other three maids all cowering in
the corner while the Ranjana picked up a brush from the table she used
as a vanity and threw it at them.  "I will not stay here a minute
longer!"  she shouted.

Nicholas said, "Lady "

Before another word could come out of his mouth, he was ducking a
wicked-looking hair comb, three tines of gold, but sharp enough to
cause harm.  He stepped forward and grabbed the girl by one wrist,
which proved a tactical mistake, as he then felt her other hand hard
across his face.  Grabbing the free hand, he shouted, "Stop this,
lady!"

She began kicking him in the shins, and he shoved her away with enough
force to cause her to sit hard on the floor.  Pointing his finger at
her, he said, "That will be enough!"

She was up and at him again, and he pushed her back hard on the floor.
The second time she hit the hardwood, her eyes widened in astonishment.
"You dare lay hands upon me!"

"I'll do more than that if you don't tell me what this ruckus is
about," said Nicholas, his voice harsh.

"I demand to be taken at once to the palace," said the Ranjana.  "I
spoke to one of your men, and he had the temerity to tell me to wait
until you'd returned."  She stood up.  "I want him hung.  Now, take me
to the palace."

"There's a problem with that," said Nicholas.

"Problem!"  shrieked the girl.  She formed claws with her fingernails
and came at Nicholas.  He grabbed her wrists again and said, "Will you
stop!"  The girl continued to struggle, clearly intent on removing his
eyes from his head.  At last he pushed her back even harder than
before, so that when she hit the floor she slid backward until she
struck the wall.

Before she could move, he advanced to stand over her.  "Don't get
up!"he warned.  "Just sit there and listen, or I will have you tied
up!"

She sat, but her expression was defiant.  "Why won't you take me to the
palace?"

Nicholas sighed.  "I was hoping to avoid this, but I guess you must
know.  I'm not taking you to the palace because it appears that the man
responsible for the attack upon you was the Overlord himself."

"That's impossible.  I am to wed the Overlord on the next

Summer's End Night."

Nicholas saw that the fight had gone out of her, and leaned over to
offer his hand.  She slapped it away and stood up without help.  As he
watched her stand with a dancer's grace, Nicholas was forced to admit
that Brisa wasn't entirely wrong.  Given her choice of fashion, skimpy
tops and light skirts, leaving her midriff bare, her body was displayed
to good advantage, and it was an exceptionally nice body.  But her mood
was as ugly as the rest of her was lovely.  "You're lying," she said.
"You want to hold me for ransom."

Nicholas sighed.  "If that were true, I'd simply lock the door and put
a guard outside your window.  No, if we discover that the Overlord is
the man who tried to have you killed, we'll arrange for you to travel
back to your rather "

"No," interrupted the Ranjana.  There was genuine panic in her voice.

"No?"

"No.  My father would kill me."

Nicholas said, "Why would he do that?"

"My father the Raj has thirty-nine wives.  I am the youngest daughter
of his seventeenth wife."  She lowered her eyes and said, "My only
value to him is to be married to an ally.  If I

return, he will be enraged and order me beheaded.  I would be of no
further value, for to send me to another ally for marriage after
offering me to the Overlord would be an insult."

"Well, maybe the Overlord didn't have anything to do with the attack,
and if not, we'll get you to the palace."

Nicholas was confused by all this, for the girl suddenly looked
vulnerable and afraid, and his feelings were churning unexpectedly.
Feeling irritation at this sudden attack of concern, he said, "I'll do
what I can."  He turned and quickly left the room.  Finding himself in
the hall with no idea what he had been doing before he had entered the
girl's room, he returned to the common room to wait for Harry and
Brisa.

BY TWO HOURS after sundown the common room was crowded with both
Nicholas's company and strangers.  He had selected a table for himself
and his companions nearest the hall leading to the sleeping rooms.
Harry, Anthony, and Brisa still hadn't returned, and no one had caught
sight of Nakor since before they had reached the hostel.  Nicholas was
beginning to worry.

Twice mercenaries had approached to ask if there was room for new
recruics in Nicholas's company.  He was noncommittal and said it
depended on a possible contract and they should come back in a few
days.

The food provided was filling and hot, if not especially tasty, and the
wine was above average, which suited everyone in the company; it was a
great improvement over the beans and bread they had eaten every night
on the boats, along with a cold piece of salted pork.  As they were
eating, Harry, Anthony, and Brisa at last returned.

They sat down and Nicholas said, "What kept you so long?"

Harry smiled.  "It's a big city."

"Did you have to see all of it in one day?"  asked Amos with a grin.

Harry said, "We didn't see a tenth, but we did find -out some
interesting things, or more to the point, Anthony and Brisa did."

Anthony said, "I've found a man selling magic charms down by the docks.
He's a fraud, of course, and his trinkets are useless, but he did let
loose with some gossip about the Overlord and his Grand Adviser."

Nicholas leaned forward as Anthony's voice dropped.  "Praji wasn't
joking about the ban on magic.  One of the things the trinket seller
told me is there's a ward on the city that alerts this Dahakon if
anyone uses magic within the walls of the city.  At least, that's the
rumor.  He claimed a special property of the trinkets was their ability
to work without alerting the Adviser."  Anthony shook his head. "Anyone
want this?"  he said, taking a strange-looking fetish out of his
pocket.  It was a man with a giant penis.  "It's supposed to make one
irresistible to women."  He blushed as Brisa laughed, her hand over her
mouth.

"Anthony, I must have you," she said jokingly.

Nicholas wasn't amused.  "Put that away.  What that means is you can't
use your powers to find the girls."

"Girls?"  said Harry.

"The prisoners," said Anthony.  His blush continued.  "I have been able
to locate Margaret and Abigail," he said.

Nicholas knew he was stretching the truth a bit because of Harry's
interest in Margaret, but thought that was a pretty trivial
consideration now.  He said, "What else did you find out?"

Brisa said, "There's something like an organization of thieves around.
You're from Krondor, so you've heard of the Mockers."

Nicholas nodded.

Brisa said, "It's something like that, but I have a feeling from what
we've seen that it's a lot less efficient and probably less
powerful."

"Why?"  asked Nicholas.

"I've never seen so many armed men in a square mile in my life, not
even in Freeport, and half of them belong to one clan or another or to
the Overlord."

Harry said, "She's right, Nicky.  There are soldiers everywhere, and
everyone has a bodyguard or guards on his house or mercenaries.  It's
like Ghuda said, it's an armed camp here."

Nicholas considered.  Krondor had its number of private guards and
mercenaries working for merchants and nobles, but most citizens went
unarmed in all but the Poor Quarter or the docks at night, for the city
watch and the Prince's garrison kept the peace and kept the Mockers
somewhat under control.  Also,

THE K/NG 's BUCCANEE x he had learned from his rather that the guild of
thieves liked things orderly, for any martial law crimped their
business severely.

Nicholas asked, "Did you find out anything in the slave market?"

"Not enough to talk about," said Harry.  "It was difficult.  If you
weren't buying, you were looked on with suspicion.  One thing, the wall
behind the slave market is marked off by a white line a dozen yards
away from it.  Did you see that?"

Nicholas said, "Calls and I wandered over that way, but I didn't notice
it."

Harry said, "It's a deadline."

Nicholas nodded.  He knew that meant there were archers on the walls or
soldiers in the market with orders to kill anyone who crossed the line.
"The Overlord doesn't want anyone freeing the condemned," said
Nicholas.

"Or he doesn't want unexpected visitors," offered Brisa.

Amos said, "If you ran this city of cutthroats, would you?"

Nicholas said, "If I ran it, it would run differently."

Amos laughed.  "You're not the first to think that before taking the
job.  Ask your rather sometime about the deals he made with the Mockers
early on in his reign."

Nicholas asked Brisa, "Do you think you can make contact with the local
thieves?"

"It might take a couple of days," she answered.  "There's a hunted-dog
look about half the people here."  She lowered her voice even more. "My
guess is you've got a half-dozen informants and spies in this room
already.  There's not a lot of trust in this city."

Nicholas said, "Well, eat, drink, be merry..  .."  He let the old
saying go without finishing it.

MARGARET AWOKE WITH a start, her heart pounding.  Something caused her
to turn slowly toward the other bed.  A figure loomed over her in the
darkness of the room.  Blinking, she strained to make out the figure in
the gloom.

When she sat up, her sudden movement startled the figure, which pulled
back.  She reached for a shuttered lamp, which was kept burning low at
night, and opened the shutter.  Sitting on the floor next to the bed
was one of the two lizard creatures.

It shielded its dark eyes against the light and scuttled backward,
making soft sounds.

Margaret froze, her mouth open as she drew in a gasp of fear.  The
creature had spoken a word, softly.  It had said, "No."  But what
terrified Margaret was the sound: it was nothing alien or inhuman.  The
voice had belonged to a human woman.  The voice sounded like her own.

"-I*] icholas looked up.

A T Coming across the room was the wagon driver, Tuka, and a
florid-faced, puffing man of imposing girth, dressed in a riot of
colors: a yellow over tunic a plaid shirt, red trousers, a green sash,
and a purple hat in the fashion of the area, with a wide brim rolled up
on either side to hug the crown.

Ghuda asked, "Harry, did someone steal your clothes last night?"

Harry yawned, not being quite awake after having drunk an unusual
amount of ale for him.  "Looks like it," said the Squire from Ludland.
"Mine were in better taste, though."

Ghuda and Amos refrained from comment, watching the strange pair as
they approached.

"Encosi," said Tuka, "with humility I am presenting An-ward Nogosh
Pata, my master's representative in the city."

Without leave, the man sat at the only remaining chair at Nicholas's
table and whispered, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"  responded Harryr

Nicholas waved away Harry's question and said, "Yes.  We have the
girl."

The man blew out his cheeks as he exhaled and drummed his fingers upon
the table.  "I've known Tuka for years, and while he's no more reliable
than any other driver, he's not intelligent enough to fabricate such a
wicked tale of betrayal and murder by himself."  Leaning across the
table, he lowered his voice even more.  "What do you mean to do?
Ransom?  Reward?"

Nicholas frowned.  "What would you have me do?"  he asked.

The man resumed his finger-drumming on the table.  "I'm uncertain.  If
my master falls prey to some plot to create friction between the clans
many of whom have strong ties to important trading houses here and in
other cities few of those clansmen may be inclined to remember that my
master was merely a dupe in some larger plot."  He made a wide gesture'
with his hands while he shrugged.  "And truth to tell, my master would
be less than pleased to be named a dupe for all his more excellent
qualities, he is not without his vanity and the effect such an
appellation would have upon his trade could not be considered
salubrious."

Nicholas said, "There are matters of concern to my men and me that
might have some impact upon this matter."

"You propose?"  asked Anward.

"To do nothing for a few days," answered Nicholas.  "We've surmised
that if the Overlord's hand is in this series of attacks and murder,
the girl's life is worthless in the palace, but if she's the prize in a
game we don't understand, that may be the safest place in the world for
her.  Let me ask you something: what would your master's reaction be to
sending her back?"

"He would not be pleased, but that displeasure would be for the failure
of the undertaking;, and.  if the undertaking was doomed from the
outset because of duplicity, he would be disinclined to place blame
needlessly."

"Would the girl's rather punish her?"

"Her father has many daughters, it's true, but he values all of them.
No, he wouldn't harm her.  Why do you ask?"

Thinking quickly, Nicholas said, "Just making sure I understand all the
stakes of the game."

"What of the precious gifts that accompanied the Ran jana?"

"They are all safe," said Nicholas.

"I shall send a wagon and guards to recover my master's wares.

Nicholas held up his hand.  "I would prefer it if you would

THE KING 's BUCCAMEE n wait a little.  I don't think anyone who saw us
arrive suspected we had anything to do with all the murder upriver, but
you can never be sure.  If we are being watched, I don't want to
advertise that we found any treasure or the Ranjana.  Let them think
the girls with us were our camp followers."  When Anward looked at him
suspiciously, Nicholas said, "You have my word; when the Ranjana leaves
here, she takes all her gold and jewels with her."

The factor rose, saying, "I will employ caution, but I shall set about
seeking information about who is truly responsible for this misery. You
will be here awhile?"

"A few days."

Bowing in respect: "I bid you good day, Captain."

When Tuka didn't follow him, Ghuda said, "You got the heave-ho?"

The little wagon driver shrugged.  "It was so, Sab.  I am discharged
from service for railing to protect my master's cargo, but for having
returned with the news of the Ranjana's presence here in the city I am
not being beaten or killed."

Marcus said, "I take it work is hard to come by around here?"

Amos said, "It must be, for workers to put up with such treatment."

"Very hard, Sab," answered Tuka.  He looked genuinely downcast as he
added, "I may have to turn to thievery to eat."

Nicholas couldn't help but smile at the little man's comic pose.  "I
don't think you have the knack for it."  Tuka nodded in agreement.
Nicholas went on, "Tell you what.  You've done us some good service, so
why don't you work for us while we're in the city.  We'll make sure you
don't starve."

Tuka's face lit up.  "Encosi has need of a wagon driver?"

"Not so you'd notice," said Nicholas.  "But I do need someone who knows
his way around this land, and we don't know a lot of people here.  What
did they pay you?"

"A Serpent River copper pastoli a week and my food, and permission to
sleep under the wagon."

Nicholas frowned.  "I'm not familiar with local currency."  He dug a
few coins out of his pouch, one of those taken from Shingazi's Landing.
Laying them on the table, he asked, "Which is the pastoli?"

Tuka's eyes widened at the coins.  "This one, Encosi."  He pointed to
the smallest copper coin in the bunch.  "What of the others?"  asked
Ghuda.  If Tuka thought it strange that mercenaries didn't understand
the worth of the local coins, he said nothing.  "This is the stolesti,"
he said, pointing to a larger copper piece.  "It is being worth ten
pastolis."  He went through the others, the twenty-stolesti silver
kathanri, and the golden drakmasti, or, simply, a drak.  The rest were
coins from other cities, and Tuka explained that so much alien currency
was in use it was common to pay by type of coin and weight as much as
by official value; most merchants had their own touchstones and no
money changers as such existed.  Nicholas tossed him a stolesti and
said, "Go buy yourself something to eat and a clean tunic."

The little man bowed furiously and said, "Encosi is most generous," He
hurried out of the common room.

Marcus said, "I thought the poor in the Kingdom didn't have much, but
that's poor."

Ghuda said, "They pay wagon drivers about a tenth of what they make in
Kesh."

Nicholas frowned.  "Trade was never a strong subject of mine, but my
guess is that all the fighting and disruption of trade means few jobs,
and a great deal of pressure to make profit."  He shrugged.  "Cheap
labor."  Ghuda nodded.

Amos said, "Which means one good thing."  "What?"  asked Nicholas.

"Bribes will go further here," he said with a grin.  "And it means
we're not simply well off with Shingazi's treasure, we're rich, very
rich."

Nicholas said, "That's good, but it doesn't get us any closer to
finding the prisoners."

"That's true," said Amos.

Nicholas said, "Where are Harry and Brisa?  They should have been back
by now."  He had sent them back into the bazaar to see if Brisa could
make contact with the local thieves and beggars.  "And where the hell
is Nakor?"

Ghuda shrugged.  "Nakor?  He'll show up.  He always does."

NAKOR ENTERED THE palace.  A few minutes earlier, he had spotted a band
of monks heading there just as he was wondering how he might get
inside.  Taking note of their attire, yellow and orange robes, cut
short at knee and elbow, with a black sash across the shoulder, he
quickly improvised.  He fell in step behind the East monk, turning his
rucksack around so that it looked as if he carried a bundle, with a
black sash over his shoulder, and instantly he was another monk from
the order of Agni which he knew was the local name for Prandur, the
fire god and walked boldly into the palace past a pair of Red Slayers
at the doors.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at one as he passed, and
compared him to Amos's description of Murmandamus's Black Slayers
during the Riftwar.  Amos, the only member of the company who had seen
one, had told Nicholas and the others about them after finding the helm
at Shingazi's Landing.  These Red Slayers were motionless, covered from
neck to boots in red chain mail.  Their helms entirely covered their
heads, with two narrow eye slits.  Atop the crest a dragon crouched,
his wings descending to form the sides of the helm.  The dragon's eyes
were either onyx or sapphires, Nakor.couldn't be certain, and he wasn't
about to take a closer look.  Each guard wore a red tabard with a black
circle in the center, in which a golden serpent with a red eye formed
an S. The entrance to the palace was a long passage through what Nakor
assumed was a massive outer wall.  Then they were under open sky and
crossing an ancient bailey, to enter the central palace proper.  They
climbed some steps to a broad entrance-way, between high columns that
held an out thrusting third story aloft.  Atop that was a low
battlement with defensive arrow slits.  Nakor noticed that the attempt
at some sort of classical style hadn't completely abandoned the
concerns of defense.  On the whole, he judged the Overlord's abode a
particularly ugly place.

They marched into the great hall, where others were already assembled.
Conventional soldiers lined the hall, dressed in black with the same
serpent design on their tabards, as a dozen orders of clerics had
gathered ahead of the Fire Monks.  A hundred or so wealthy-looking men,
some traders by their fashion, and the others important captains of
mercenary companies, milled around the formal assembly of monks and
priests.

Nakor fell a step behind the last monk of Agni as they took up their
position to one side of the giant courtyard.  They lined up so that
Nakor was even with two guards standing before giant columns of carved
marble.  He glanced to the right and left, then took a step backward,
putting himself behind the two guards.  He turned and smiled in a
friendly fashion to a merchant who was watching him, then gestured for
the man to take his place, as if he might get a better view.  The man
smiled his thanks and stepped forward to occupy Nakor's former spot.
Nakor ducked into the shadow of a column to observe the ceremony.

Across the room, a number of men and women entered between large
curtains to the rear of a high dias; the last was an impressive figure,
clearly six inches over six feet tall.  He was heavily muscled but not
felt, looking more on the lean side if anything.  His face was long and
would have been handsome if there had not been something cruel in the
eyes and the set of the mouth, evident even from Nakor's distant
vantage point.  There was no doubt this was the Overlord.  He wore a
simple purple toga, cut short at the knees, which displayed his
power-mi physique to good effect.  He raised a gloved hand and
whistled.  An answering shriek sounded from high above in the vault of
the hall and the flap of wings accompanied the descent of an eagle.
Nakor looked at the black bird, a young golden eagle.  Though young,
the bird was big enough that only the strongest man could hold it long
upon his wrist.  Yet the Overlord bore the creature with ease.

Entering next were two women, both dressed in provocative fashion.  One
was blond, wearing a halter top of silk embroidered with gold thread
and rubies.  Her only other clothing was a sheer white skirt that hung
from the hipbone, gathered up to reveal one long leg as she walked, and
held in place by a giant ruby and gold pin.  Her hair was pulled behind
her head with a gold clasp and fell to her shoulders.  She had pale
skin and, Nakor assumed, blue eyes, but he couldn't tell at this
distance.  She was by any standard a strikingly beautiful woman, if too
young for Nakor's taste.  She moved close to the tall man's side, but
kept a pace behind.

The other was equally beautiful, though older.  Her hair was black, but
her skin was almost as fair as the first's.  She wore a short red vest,
partially open in front, showing an ample

glimpse of a high bosom.  Her skirt was cut in similar fashion to the
other woman's, but black.  Her jewelry was no less ornate, sapphires
and gold, though her skirt clasp was set with a single emerald.  She
joined a black-robed man who pushed back the robe's hood, revealing his
face.  He had a bald head and wore a gold ring through his nose.  She
took the man's arm.

A herald called, "Gather and attend, O holy men and women.  Our
gracious Overlord requires your counsel, for a feast is needed.  He
takes a wife, the Ranjana of Kilbar, and would have ceremony and
celebration during the next End of Spring Festival."

The expression of the young blonde showed she was not in the least
pleased at this announcement, but she kept her place quietly behind the
Overlord.

The herald called, "The Lady Clovis."

All eyes shifted to the dark-haired woman as she spoke.  "My lord
Dahakon asks that you all bless this union and prepare those ceremonies
that you deem appropriate for such a state occasion."  The man whom
Nakor took to be Dahakon stood motionless and silent.

Very interesting, thought Nakor.

The Warlord began to speak, and Nakor listened carefully.  He moved
slowly behind the row of columns that supported a gallery above the
hall and followed it down to the corner.  There he ducked deeper into
the darkness and slowly made his way toward the dais, to get a better
look.

HARRY AND BRISA entered the inn.  They made their way through the
crowded room and Harry indicated to Nicholas that he should join them
in one of the back rooms.  Nicholas motioned for the others at his
table to remain, and followed them into the hall.

They entered Nicholas's room and Brisa whispered.  "We've found where
the prisoners have been taken."

"Where?"  asked Nicholas softly.

Harry said, "That estate we saw across the river,"

"Are you sure?"

Harry grinned.  "Brisa took the better part of the day and half the
evening, but we finally found one of the Ragged Brotherhood "

"Who?"

"Thieves," said Brisa.  "That's what they're known as.  Not much to
speak of, mostly beggars and a few pickpockets.  All the really good
thieves work alone or are hunted down by the Overlord's men and
killed."

Nicholas said, "Harry, go get Calls and Marcus."  Harry left, and while
he was gone, Nicholas asked, "Anything else of interest?"

Brisa shrugged.  "I don't know much about cities.  I've lived all my
life in Freeport, and that's nothing to judge by, but if there's a more
miserable pest hole on the planet than this place, including Durbtn,
I've never heard of it."

She frowned, and Nicholas asked, "What?"  "Just .. . something one of
the beggars said.  While I was getting on his good side, convincing him
I wasn't one of the Overlord's "Black Roses," he said he only thieved
where it was permitted."

"Permitted?"

"Later I asked another thief what he meant, and was told that there's
sort of an unofficial set of rules about where you can get away with
thieving and where you're likely to find yourself in the cage."  She
shivered.  "Nasty way to go.  You hang there getting frozen at night,
roasted during the day, can't quite sit or stand, seeing everyone down
in the square going about their business and always feeling like
somehow it's not real."  "You sound as if you've thought a lot about
this," said

Nicholas.

"Show me a thief who hasn't thought about getting caught, and I'll show
you a stupid thief."  She made a face.  "Truth to tell, we're all
stupid.  We think about getting caught, but none of us ever think we'll
get caught."

Nicholas smiled slightly.  "That's pretty self-critical."

Brisa shrugged.  "I've been around Harry too much lately."  She
grinned.  "He's trying to reform me."

Just then the door opened and Harry, Calls, and Marcus entered.
Nicholas told Calls and Marcus what he had been told, then said, "Wait
until late tonight, and see if you can get across the river without
being seen.  I don't know how close you can get to that place
unobserved " , \

Calls said, "I can get very close."

" but try if you can obtain any idea where our people are being
held."

Calls said, "If I go alone, I can do it much better."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow.  Then he remembered the game in the forest,
and glanced at Marcus.

"He probably can," said Marcus.  He looked at Calls, who was regarding
him with a sardonic smile.  "Oh, very well.  He can."

Nicholas paused, then said, "Go with him hallway.  I want someone close
enough to give him some help if he's coming away from that place in a
hurry."

Calls smiled.  "Thank you for the concern.  I hope it won't be
warranted."  He told Marcus, "We should leave now and take our time
reaching that burned-out farmhouse.  I can scout from there."

They left.  Nicholas turned to see Harry standing with his arm around
Brisa's waist in a familiar fashion.  "Oh?"  he said, eyebrows
rising.

Harry said, "Oh, what?"  He noticed he had his arm around the girl and
said, "Oh!"  as he disengaged himself.

With a wry smile, Brisa said, "Nothing to get excited about, Nicholas.
I'm just contributing to Harry's education."

She sauntered out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving
Harry blushing and Nicholas looking at his friend.  "I wonder about
you," said Nicholas.

Harry's blush deepened.  "Well, we've been spending a lot of time
together, and she's really very pretty if you look past all those
terrible clothes and dirt she wears."

Nicholas put up his hands.  "You don't have to explain."  He glanced at
the door, as if he could see through it.  "I find that lately Abigail
is hard to remember."  He shook his head.  "Funny, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged.  "I don't think so.  We haven't seen Abigail or
Margaret for months and .. ."  He shrugged again.

"And Brisa in your bed is a little more real than Margaret in your
dreams?"  supplied Nicholas.

"Something like that."  Then he looked as if he was growing angry. "But
it's more than that.  She's a decent girl, Nicky.  If you or I had it
as rough as she's had it when we were children, we wouldn't have half
her worth.  And I know I can get her to stop being a thief." Nicholas
again put up his hands.  Harry said, "Besides, Anthony's in love with
Margaret, really in love with her."

"You figured it out?"

Harry grinned.  "Took me a while, but I finally figured out It was one
of the two girls he was focusing on when he did that spell.  Then I
remembered that he was pretty relaxed when he was around Abigail, but
Margaret made him fidget like crazy."

"Where is Anthony?"

"He went looking for Nakor," said Harry.

Nicholas made an aggravated sound.  "And where is Nakor?  It's been two
days now."

Harry had no answer.

"I WISH THEY'D stop that' said Abigail.

Margaret nodded.  "I know.  It's unnerving."

The two creatures sat nearby, mimicking the girls' movements as they
ate dinner.  If Margaret cut her meat with a knife, one of the
creatures imitated the motion on an imagined plate and table.

The two creatures stayed a comfortable distance from the girls during
the day, never coming closer than arm's reach.  But they cons tandy
studied the two girls and now they were doing these irritating
mimicries.

Margaret pushed aside the empty plate and said, "I don't know why I'm
eating so much; we don't do anything.  Yet I don't seem to be putting
on weight."

Abigail said, "I know.  I don't want to, but I'm not going to be held
down and force-fed again."  She dutifully chewed a mouthful of food and
swallowed, then said, "And have you ever seen them eat anything?"

"No," said Margaret.  "I thought maybe they were fed after we slept."

Abigail said, "And I've not seem them .. . you know."  Margaret smiled
a wry smile.  "Use the chamber pot," she said.

Abigail nodded.  "I don't think they sleep, either."  Margaret
remembered the one time she had found the creature hovering over her
bed and she said, "I think you're right."  Margaret stood and turned,
and saw the creature she now thought of as hers do likewise.  She heard
Abigail gasp.

Turning, Margaret saw that the creature's body had changed slightly.
She was taller, Margaret's height, and her hips and chest had
broadened, while her waist had narrowed.  Margaret whispered, "What is
going on?"

NICHOLAS LOOKED UP as the door to the hostel crashed open.  Three armed
men barged in, and before any of the soldiers in the common room could
react, a half-dozen bowmen followed.

A large grey-haired man entered after the bowmen, who covered everyone
in the room.  "Who commands here?"  he demanded.

Nicholas stood up and said, "I do."

The old man walked over to Nicholas and looked down his nose at him. He
shook his head.  "I commend your bravery to your captain, boy, but you
do him no honor hiding him from me."

Nicholas said, "Step outside, grandfather, and I will be pleased to
show you that I am, indeed, captain of this company."

The burly old man said, "Grandfather?  Why, you puppy "

Nicholas had his sword out and the point to the man's throat so fast
the bowmen didn't have a chance to pull back and release.  "If you
think your men can kill me before I, can drive the point home, you can
order them to shoot."

The old man held up his hand, warning the bowmen to hold fire.  "If you
are the captain of this company, we've a matter to settle.  We may both
be dead in moments, so don't He to me.  It does no man honor to go to
the House of Lady Kal with a falsehood on his Hps."

Nicholas's men had been moving around the room slowly, getting ready
for the fight.  Amos roared, "Anyone do anything particularly stupid
and most of us will be dead before any of us have an idea what the
bloody hell is going on!"

The old man glanced down.  "Are you sure he's not the captain?"

Nicholas said, "He's the captain of my ship."

The old man asked, "A ship?  You have a ship?"

Nicholas ignored the question.  "Now, care to tell me why you come
barging in here threatening my men and demanding to see me?"

Slowly the old man put the palm of his gloved hand against the blade of
Nicholas's sword and gently pushed it aside.  "I came to see if you're
the men who killed my sons."

Nicholas looked the man over; he was tall, at least his uncle Martin's
height, and as broad in the shoulders.  He wore his hair pulled back
and tied off in a warrior's tail that fell to his shoulders.  From the
scars on his face and arms, Nicholas judged the hairstyle was not a
vanity.  The sword at his side was old but well kept.  "Grandfather) I
haven't killed so many men that I wouldn't remember one.  Who were your
sons, and why would you think I was the man who caused their death?"

The old man said, "I am Vaslaw Nacoyen, Chieftain of the Lion Clan.  My
sons were named Pytur and Anatol.  I think you know of their death
because one of my men saw you enter the city.  With you was a girl I
think comes from the City of Kilbar."

Nicholas glanced at Ghuda and Amos, then put up his sword.  "This is
not a good place to talk," he said, indicating the room full of men
neither of his company nor with Vaslaw.

"We can speak outside," said the old man.

Nicholas signaled to Amos and Ghuda to accompany him.  The two men
rose, and as they reached the door, Nicholas said, "Would you ensure no
one leaves until we return?"

Vaslaw instructed his bowmen to keep everyone away from the door, and
stepped outside.  A dozen horsemen waited outside, and behind them
another dozen fighters on foot.  Nicholas said, "It looks as if you
came prepared for any answer."

The old man grunted, his breath condensing in the night air.  He
motioned for Nicholas and the others to follow and they moved to the
center of the armed company.  "No one who is not of my blood can
overhear us.  Do you know something of my sons?"

Nicholas said, "If they were involved in a very foolish raid up at
Shingazi's Landing, yes, I do know of them."

"They are dead?"

"If they were with that raiding party, they are certainly dead."

"Did you kill them?"

Nicholas carefully framed his answer.  "I don't think so.  We killed
some clansmen who took a wagon caravan, but we found only bear and wolf
talismans."  He purposely neglected to mention the snake, "The others
were green mercenaries who didn't even think to put out a guard."
Nicholas told of the entire encounter, from finding Tuka and the burned
wagons to the discovery of the dead clansmen and mercenaries.

The old man said, "You just happened by?"

Nicholas refused to divulge his origin, so he said, "We just happened
by."

Vaslaw didn't seem satisfied.  "Why should I believe you?"

"Because you don't have a reason not to," Nicholas said.  "What motive
would I have to attack that wagon train?"

"Gold," the man said quickly.

Nicholas sighed.  Being the son of the Prince of Krondor didn't
acquaint one with a proper sense of greed, he realized.  "Let's say
that gold is far down my list of things to covet.  I have other
concerns."

Amos said, "Look, you heard him say I was captain of his ship.  His
father has a fleet."

"Who is your father?"  asked Vaslaw.

Ghuda said, "He rules a distant city.  This is the third son."

The old man nodded.  "Ah, proving your manhood in war.  I understand
that motive."

"Something like that," said Nicholas.  "Besides, a far more important
question is to ask yourself who profits by the death of your sons."

The old man said, "No one.  That's the damnable part of it all.  The
raid was an ill-conceived plot to irritate the Overlord dreamed up by
my sons and some hotheads from the other clans.  Killing all those
young men profits no one, not even the Overlord.  All it achieves is
distrust between all the clans and the Overlord, and a general
lessening of trust in a city that knows precious little of it
already."

Nicholas said, "Well, there's a lot about this that doesn't make any
sense.  What if I told you that twice the raiders left behind enough
gold to ransom a city?  And what if I told you that one of the dead we
found was clutching a Red Slayer helm?"

"Impossible," said the old man.

"Why?"  asked Nicholas.

"Because no Red Slayer has ever left the city without the Overlord.
They are his most personal bodyguards."

Nicholas weighed what to say next.  There was something very basic
about this old man, something that spoke of simpler times when these
people lived much as the Jeshandi did, roaming the plains of grass,
living in yurts, riding after the grazing herds.  The clansmen might be
city men for generations, but they honored their heritage.  They were
rulers and warriors, still a people whose word was considered their
bond.  "What if I told you that another detachment of soldiers came to
finish off anyone who managed to escape and to kill the Ranjana, and
that these were from the Overlord's personal guards, His Radiance's
Own?"

"What proof do you have?"  "I killed a man named Dubas Nebu."  "I know
that swine.  Captain of the Second Company.  Why did you kill him?"

Nicholas explained in detail what they found at Shingazi's, leaving out
only the part about the serpent talisman.  When he was finished, the
old man said, "You've given me and the other clan leaders something to
ponder.  Someone is attempting to set us all against one another, and
against the Overlord."  "Who would benefit from such chaos?"  asked
Amos.  Vaslaw said, "That is one thing I must discuss in council with
the other clan leaders.  We have many rivalries and feuds among the
families of the various clans that is tradition but this sort of
disaster could set us back a dozen years in our alliance with the
Overlord."

"You have an alliance with the Overlord?"  asked Nicholas.  "We do,"
said the old man.  "I can't explain our history to you standing out
here in the cold.  Come to my house in the Western Quarter of the city
tomorrow night and dine with me bring your companions if you fear for
your safety.  I can tell you more then."

He signaled, and a horse was led over.  Despite his years he easily
swung into the saddle, while another fighter opened the door and
signaled for the bowmen to leave the hostel.  Vaslaw said, "I shall
send a guide for you tomorrow.  Until then."  He turned and led his
company away.  Amos, Ghuda, and Nicholas watched the Lion clansmen
leave, and then reentered the commons.

Returning to the table, they sat, and Harry said, "What was that all
about?"

"A dinner invitation," said Nicholas.  Amos and Ghuda broke out
laughing.

CAUS SIGNALED TO Marcus to wait.  They had been in the burned-out
farmhouse for nearly an hour, and both had remained silent, against any
possibility of sentries or patrols.  Crossing the river had proved more
difficult than they had expected, as a squad of guardsmen stood watch
on the bridge.  They had made their way stealthily to the docks, where
they appropriated a small boat.  They rowed across the river and left
the boat concealed in the bushes.

Calls signaled two, and Marcus nodded.  If he wasn't back in two hours,
Marcus was to assume he had been captured or somehow prevented from
leaving.  Marcus would return with the information for Nicholas.

Calls left at a quick trot, dodging across the open road that ran past
the farmhouse into a stand of trees.  Between the boles, he ran
quickly, feeling certain of his ability to hide should the need arise.
The woods were familiar, though he had never trodden the paths between
these trunks before.  His eyes peered into gloom where no human could
see and saw clearly the outlines of brush and branches his nature was
such that he needed almost no light to see.  Only absolute darkness
rendered him sightless.

Reaching the edge of the woods, Calls paused.  He listened, his senses
extending as far as possible.  Animals scuttled nearby, rabbits or
ground squirrels.  Calls send forth a thought of reassurance, and the
rustling sound quieted.

Calls was unique among mortals on Midkemia.  His mother was an elf, but
his father was a human with many of the powers of the legendary
Valheru, whom men called the Dragon Lords.  It was his father's magic
that had made his birth possible, and his father's magic that had given
to his son abilities that could only be called magical.  Calls smiled
slightly, considering what Nakor would say to that.  He had overheard
much of Nakor1 s discussions with Anthony on the ship Nakor would say
there is no magic and that the universe is all composed of stuff. Calls
knew that Nakor was closer to the truth than he understood, and
wondered if he should take Nakor to Elvandar to visit with the
Spellweavers should they all manage somehow to return home.

Calls sprinted from the woods across the road that ran along the
boundary of the estate, little more than a blur in the moonlight unless
someone was staring directly at him.  He moved with unnatural silence,
even for one elven-born and taught.  When he halted behind a solitary
oak that stood near the wall, his breathing was still slow and normal
and there was no sign of the exertion that burst of speed had taken
save for a slight sheen of dampness on his brow.

Calls inspected the wall and waited.  He had inhuman patience and
stayed in one place, unmoving, for more than a half hour.  There was no
sign of movement atop the crenellated wall.  Ducking under a
low-hanging branch, Calls hurried to the base of the wall.  It loomed
fifteen feet high and had little purchase for climbing.  Calls had
carried his bow in his hand; he now slung it over his back and bent
deep at the knees.  With all his power he jumped straight up and with
both hands grabbed the top of the wall.

Silently he pulled himself up high enough to peek over the wall.  The
parapet was empty.  He pulled himself up and over the outer edge, and
crouched down on the rampart in the shadow of the chest-high merlon, so
as not to become silhouetted against the night sky even a few blocked
stars might catch the notice of an alert guard, and the city's distant
light was directly behind him.

Studying the grounds below, he saw why there was no guard atop the
wall.  The estate was immense, with pathways leading between gardens
and outbuildings.  The central house was more than a quarter-mile away
and had its own protective wall.

It was not in Calls's nature to curse fate or demand anything of the
gods.  The search of these grounds would take many nights unless he was
lucky.  He also knew he had less than an hour left to explore before he
needed to return to Marcus.  Not that he worried about getting back
across the river' without the boat he could swim the strong currents of
the river as easily as he jumped to the top of the wall but he was
concerned about Marcus's safety.  Close to the same age as elves count
such things, he was the only friend Calls had in many respects.  Like
Martin, Marcus had accepted Calls without reservation, while even his
closest friends in Etvandar kept some distance.  Calls felt no rancor
or sadness it was simply the elvish way.  His father also had few
friends in any real sense, but his father had the love of a wife and
the respect granted a proven Warleader.  Calls knew his fate was
eventually to leave Elvandar, which had been one of the things
prompting him to accompany Marcus on this voyage.

Calls marked the path through the garden below him, and saw how it
meandered through several landscaped terraces before reaching the main
compound.  He jumped down lightly from the parapet and followed the
path, listening for any sounds of anything approaching as he
explored.

MARGARET AWOKE, PULLING herself upward through a murky cloud of
disorientation.  Her head ached with a strange thudding, and her mouth
felt dry.  Once, when first allowed to drink wine at her father's
table, she had felt this way, but she had not had any spirits with her
meals.

The light was grey, as dawn was still not quite upon them.  Forcing
herself to sit up, she pulled a deep breath of air into her lungs and
was aware of a strange spicy odor, not unpleasant or ofrputting, but
alien.

In the gloom of the bedroom, she saw Abigail's still form on the other
bed, her breathing evident by the rise and fall of her breasts under
the thin blanket.  Abigail's face was contorted, as if she was having a
bad dream.

Then Margaret remembered: it had been a dream that had awakened her.
She had seen herself being held motionless by creatures .. . she
couldn't remember them.

Then she saw movement as one of the two strange creatures stirred.  It
made a brushing motion with one hand, and Margaret felt a dull
surprise, as if strong emotions were being damped by whatever was
giving her the headache.  The creature appeared to be brushing back its
hair.

Margaret got out of the bed, forcing weak and unwilling legs to move.
Heavily she plodded across the room to where the two creatures sat,
their heads close together as if whispering.  Margaret felt a distant
stab of alarm.  The creatures had changed.  As grey light began to come
in through the window, illuminating the room in tones of grey and
black, she could see that the creatures' skin was somehow smoother and
lighter, and atop their heads hair was now sprouting.  Margaret took a
step back, her hand going to her mouth.  One of the creatures had hair
that matched Abigail's blond locks, while the other's was exactly the
same shade as her own.

MARCUS DREW BACK his bow, though he was certain that it was Calls who
approached.  Few other men, perhaps only Marcus's father and some among
the Rangers of Natal, would have sensed his approach in the early
morning gloom.

"Put away your bow," Calls whispered.

Marcus was up and moving without being told.  They were cutting it very
fine if they were to get back across the river without being noticed.
Once they were safely within the flow of river traffic they'd be just
another boat, but anyone seen putting out from this side of the river
this close to the Grand Adviser's estate would be suspect.

Once in the boat, Marcus began rowing.  He said, "Did you find
anything?"

"Little useful.  One oddity: there seem to be no guards and few
servants."

"For an estate that size?"  said Marcus.

Calls shrugged.  "My experience with human estates is limited."  With a
wry grin showing in the predawn light, he added, "This is the first
I've seen."

Marcus said, "From the size of those walls and how far they stretch, I
thought it would be a town within."

"It's not.  Many gardens, empty buildings, and odd signs."

"Signs?"

"Footprints like none I've seen before; smaller than a man's but shaped
somewhat manlike.  Scratchmarks before the toes."

Marcus didn't need to be told that meant claws.  "Serpent men?"

"I won't know until I see one," said Calls.

"You're going back?"

"I must.  There are many places I must explore if we are to find the
captives and discover what is being undertaken there."  He smiled to
reassure his friend.  "I shall be careful, and methodical.  I will
explore the entire outer estate before I explore the inner.  And I will
explore that before I venture into the great house."

Marcus didn't feel reassured, but he knew Calls was fast and strong,
calm and quick-witted.  "How long?"  he asked, meaning to finish the
search.

"Three, maybe four more nights.  Less if find them before I go into the
great house."

Marcus sighed and said nothing as he rowed back toward the docks on the
other side of the river.

(J\ guide appeared.

\, Marcus had selected Amos and Ghuda to accompany him, while Harry and
Brisa were out scouting the city for more clues to the prisoners' fate.
Calls's report had troubled Nicholas; the absence of guards and
servants was simply one more thing that made no sense.  There were too
many mysteries in all of this for the Prince's liking.  The only
positive possibility was the track that might have been that of a
Pantathian serpent priest, in which Nicholas found little comfort.  He
also wasn't pleased at Calls's plan to return, but he couldn't think of
a good reason to say no.

Anthony would remain at the inn with Praji, Vaja, and the other men, to
listen and see what local gossip they could uncover.  Praji and Vaja
had elected to stay in exchange for a stiff payment from Nicholas,
since he had still not told the local mercenaries all the facts of this
journey, but just enough to satisfy them, apparently.  Praji was
certain at least a half-dozen agents of other companies, the mysterious
Black Rose, and other clans were in the commons asking discreet
questions.

Nicholas and his two companions left the hostel.  The journey on foot
took the better part of an hour, which gave Nicholas a good chance to
examine further the City of the Serpent River.

The bazaar and the merchants' quarters that surrounded it, as well as
the docks, were something of a common ground, where men of all clans
and alliances passed freely; peace was maintained by a garrison of the
Overlord's personal guards.  Those black-clad soldiers walked in pairs
everywhere, and occasionally a patrol of a dozen could be seen moving
briskly through the crowd.

But once they left the commercial center of the city, it was clear they
were entering something close to a war zone.  Barricades had been
erected at the ends of streets, forcing wagons and horsemen to make
slow turns to get past them, so charges couldn't be easily mounted. Men
traveled in numbers.  Women were never seen without armed escort. Many
times passersby moved to the other side of the street rather than trust
Nicholas and his friends to be harmless.

Nicholas had noticed that all who passed wore badges of one sort or
another.  The majority were the heads of animals, and these he
understood were the clan badges of which both Tuka and Praji had
spoken.  The others wore mercenary badges, showing to which company
they owed allegiance.  Nicholas had thought about having badges made
for his men, but hoped they'd be gone from the city on their way home
before that step was necessary.  He already felt they had been here too
long.

When they had neared their host's house, the hereditary home of the
Lion Clan, Nicholas saw another example of just what sort of life those
who lived in this city endured: it was an armed camp, and there were
sentries for blocks before the house could be seen.  The house was of
three stories, with an observation turret atop the third floor.  Archer
platforms were manned and the outer wall was seven feet high.  They
entered the gate and Amos said, "A bailey!"

The clear area between the outer and inner wall stretched away and
around the corners of the estate.  An inner wall rose twelve feet high,
and the distance between the two walls was thirty feet.  The guide
said, "Two hundred years ago the Rat Clan and their allies forced their
way into the house itself.  The Clan Chieftain at the time was exiled
in shame; his successor built the two walls so that this might never
happen again."

Vaslaw Nacoyen met them at the entrance, with a dozen of his clan
warriors in attendance.  Nicholas was thankful they had met the
Jeshandi before, as he now could see the relationship between these two
peoples.  The city-dwelling clansmen might wear robes of fine silk and
bathe in perfumed waters, but they were still related in their dress
and weapons.  The men atop the roof carried the short horse bow; not
one crossbow or longbow was in evidence.  The men wore the same
warrior's topknot that Mikola had worn in his yurt, and most of them
wore long, droopy mustaches or closely trimmed beards.

Vaslaw led them into a large room that looked as much like a council
chamber as a dining hall.  A long table stretched across it, set for
dining, with servants waiting.  Vaslaw motioned for Nicholas and his
guests to sit.  The old man made introductions to his one surviving
son, Hatonis, and two daughters.  Yngya, the elder, looked to be near
the end of pregnancy, and she stood clutching the hand of a man
Nicholas took to be her husband.  The younger girl, Tashi, about
fifteen years or so, blushed and kept her eyes lowered.  Then Vaslaw
introduced Regin, Yngya's husband.

When they were all seated, servants began bringing an assortment of
foods, small portions on numerous plates, and Nicholas assumed they
were to sample a little of everything.  A variety of wines were poured
into goblets at the right hand of each diner, to be sampled with
different dishes.

As they dined, Nicholas waited for his host to begin discussions.  The
old man was silent throughout the first portion of dinner.  Then Regin
asked, "You've traveled far, Captain?"

Nicholas nodded.  "Very far.  I am among the first of my people to
visit this city, I suspect."

"Are you from the Wesdands?"  asked Yngya.  The continent of Novindus
was roughly divided into thirds.  The Eastlands, where they had landed,
was comprised of the Hollands, as the desert was called, and the Great
Steppes, the home of the Jeshandi, as well as the City of the Serpent
River.  The Riverlands comprised the heart of the continent, being the
most heavily populated portion of Novindus.  The Vedra River ran
southeast from the Sothu Mountains through this rich farm belt.  To the
west of the river was the Plain of Djams, a relatively inhospitable
grassland populated by nomads, more primitive than the Jeshandi. Beyond
was a gigantic range of mountains, the Ratn'gary the Pavilion of the
Gods which ran north from the sea to the mighty Forest of Irabek, which
lay between the Ratn'gary and the Sothu mountains.  It was beyond this
north-south barrier of mountains and forest that the Westlands lay. 
The average residents of the Eastlands knew little about the Westlands
and those who lived there.  Even less was known of the Island Kingdom
of Pa'jkamaka, which lay five hundred miles beyond.  Only a handful of
bold traders had ever visited those distant cities.

Ghuda asked, "When is your baby due?"  freeing Nicholas from having to
answer.

"Soon," Yngya said with a smile.

As the first-course dishes were being cleared away, Nicholas said,
"Vaslaw, you spoke last night of my need to understand some history."

The old man nodded as he sucked out the last bit of a clam and put the
shell on the plate so the servant could remove it.  "Yes," he said. "Do
you know much about the city's history?"

Nicholas told him what he had learned so far, and the old man nodded.
"For centuries, after we disposed of the Kings, the council of
chieftains ruled well and the city was peaceful.  Many old feuds were
resolved, and we had many marriages between the clans, so that as time
passed, we were forming a single people."  He paused to collect his
thoughts.  "We are a very traditional people.  In our own tongue, we
are called Pashandi, which means "Righteous People."  "

"You are kin to the Jeshandi," observed Amos.

"That means "Free People," But we are, simply, Shandi, 'the People."
Old ways die hard for us.  It is still important to be a hunter and
warrior before all else.  I am a trader of no small accomplishment,
with ships and river caravans leaving and arriving year round.  I've
traded to the Westlands twice in my life, and once even reached the
Kingdom of Pa'jkamaka, and to every city on the Vedra, but my wealth is
of no importance in the council of my clan; it is my good eye and skill
with a bow, my stalking and riding-, my strength with a sword that
earned me the right to rule."

His son looked on with pride, as did his daughters and son-in-law. "But
being first with a sword or bow or on horse does not mean a man is a
wise ruler," said Vaslaw.  "Many chieftains over the years did foolish
things for reasons of pride and honor, and many times their clans
suffered.  The council had final rule in the city, but only a chieftain
could rule those within his clan."  He shook his head.  "Then almost
thirty years ago bad things began to happen."

"Bad things?"  asked Nicholas.

"Rivalries became feuds, and blood was spilled and open war fere
erupted between clans.  There are fourteen clans of the Pashandl,
Nicholas.  At the height of the fighting, six clans Bear, Wolf, Raven,
Lion, Tiger, and Dog were locked in a struggle with five others Jackal,
Horse, Bull, Rat, and Eagle.  The Elk, Buffalo, and Badger attempted to
remain outside the struggle, but they were being drawn in.

"At the height of the fighting, a mercenary captain called Valgasha and
his company seized the council building.  He declared he was speaking
for the non-clan people of the city and declared the bazaar and docks
under his protection.  He killed every clansman that came armed into
those areas.  He almost united the clans against him, but before we
could mount our offensive, he sent couriers begging for truce.  We met
with him and he convinced myself and the other chieftains to end the
fighting; he took the title Overlord.  He's acted as arbiter and
peacemaker with the clans since then, though there have been many
issues left unresolved over the years and the feuds continue."

Nicholas said, "I was under the assumption he was the absolute ruler of
the city."

"He is, but at that time he seemed a more reasonable alternative to
constant fighting.  As peace returned to the city, his hold increased.
First he turned his mercenary company into a city watch, patrolling the
bazaar and docks, then the merchants' quarter.  Next he created a
standing army, elevating his oldest and most loyal soldiers to his
private guard, "His Radiance's Own," and he expanded the old Kings'
palace and took it for his own.  Then Dahakon appeared."  Vaslaw almost
spit the name.  "That black-hearted, murderous swine has been
responsible for the city's becoming a principality with Valgasha as
Prince.  He created the Red Slayers, who are fanatics who need to be
hacked to pieces, for they will not stop fighting once they are set
loose."

"When did all this happen?"  asked Amos.  "Twenty-seven years ago the
trouble started; twenty-four years ago the Overlord became absolute."

Nicholas glanced at Amos, who nodded.  Nicholas said, "What about this
raid we blundered across?"

Vaslaw nodded to his son-in-law.  Regin said, "Some of the younger
warriors seek to undermine the Overlord's domination by sabotaging his
treaty with a trading consortium to the north, and they acted without
permission from their chieftains."

The old man sighed.  "It was a foolish thing, no matter how bravely
they acted.  Such a setback is little more than an irritation to
Valgasha."

Nicholas said, "I think we have common cause.  As I said, I think the
Overlord or someone high in his court was responsible for the death of
your sons."  Nicholas retold the story he had told the night before,
about the attack, the presence of the Red Slayer helm and the arrival
of the Overlord's personal soldiers, but with more detail.

It was Hatonis who asked the first question.  "One thing: what were you
doing there?"

Nicholas glanced at Ghuda, who shrugged, and Amos, who indicated
Nicholas should speak on.  Nicholas said, "I need your oath that what I
tell you does not leave this room."

Vasiaw nodded.  Nicholas said, "I am the son of the Prince of
Krondor."

Hatonis said, "Father said your father ruled some city.  I've never
heard of Krondor.  Is it in the Westiands, as my sister asked?"

"No," answered Nicholas.  He then spent the next hour telling them of
the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Great Kesh, of their journey
across the water and the raids.

By the time he had finished, the meal was over and they lingered over
brandies and sweetened coffee.  Vaslaw said, "I will not call a guest
in my home a liar, Nicholas, but I can scarcely credit your tale.  I
can imagine lands such as you describe, barely, as a storyteller's
device far-reaching kingdoms and armies in the tens of thousands.  But
in real life?  That I find impossible to believe.  We've had our share
of would-be conquerors in our past; at the time we were having our
troubles, the Priest-King of Lanada attempted to conquer the other
cities along the river.  The Overlord allied with the Raj of Maharta to
balk his ambitions.  No, such men are always stopped."

"Not always," said Nicholas.  "My ancestors were conquerors though now
they are heroes in our history."  Glancing at Amos, he said, "But we
wrote the history."

Amos grinned.  "Nicholas speaks only the truth.  You will have to take
ship and come visit someday, Vaslaw.  You will find it strange, I am
sure, but it is true."

It was Regin who asked, "Very well, but what possible reason would some
mysterious agency have to make war across such a vast ocean the one we
call the Blue Sea for booty and slaves, when there are wealthy prizes
so close here?"

Nicholas spoke to Vaslaw.  "You said there were fourteen tribes and
named them.  Was there once a fifteenth?"

Vaslaw's expression turned hard.  He motioned to the servants to leave.
Then he said to his other guests and his daughters, "You must leave as
well."

Tashi looked about to voice a protest over being excluded, but her
father cut her off with a near shout: "Leave!"

When the room was empty save for Nicholas and his friends and Vaslaw,
his son, and son-in-law, the old man said, "Hatonis is my last living
male heir, and Regin shall be next chieftain when I die.  But no other
may hear further.  What do you say, Nicholas?"

Nicholas dug the talisman from his pouch and handed it to Vaslaw.  The
old man looked hard at it and said, "The Snakes are back."

Hatonis said, "Snakes, Father?"  Regin also looked confused.

The old man put the talisman down.  "When I was a boy, my father who
was Chieftain before me told me of the Snake Clan."  He was silent for
a while, then said, "Once we numbered a score of clans.  Three died
out, the Wolverine, Dragon, and Otter, and two others were destroyed in
blood feud or war, the Hawk and Boar.  In the memory of my
grandfather's father's, the Snakes, like the rest of us, lived here in
the city.  There was betrayal, and a dishonor so black no man was
permitted to speak of it, and the Snakes were hunted down to the last
man it was thought and killed," His voice lowered.  "Do you know what
we mean when we say 'to the last man'?"  Nicholas said nothing.  "Every
man, woman, and child who had Snake blood was hounded to earth and put
to the sword, no matter how young or innocent.  Brothers killed their
own sisters who had married Snakes."  He composed his thoughts.

THE KING 's BirccjNEE x

"You are aliens here, so there is much about the clans that you do not
understand.  We are one with our clan totems.  Those of us who
practiced magic took their form, and knew their wisdom.  We spoke to
them and they guided our young men on their vision quests.  Something
happened to the Snake Clan, which had once numbered among the
mightiest.  Something led them into darkness and evil ways, and they
became anathema to their kin."

Nicholas said, "Look at this."  He produced the ring.  "This was taken
from the hand of a moredhel kin of those you know as the 'long-lived'
near my uncle's home."

Vaslaw looked at Nicholas a long time, then said, "What are you not
telling me?"

Nicholas said, "There is one thing of which I may never speak, though
it would cost my life.  I've sworn an oath, as have my kin.  But there
is a reason we are connected, those who came with me across the sea,
and you here, now.  We have a common foe, and it is they who lie behind
all that has transpired, I am sure."

"Who?"  asked Hatonis.  "The Overlord and Dahakon?"

"Perhaps, but even beyond such as they," answered Nicholas.  "What do
you know of the Pantathian serpent priests?"

Vaslaw's reaction was instantaneous.  "Impossible!  Now you spin more
tales.  They are creatures of legend.  They live in a mysterious land,
Pantathia, somewhere to the west snakes who walk and speak like men.
Such creatures do not exist save in tales told by mothers to frighten
naughty children."

Amos said, "They are not a legend."  Vaslaw looked at the old sea
captain.  "I have seen one."  He told them briefly of the siege of
Armengar, when Murmandamus marched against the Kingdom.

"Again I'm tempted to call a guest in my house a liar," said Vaslaw.

Amos grinned and there was no warmth in it.  "Resist the temptation, my
friend.  I've been known to spin a tale now and again, but on this you
have my oath: it's true.  And no man has ever called me oath breaker
and lived."

Nicholas said, "I know nothing of your customs, as you've observed. But
could it have been in the ancient days that this oneness with their
totem could make the Snake Clan vulnerable to the influences of the
Pantathians?"

"No one living knows what horror caused the obliteration of the Snake
Clan, Nicholas.  That dark secret died with those Chieftains who
obliterated them."

Nicholas said, "But whatever that terrible deed was, it could have been
something to do with the Pantathians, correct?"

The old man looked shaken.  "But if the snake people are at the root of
these current problems, how do we resist?  They are phantoms, and no
man here has seen one.  Do we ride in all directions seeking them?"

"We are not without hope," said Amos.

"Why?"  asked Regin.

"Because I've also seen a Pantathian die."

Nicholas said, "They are mortal creatures.  I don't know yet what their
plans are, and I know only that my purpose must be to find those taken
from my homeland and return them.  But in so doing, I believe that
simple act will frustrate these snake creatures, and bring them looking
for me."

Vaslaw said, "What would you have of the Lion Clan?"

"For the moment, peace," said Nicholas.  "I would be happy to see you
avenge yourselves upon those responsible for the death of your people.
It would be in keeping with my purpose, I am sure.  And I may need your
help."

"If we can, we will," said the old man.  "Each chieftain in his turn
must swear many oaths when accepting his office, but one oath is
especially stressed, above all but protecting the clan to death.  That
oath is to hunt down any Snake.  It is said as ritual, and no chieftain
in four generations expected to honor it."  He fingered the snake
talisman.  "Until now."

CA LIS CROUCHED LOW behind a hedge that shielded him from a large
building.  He had already explored several other buildings, locating an
armory, a storage complex, a kitchen complex, and servants' quarters
that were deserted.  There were signs that until recently these
buildings had been in use.  Another kitchen complex was being utilized,
and a great deal of food was being prepared, which puzzled the
half-elf, as the main house was mostly dark.  Only one area seemed
occupied if the lights in the windows were an indication.

He had followed a pair of men dressed in black, wearing red cloths tied
on their heads, who carried hot stew in buckets from that kitchen. They
had entered the large building, admitted through double doors by
similarly dressed guards carrying swords and bows.

CaJis inspected the wall from his vantage point.  The building was
without windows.  It looked like nothing so much as a large warehouse.
He glanced around, seeking any sight of anyone else lurking nearby,
then sprinted for the wall.  With a prodigious leap he jumped straight
to the top of the tile roof.

And almost fell down over the other side.  The building was a hollow
square, a covered hallway surrounding a large open court.  The roof was
narrow and peaked, no more than fifteen feet wide, shingled in red
tiles over what was some sort of storage area.

Crouching down, he peered into the gloom, his more-than-human eyes
showing him clearly what was in the courtyard.  Elven-reared to hold
his emotions within, he was nevertheless shaken by what he saw.  His
hand gripped his bow tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

More than a hundred prisoners lay shackled to heavy wooden pallets
under the sky.  While the season was spring, it was still cold at
night.  Those down below showed the ravages of being kept outside. They
were haggard and gaunt and many were obviously ill.  From the number of
empty pallets, more than half those taken from the Far Coast had
died.

But what caused Calls to feel shock and revulsion was the sight of the
creatures who roamed among the prisoners.  They were grotesque
imitations of humans.  They moved and gestured, and some moved their
lips in imitation of speech, but the voices were wrong, mostly nonsense
syllables.  The two men carrying the stew moved through the yard,
providing a bowlful for each prisoner.

Calls moved slowly along the peak of the roof, seeking to learn as much
as he could about the environs and seeking sight of Margaret and
Abigail.  Mounting a rescue would be difficult.  While those guarding
the prisoners did not appear to be plentiful, there was a lot of ground
to cover getting out of the estate, and most of those below looked
barely fit to move, let alone run.

Calls made a complete circuit of the building, committing every detail
to memory.  For a moment he studied two creatures who squatted next to
a pair of prisoners.  One creature rubbed the hair of a prisoner, who
weakly attempted to pull away.  The creature's gesture was almost
soothing.  Then it struck Calls: the creature resembled the prisoner!
He again scanned the area, and now he could see clearly that for each
prisoner chained to a pallet, there was one creature who was beginning
to resemble that man or woman!  Calls continued around the building one
last time to ensure he wasn't mistaken.  When he reached the point
where he had jumped up, he sprang down, hurrying to a hiding place
behind the hedge.  There had been no sign of the two noblewomen from
Crydee.

Calls felt a small surge of doubt.  Should he return to Marcus and
inform him of the prisoners or continue his search?

Caution overrode any sense of urgency; his nature was not given to
impatience.  He headed back toward the outer wall and the path back to
Marcus.

NAKOR WATCHED WITH fascination.  He had been observing the still figure
in the chair for almost half a day, and despite there being absolutely
no movement from the man, Nakor was nevertheless enthralled.

Since entering the palace, Nakor had wandered completely unhindered
through halls and galleries.  There were no soldiers stationed inside,
except for the entrance hall, and the few servants he spied had been
easily avoided.  Most of the rooms were unused and uncleaned, given the
layers of dust he encountered.  He found it easy to slip into the
palace kitchen and take what he needed, and he always had his apples,
though he felt a twinge of nostalgia for his oranges.  He had grown
accustomed to them.

He had slept in soft beds, and even taken a bath and put on a new robe,
one that had been fashioned for someone not much larger than himself.
He was now resplendent in a lavender robe cropped at the knee and
elbow, with a dark purple sash trimmed in golden thread.  He considered
the possibility of renaming himself Nakor the Purple Rider, but decided
the name somehow lacked panache.  When he returned to the Kingdom, he
would find himself a new blue robe, if he could manage the time.

Early that morning he had spied the beautiful dark-haired Lady Clovis
hurrying along, and he decided to follow her.  She had moved deep into
the palace, down into a lower chamber below ground level.  There she
had met with the Overlord and they had spoken briefly.  Nakor had been
too distant as he hid to either hear them or read their lips a trick he
often found useful but when the Overlord had departed, Nakor had
decided to follow the woman.  Something about her was disturbingly
familiar.

She had entered a long tunnel, and he had been forced to hang back so
he could follow unseen.  He walked for nearly a half hour before he
reached the far end of the tunnel, where he found a locked door.
Picking the lock caused only a short delay, and he discovered stairs
leading down.  Without hesitation he hurried down them, after closing
the door behind him, and entered a completely dark tunnel.  Nakor
paused.  The darkness held no fear for him, but he was not gifted with
unusual sight or hearing, and he was leery of using any of his light
tricks, as they would be mistaken for magic and he had no wish to be
eaten by Dahakon if indeed that was his practice.  Nakor was beginning
to doubt it.  But it was a good story and Nakor was enough of a
pragmatist to consider the unfortunate consequences of discovering it
wasn't just a story.  He reached into his bag and felt around for
another seam he had created in it, one that went to a different place
than the seam leading to the fruit bin in Ashunta.  He stuck his arm in
up to the shoulder and felt around on the table he had prepared before
leaving to find Ghuda, almost two years before.  He had moved a variety
of useful items to a cave in the hills near Landreth, a short distance
from Stardock, and had pushed rocks down to hide the cave from view,
protecting his cache from chance discovery.  Then he had carefully
created the tear in what he called the stuff, at a proper height and
distance from the table for him to reach anything on its surface by
extending his arm through the bag.

He found the object he sought and awkwardly pulled out a lamp.  Closing
the seam, he paused a moment.  Shutting his eyes, he extended his
senses along the lines of power he detected running above him.  No
sudden disturbance of the fabric of stuff" announced some mystic alarm.
Nakor shrugged and grinned in the darkness.  The magician's fabled
arcane alarm must be another lie.  So many lies had been uncovered in
his searching the palace, and he was certain he would uncover more
before this journey was through.  He dug into his belt pouch and pulled
out a flint and steel, and quickly had the lamp going.

Now that he could see, he stood and examined his sur-roundings.  The
tunnel sloped downward slightly and vanished into gloom.  Nakor
followed it until it leveled out.  He examined the walls and saw green
mold growing and puddles of water beneath his feet.  He closed his
eyes, gauged how far he had come since leaving the palace, and decided
he must now be standing beneath the river.  Grinning to himself, he
decided he knew where the tunnel was going.  The destination pleased
him, so he hurried along.

After walking for nearly another half hour, he came to a ladder leading
upward, iron rungs hammered into the side of the tunnel, vanishing into
a well above.  Being in no hurry, he blew out the lamp and climbed the
rungs.  When he reached the top he hit his head on a hard surface.
Rubbing his bump, he cursed silently, then felt around in the dark.  He
discovered a latch, and pulled on it, and heard a metallic click as a
release was sprung.  He pushed upward and the trapdoor grudgingly
moved.  After the darkness, he was almost blinded by the light.  He
peered cautiously upward and saw that he was in a covered well near the
foundation of the burned-out farm.  Delighted at the discovery, he
lowered the trapdoor as he returned below.  He left it unlatched
against the possible need of a quick exit.

Once he was back in the tunnel, he relit the lamp and continued on.  He
found his way to another flight of steps and took them up to another
locked door.  This he carefully picked, and when he had it open, he
peeked through.  Seeing no signs of movement, he hurried through,
locking the door behind him.  He blew out the lamp, for torches burned
in sconces on the wall.  Putting the lamp carefully back into his bag,
he wandered into the basement of what he was certain was Dahakon's
estate across the river from the palace.  Things like secret tunnels
and hidden passages appealed to Nakor, and he thought this day's
exploration delightful.  Besides, he was fascinated by the beautiful
woman who was not who she appeared to be.

He prowled around for most of the morning, looking for her, but all he
saw were silent servants wearing black tunics and trousers, and red
cloths tied around their heads.  At noon he smelled food and snuck into
a kitchen in a building near the rear of the main house.  He saw three
men leave, two carrying a

hot cauldron of food.  Ducking into the kitchen, crouching low, he
peered into the building and saw two cooks hard at work.  He stole a
loaf of hot bread near the door and ducked back outside.  Turning a
corner, he almost walked into a pair of the black-clad men, but
fortunately for him, their backs were turned.  He hurried the other way
and hid behind a low hedge for a minute.

Chewing the bread, he decided to investigate the main house before he
prowled the grounds.  As he started to get to his feet, he noticed
something odd in the grass.  Lowering himself even closer to the grass,
he saw a footprint, barely recognizable as one because the blades had
almost completely recovered from being stepped on.  Nakor was
captivated by the way whoever had walked here had carried himself in
such a way that no dirt beneath the grass had been gouged and few of
the blades were crushed or broken.  He grinned, for no human could have
done this.  Calls had been here the night before.

Nakor was pleased, for now he felt less concerned about the need to
return and inform Nicholas of what he had found.  Besides, he wasn't
entirely sure what it was he had found, so he thought he had better go
investigate and be certain before he returned to the hostel.  And, as
he counted such things, he was having a great deal of fun.

Inside the house again, he discovered a series of rooms in the center
of the building.  In them he found signs of the sorts of practices that
were ascribed to Dahakon.  The remains of several unfortunates were
displayed on the wall, hanging from hooks or impaled on stakes, or upon
shelves.  One poor man hung from a hook through his chest, without an
inch of skin upon his body.  A large man-sized table was covered in
brown stains that could only be blood, and the room reeked of
chemicals, incense, and decay.  In another, Nakor found a library,
which almost made his heart leap.  So many books he hadn't read!  He
moved to the closest shelf and examined titles.  Some he knew by
reputation, but most were alien to him.  He could read most of the
languages represented there, but a few were strange.

He began to reach for a book, when caution held that impulse in check.
He screwed up his face and stared at the books through fluttering lids,
almost closed, but opened just enough to admit light.  He didn't know
why this trick worked,

but he had discovered that by doing that, he could see certain signs of
tricks, or what others insisted was magic.

After a moment he detected the faint blue glow.  "Traps," he whispered.
"Not nice."

He turned his back on the books and crossed to another room.  Opening
the door, he felt his heart leap as he stared into the eyes of a man
sitting in a chair.  It was Dahakon!

The man did not stir.  Nakor slipped through the door and closed it
behind him, and saw the magician's body was motionless and his eyes
were fixed on space.  Nakor walked over to him and bent to stare into
his eyes.  There was something going on in there, he was certain, but
whatever it was, he was not paying attention to Nakor.

Then Nakor saw the other Dahakon, and he grinned.  He hurried over to
the figure that stood motionless against the wall, and he examined it.
The-thing reeked of spices and fragrances purchased from a seller of
colognes and perfumes.  Nakor touched its hand and pulled his own away;
the thing was obviously dead.  Nakor looked into the eyes and
considered what he had seen in the previous two rooms.  Now he knew
where the poor dead man's skin had gone.

Behind the real Dahakon was a study table, with scrolls and other
things of interest, so Nakor sat and began to snoop.

Hours had gone by and he had investigated everything of interest in the
room.  In the desk he had found a crystal lens, and upon looking
through it, Nakor discovered he could see the telltale energies of
tricks.  The blue nimbus around the books in the next room sprang out,
even though he could see only some of them through the open door.  And
around Dahakon a ruby light shone, a thread of which rose through the
ceiling.  "Pug?"  Nakor whispered, and suddenly things made sense.
Nakor knew with certainty what was occupying Dahakon's attention.  With
no apology, he put the appropriated lens in his bag.

He got up, hurried past the motionless magician, and began to retrace
his steps back to the city.  He decided exiting at the burned-out house
would save him the irritation of sneaking out of the palace, though he
would be forced to swim the river.  Feeling sorry for what that would
do to his fine new robe, he moved on.

MARGARET TRIED TO run, but her feet wouldn't move.  She looked over her
shoulder, but couldn't see what was pursuing her.  Ahead she saw her
rather; she opened her mouth to shout for his help, but she couldn't
make a sound.  Panic rose up within her, and she again tried to shout.
The thing behind was almost upon her.  As terror enveloped her, she
opened her mouth.

With a scream she awoke.  The noise startled the two creatures in the
room and they moved away.  Margaret was dripping with perspiration. Her
nightdress clung to her body as she pushed aside the bed covers and
moved to Abigail's bed.  She found herself unsteady on her fee:, but
for the first time in days her mind was clear.

She sat on the edge of Abigail's bed and shook her.  "Abby!"  she
called, keeping her voice low.

Abigail stirred but wouldn't awaken.  "Abby!"  she repeated as she
shook her.

Then a hand fell on Margaret's shoulder and she felt her heart leap.
She spun to warn off the creature, but instead of an alien thing, Abby
stood behind her.  Margaret stood up and pressed her back against the
wall, eyes wide with fear.  The second Abby was nude, and perfect in
every detail.  Margaret had bathed with her friend enough to recognize
the small birthmark above her navel, and the scar on her knee from when
a brother had pushed her down as a child.

Everything about the second Abby was perfect, except for the eyes. They
were dead.  In a distant whisper, the second Abby said, "Go back to
bed."

Margaret glanced behind her as she moved toward her own bed and saw the
second figure was sitting, slack-jawed, in the corner.  Margaret's eyes
widened as she saw herself, also nude, across the room.  Margaret's
scream tore the night.

PLANS

M J icholas looked up.

T Nakor entered the inn, still dripping from his swim across the river.
The little man crossed the crowded common room and sat down at the
table with Nicholas, Amos, Harry, and Anthony.  Praji, Vaja, Ghuda, and
Brisa sat at the next table.  Grinning, he said, "Anything hot to
eat?"

Nicholas nodded and said, "Harry, would you get Nakor some food?"

Harry got up, and Nicholas said, "Where have you been?"

"Around.  Lots of places.  I've seen lots of things.  Interesting
things.  But we shouldn't talk about them here.  After I eat."

Nicholas nodded.  Harry returned with a plate of hot food and a mug of
ale and the entire company sat in silence watching the little man eat.
He showed no discomfort at being the object of so much silent scrutiny.
When he was finished, he stood up and said, "Nicholas, we need to
talk."

Nicholas rose and said, "Amos?"

Amos nodded and followed them.  They entered Nicholas's room and Nakor
said, "I think I know where the captives are."

"Calls has found them," said Nicholas.  He repeated what Calls had told
him.

"But not Margaret or Abigail," said Amos.

Nakor nodded vigorously, his face split into a grin.  "I know

THE KING 's BUCCAMEE R

Calls has been there.  Saw his footprint.  He's very good.  Even a good
tracker wouldn't have seen it, but I was lying hiding and my nose was
an inch from it."  He chuckled.

"How did you get into that estate?"  asked Nicholas.

"Found a passage from the palace that goes under the river."

Amos and Nicholas exchanged open-mouthed expressions of amazement, and
Amos said, "And how did you get into the palace?"

Nakor told them how he had entered it, and of some of the things he
saw.  "This Overlord is a strange man.  He's very preoccupied with
silly things: ceremonies and pretty girls."

Amos grinned.  "Well, you're half right: ceremonies are silly."

Nakor said, "I think he is a tool.  I think this Dahakon and his lady
friend are those who are controlling things.  This Overlord acts like a
man whose mind has been tampered with; he serves his role.  The woman
with Dahakon, she's very interesting."

Nicholas said, "I don't care.  What about Margaret and Abigail?"

Nakor shrugged.  "They must be somewhere in the big house.  I didn't
look.  I can go back and see."

Nicholas shook his head.  "Wait until Calls returns.  I don't want you
tripping over each other over there."

Nakor grinned.  "We wouldn't.  There are things about him that are very
special, and I know how to hide."

Nicholas said, "Nevertheless, wait until tomorrow.  If he's found them,
there's no need for you to return."

Nakor's expression turned serious.  "No.  I will go back."

"Why?"  asked Amos.

"Because I am the only one who can face Dahakon's lady friend and
live."

"Is she a witch?"  asked Nicholas.

"No," answered Nakor.  "How are we going to get home?"

Amos rubbed his chin.  "There are two ships in the harbor, either one
of which would do they are copies of Kingdom ships."

Nakor said, "This is all very strange.  Dahakon is making copies of
people."

"Copies?"  asked Nicholas.

"Yes.  He made a copy of himself.  That's what I saw when the Overlord
was announcing his wedding to the Ranjana.  It's a very good copy to
look at, if you don't get too close, but it's stupid.  It can't talk,
so his lady friend spoke for him.  It smells very bad.  I think he must
make a new one soon."

"How does he make copies!"  asked Amos.

Remembering the room with the corpses, Nakor said, "From dead people.
You really don't wish to know."

Nicholas said, "But the prisoners aren't dead."

Nakor nodded.  "That's the strange part.  Different tricks.  Dahakon's
a necromancer.  The tricks Calls saw are not death tricks, but" he
shrugged "something else.  These are tricks to manipulate living
creatures.  These copies will not be stupid and they will not smell
bad.  This is not Dahakon's trick."

Amos said, "Well, one thing's obvious."

Nicholas said, "Nothing seems obvious to me.  What is it?"

"They're going to take them home."

"The prisoners?"  asked Nicholas.

"No," said Nakor.  "The copies."

Amos stroked his chin.  "But we don't know why."

"Spies?"  asked Nicholas.

Amos said, "A great deal of trouble for little gain.  If the Royal Gull
comes sailing into any Kingdom harbor, there'll be a lot of questions,
and those copies aren't going to escape close inspection.  Much easier
to just slip a couple of folks into Krondor, or Crydee, or wherever,
like that Quegan trader who came to Crydee before the raid.  No, this
is something else."

Nakor said, "We can find out.  It will just take some time."

Nicholas said, "I think we're almost out of time."

Amos said, "Why?"

"A feeling.  Calls said that many of the prisoners have already died.
We don't know if it's from these copies or what, but if we're going to
save any of them, we must do it soon."

Amos shrugged.  "From what Calls said, they're not going to be in much
shape for running."

"Nakor, how for is it from the place the prisoners are being held to
the tunnel?"  asked Nicholas.

"Not far," he answered.  "But it would be difficult.  The prisoners
would have to move into the big house, past the kitchen, and close to
Dahakon's quarters."

"How many servants and guards did you encounter?"  asked the Prince.

"Not many, but there could be more close by."

"Calls says not," said Nicholas.  "Whatever else, the Overlord and his
Adviser both seem to base their power on reputation, not on hundreds of
armed men."

"Maybe they don't want a lot of witnesses, and don't have that many men
they can trust," ventured Amos.

Nicholas said, "As soon as Calls locates the girls, I think it's time
to get out of this city.  If we can get the prisoners to that
burned-out house and have some boats waiting there, we can head
downriver to the sea, and pick them up."

"Which means we have to steal one of those ships," said Amos.

"Can you do it?"

Amos looked grim.  "We don't have enough men.  With thirty-five men ...
I need at least two dozen to go out and take that ship out of the
harbor, and that few only if there's only a station-keeping watch
aboard and the rest of the crew is out in town.  If they have even a
dozen men aboard, it could be a close fight, and I might not have
enough crew to get her under way before others come aboard."

"That would leave me with only eleven to get the prisoners out," said
Nicholas.

"You could get some help," said Nakor.

"Perhaps Vaslaw would help," said Nicholas.

Amos said, "Those men of his are probably great fighters when it comes
to riding around on horses making a great deal of noise, but we need
some practiced skulkers to get in and out of that estate."

"Maybe Brisa could speak to the thieves?"  suggested Nicholas.

Amos rubbed his hand over his face in frustration.  "Perhaps, but from
what she said, they sound like a pretty shy and sorry lot; nothing like
our Mockers.  Maybe Praji and Vaja could find us a half-dozen reliable
kds who'll show some courage for the right amount of gold."

Nakor said, "You'll find someone.  It will be good."  He turned for the
door.

"Where are you going?"  asked Nicholas.

"I'm going to sleep," he answered with a grin.  "Soon it's going to be
very noisy and busy, with lots of running around."

He left, and Amos shook his head.  "He is the strangest man I have ever
encountered, and I've met my share of strange men."

Nicholas had to laugh.  "But he's been a great help."

Amos remembered Arutha's caution about listening to Nakor and felt his
own smile fade.  There was something dark coming at them, and fast, and
Amos knew that when he'd had that feeling before, good men had died.

Saying nothing more, they returned to the common room.

ANTHONY SAID, "NICHOLAS, can I talk to you?"

Nicholas, who had been returning to his room, nodded, waving for the
young magician to follow.  Anthony closed the door to his own room,
crossed the hall, and entered after Nicholas.

"What is it?"  asked Nicholas, stifling a yawn.  The tension of waiting
for Calls to return was wearing him down to a nub.  He sat on the bed
and motioned for Anthony to sit at the single chair next to the small
table provided by the hostler,

Anthony seemed to have trouble speaking, and Nicholas tried to be
patient.  He pulled off his boots and flexed his left leg.

"Does it hurt?"  asked Anthony.

Wiggling the toes of his left foot, Nicholas said, "No.  Yes.  I mean
no, not really.  It's ... a little stiff, that's all.  It's not a pain,
just ... I remember how it hurts, when I get overtired.  It's
anticipating the pain, if that makes sense, as much as any real
discomfort."

Anthony nodded.  "It makes sense.  Old habits are hard to forget, and
old fears are habits."

Not in the mood to talk about his own worries, Nicholas said, "What did
you want to talk about?"

"I feel useless."

Nicholas said, "We've all been feeling that way, having to wait "No, I
mean even when there are things going on, I don't feel as if I'm much
help."

"Might I remind you that if you hadn't been able to track

Margaret, we might all still be out on the sea, dead from starvation
and lack of water?"

Anthony sighed.  "Since then."

"You kept at least three men I can count from dying.  Isn't that
enough?"

Anthony let out a long sigh.  "Perhaps you're right."  He reached into
his tunic and pulled out the talisman that Pug had originally given to
Nicholas.  "I sometimes wonder if it's time to use this.  Pug said I
would know."

"If you don't know, don't use it," answered Nicholas.  "He said it was
to be used when there is no other choice, according to Nakor."

Anthony nodded.  "That's what he said.  But we still haven't found
Margaret and Abigail."

Nicholas leaned forward and put his hand on Anthony's shoulder.  "We've
all been through a lot to find the prisoners, Anthony.  I know how you
feel about my cousin..  .."

Anthony lowered his eyes and appeared thoroughly embarrassed.  "I try
to hide it."

"Mostly you do a fair job."  Nicholas leaned back again.  "I feel
something for Abigail, too, though lately it seems more like a childish
affection."  He looked at Anthony and added, "But I can see your
feelings run deeper.  Have you said anything to her?"

"I didn't dare," said Anthony, almost in a whisper.  "She's the Duke's
daughter."

Nicholas smiled.  "So?  We've had magicians in the family before, and
Margaret's not exactly your run-of-the-mill court lady."

Anthony said, "I've felt terrible thinking that I might never get to
say anything to her,"

Nicholas nodded.  "I understand.  Still, if we can get just one of
those poor wretches home again to the Far Coast, we've done right by
those who look to the crown for protection."  Grimly he said, "Even if
it's too kte for Abigail and Margaret."

"You have a plan?"

Nicholas sighed.  "I've had nothing to do but sit around and plan.  I
dunk we're running out of time.  I can't tell you why, but there's a
... feeling."

"An intuition?"

"Perhaps.  I don't claim any magic powers.  I just know that if we
don't act soon, it will be too late."

"When do you plan to move?"

Nicholas said, "I'm going to speak to Praji and Vaja first thing in the
morning.  I don't want too much time to pass between recruiting some
swords and acting less time for the Overlord's "Black Rose' to discover
what we're doing.  If we can get twenty reliable men, we'll go for the
ship after dark tomorrow, and the prisoners before dawn.  If we don't
have twenty, we'll move with what we can hire the night following."

Anthony said, "It will be good to act."

Nicholas nodded.  Anthony rose and let himself out.  Nicholas lay back
in his bed, staring at the wooden ceiling and thinking.  Was he really
feeling some sort of intuitive leap that would get them on their way
home before further disasters struck?  Or would his impatience lead
them into another tragedy?  When he was with Amos and Ghuda, talking
with the others, he felt firm in his decisions.  He knew that his
training at home had been designed to give him the best tools possible
for making difficult decisions, but when he was alone, the doubts
returned, and his fears with them.  His foot always throbbed at night
before he fell asleep, and he knew that wishing it away would not
suffice.  He needed to be right.  Lives depended upon that.  He felt
like crying, but he was too tired.

CA LIS LISTENED AND waited.  Two men walked below, speaking softly and
ignorant of his hovering above them, safely hidden in the shadows of a
tree.  The heavy foliage and the darkness masked him from view.  He
waited until they had disappeared around a corner of a wall, then
lowered himself, landing on the inside of the court.  He waited,
listening.  He might be on the other side of the wall, but that didn't
mean the two men might not have heard him.

His caution was excessive; no human could have heard the faint sound of
his passing; no cry of alarm was raised and no attack came.  He looked
around the garden.  It was a small one, with a single bathing pool in
the middle.  Overhead a soft gauzy cloth cover had been placed to cut
the harsh rays of the sun during the hottest part of the day, while
keeping the garden bright.  Large doors and windows opened on the-small
sanctuary.  Calls had already investigated two other similar gardens,

finding both deserted, overgrown with weeds, their ponds filled with
stagnant water.  This one was well tended and clean.

Calls hurried across the relatively open expanse and peered into the
window.  It was shuttered, but through the lattice he saw a figure on a
bed.  Her hair was pale yellow in the lantern light, but Calls couldn't
make out her features.  It was likely to be Abigail, from the
description he had heard several times.  Margaret he knew by sight, but
this girl was unknown to him, having come to Crydee after his most
recent visit prior to the raid.  A less cautious being might have
chanced that it was one of those he sought, but Calls knew the patience
of a race that counted lives in centuries.

He left the window and examined the door.  It was wood, with a single
handle and no apparent lock.  He listened for several minutes and heard
no sound of movement.

He reached for the handle, but something made him pause.  He returned
to the window and looked again.  He had heard a sound, though he hadn't
been conscious of it.  Now he saw the source.  Another girl sat on the
bed next to the first, and Calls's eyes widened.  She was twin to the
first.

Calls stepped away from the shuttered window.  He had seen the
horrifying vision in the large enclosed yard, and had gleaned that
somehow alien creatures were being transformed by arcane, dark powers
into copies of the people who had been kidnapped.  Obviously it was
being done to Abigail.

Then Margaret walked into view.  But instantly, senses more acute than
any human's recognized that this was not Duke Martin's daughter.  The
movement was wrong, the way she held herself was wrong, and her
expression was not human.

At a loss for what to do, Calls waited.  That was something that came
easily to him.

NICHOLAS GOT OUT of bed.  It was an hour before sunup, but he couldn't
sleep.  He went to the large room where a dozen men were sleeping, six
beds against each wall, and picked his way to the pallet where Praji
slept.  Vaja was lying across the aisle from him.  Nicholas shook
Praji's shoulder gently, and the mercenary was instantly awake.

Nicholas motioned for him to follow, and Praji walked after him.  He
didn't bother to put on his boots or cloak, as Nicholas was also
barefoot and wearing no warm outer garment  In the deserted common
room, Nicholas said, "We're going to have to make some decisions, both
of us."

Praji said, "You're going to tell me the truth?"

Nicholas said.  "It's a long story.  Sit down."

Praji pulled out a chair while he stretched and yawned.  Sitting
heavily, he said, "Make it interesting, Captain.  I don't like being
awakened prematurely.  Most of the time it means someone needs
unexpected killing."  His smile was not a pretty sight in the predawn
gloom.

Nicholas told him everything, save of the Lifestone and the Oracle of
Aal, that stood guard over it deep beneath the city of Sethanon.  But
he told of his father, and the Kingdom, and the raid on Crydee.  When
he had finished, dawn had broken, and Keeler had come into the common
room, making ready for the day's business.  Hot bread was delivered
from the bakery two doors down, and fruit and cheese shortly after.
Without interrupting, he brought over a meal for Nicholas and Praji,
moving quickly enough to ensure he couldn't be accused of overhearing
their low discussion.  Keeler was experienced enough with the way of
mercenary companies to know dial ignorance often meant staying in
business or, more important, alive.

When he was finished, Nicholas said, "I need a dozen men twenty would
be better; they must be trustworthy, and I'll make it worth their
while.  They have to be willing to sail out with us and be dropped off
up the coast, so they have to be tough enough to make their way back as
best they can.  Can you do it?"

"Can's not the question.  Will is.  How much is worth their while?"

"What would you judge it worthwhile to steal something very precious
from the Overlord and his wizard?"

Praji grinned.  "For me, it would be a pleasure to do it for its own
sake.  I still have that bastard's name on my list.  If I can't kill
him personal-like, then I might as well irritate him.  But for fellows
to go against his soldiers, especially if it's them Red Slayers, well,
that's real pr icy

"How pr icy

"A year's wages for a caravan guard, I'd think.  Say a hundred golden
draks better make it a little more."

Nicholas considered what that was in raw weight, and how much gold he
had taken from Shingazi's Landing.  He said, "If you can vouch for
them, I'll make it two hundred draks a man, with another hundred extra
for you and Vaja to make sure they are trustworthy and follow orders. I
don't want any Black Rose agents with us."

Praji nodded.  "I know twice that number of rough fellows from my years
on the road.  None of them would be likely agents.  It may take me all
day to track them down, and I'm going to have to lie to those I don't
want coming along."

Nicholas nodded.  "Tell them we're getting ready to transport a wealthy
merchant and his family upriver, ten boats taking household and
servants.  Tell him the merchant is very fussy and wants your personal
guarantee, so you can't hire anyone you don't know well."  Then
Nicholas said, "How'd you like to be a captain?"

"My own company?"  He scratched his chin.  "Wouldn't hurt my standing
any."

"Fine, then tell anyone who asks that the merchant will give you enough
to form your own company and you're taking only men you know well."

Praji smiled and nodded.  "You're one sneaky bastard, Captain.  Few men
want to join a company just starting out, unless it's old friends. Now,
where do you want me to muster the boys?"

"Tell them to stay close.  Put them in inns nearby, in twos and threes,
and have them ready to move as soon as I give the word."

"Well, I better go wake up Vaja, and let him eat something he's like a
cranky old woman if he doesn't break his fast in the morning makes him
difficult to put up with during a siege, let me tell you."

"Send Tuka to me as well," said Nicholas.

Praji nodded and left.  Others started drifting into the common room as
the day broke, and by the time Tuka put in an appearance, sleepily
scratching his head, Amos and Harry were eating at the table with
Nicholas.

Nicholas said, "I'm going to need your talents today."

Tuka said, "What must I do, Encosi?"

"How difficult is it to get ten riverboats for a journey northward?"

"Not difficult, Encosi."

"How long will it take?"

'22

"I can secure such boats for you by noon.  Ensuring they are ror thy
for the journey will take the rest of the day."

"Do it in half the time.  By sundown I want them tied up at ic docks,
fully provisioned."

Amos rested his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand.  We're
leaving?"

"Soon," said Nicholas.  "I want you to make a list for Harry nd Brisa."
To Harry he said, "Go wake up Brisa.  You two go /ith Tuka.  Inspect
the boats with him; then go shopping for to res  See that everything
you can get is delivered to the docks this afternoon, and have it
aboard the boats by sundown.  I'll have some soldiers guarding them all
night. I want to be able to nove with an hour's notice."

Harry nodded.  Between his ability to scrounge and haggle, nd Brisa's
streetwise sense, they should be able to get what hey needed quickly,
without calling undue attention to them-elves.  The City of the Serpent
River had enough foreigners with strange accents conducting business
that, with a lit de circumspection, they would pass almost unnoticed.

Nicholas said to Amos, "As soon as Marcus and Calls re-urn, I want you
and Marcus to go fishing."

Amos signed and heaved himself from the table.  "I expect "yOu'll want
us to see what the catch is like near those two var ships

"Exactly.  This will all come to nothing if we can't take one >f those
two ships and sail to the river mouth to pick up the it ores and
prisoners from the boats."

"You've got the men?"

"Praji will have another twenty for us by sundown."

Amos said, "That's still cutting it thin.  I'll need most of the men
from Crydee to take that ship.  I can't count on hired words, and few
of them may have any experience in boarding i ship."

Nicholas nodded.  "I'll keep Ghuda, Marcus, and Calls, but you take as
many of the others as you need.  I'm putting Harry in charge of the
river boats."

Amos glanced around as the room filled with hungry soldiers and
sailors.  "Well, most of the lads will be glad to be doing something.
This waiting around was beginning to get on some of their nerves.  No
fights yet, but some testy remarks and short tempers."

"I think they'll have plenty to keep them busy, very soon," said
Nicholas.

MARCUS AND CA LIS entered the inn an hour later, and Calls said, "We've
found them."

Nicholas motioned for Amos, Chuda, and the other two to accompany him
back to his room and said, "Where are they?"

Just then the door opened, and as Nicholas had his sword half out of
its scabbard, a sleepy Nakor entered.  "I heard you from the next
room."  He yawned, then said, "Where are the girls?"  _

Calls said, "There is a small apartment in the southeastern corner of
the estate, two rooms and a small garden.  One of the rooms is empty.
Margaret and Abigail are in the other."

Nicholas said, "Are they all right?"

"It is hard to say.  I saw two Abigails."

"They're making copies," said Nicholas.  "Why are they not with the
others?"

Calls shrugged.  Nakor said, "Maybe they need them for different
reasons."

" "Them* being the girls or the copies?"  asked Marcus.

"Either."  Nakor shrugged.  "I'm guessing.  But they are the only
nobles among the prisoners, right?"  The others all agreed.  "Then
perhaps they will be subjected to closer scrutiny?"

Nicholas said, "You're right.  But how did they expect to pass off all
these counterfeits?"

Amos said, "They have two copies of Kingdom warships.  It's clear to me
that they intended to capture the Royal Eagle at Barran, take her off
to somewhere near Freeport, then sink her."

Marcus said, "Wait.  Why not sail her down here?  Why go through all
the trouble of making a copy?"

Amos said, "Perhaps they didn't have enough men to sail her back here
along with the black ship.  They hired a lot of foreigners, including
Durbin slavers and Tsurani assassins.  They recruited men from Kesh and
renegades from Freeport.  They may not have had many men to spare for
the journey, and they certainly didn't want witnesses from our part of
the world coming back here with them."  He scratched his chin.  "It's
been known since last winter that your rather intended to establish
that garrison at Barran, Marcus.  And given the normal patrols I'd
established, and the newer Dragon being the new flagship of the fleet,
the Eagle was almost certain to be the ship sent to the Far Coast."  He
shook his head.  "This has been long In planning.  Nicholas, if either
the Gull or Eagle came sailing into Ktondor with someone claiming to be
a common sailor at the helm, claiming all the officers were dead the
people on the ship might convince your father that they had been
carried down to Kesh, somehow conspired with the survivors of the raid
to escape, or some other nonsense.  Especially if they're all drilled
in the same story.  Arutha would have no reason not to believe them,
and as most of those returning are from the Far Coast, who would
recognize their behavior as strange?"

Nicholas said, "But sooner or later someone from Carse or Crydee would
come to see Abigail or Margaret."  He didn't mention Martin by name,
for he and Marcus both knew he might be dead.

Ghuda said, "Being hauled off by slavers would change a person, so odd
behavior for a while wouldn't arouse suspicion.  I've seen people who
couldn't remember their own family after surviving a raid."

"But only for a while," Marcus pointed out.  Thoughtfully he said,
"Sooner or later someone would make a mistake and give away the ruse.
Which means that they don't expect the impersonations to be necessary
for more than a few weeks, a few months at most."

"So now we're back to why they're doing this in the first place."
Nicholas made a dismissive motion with his hand.  "Well, if they're
under manned that explains why they've kept this city and region on the
edge of a low boil for twenty years."

Marcus said, "You mean secretly causing trouble between the clans while
appearing to be a mediator?"

Nicholas nodded.  "Makes sense.  If this Overlord has a secret agenda,
causing himself trouble such as a betrayed alliance makes sense.  He
looks as much like a victim of plots as the clans.  If all had gone
according to plan, he would have killed a lot of young clansmen, some
mercenaries, and the Ranjana and her maids.  He risked only a few men
in battle."  Nicholas shook his head.  "And the clans would have found
themselves in the position of trying to persuade him they weren't
responsible!"

Amos said, "Of course.  If the clans think his plan is to take control
of the city and displace them, they'd welcome any set The KING 's

BUCCANEE K

back he suffers.  But if they think someone else is trying to cause
trouble, they'd try to make peace with him.  And all the time he really
doesn't care about consolidating his holdings."  He brightened.  "The
appearance of might is just as good as real might."

Nakor said, "There are not many soldiers inside the palace.  I saw some
in the barracks outside, but inside, there were only some in the great
hall, and none anywhere else.  There are few living there; not many
servants or guards.  It is mostly empty.  It is like Dahakon's
estate."

Calls said, "That was my experience.  I saw only a few men, none armed,
and most of the buildings were deserted."

Ghuda said, "If I didn't need to really fight anyone, I could keep
things lively around here with as few as a hundred men, especially if I
turned them out in different company uniforms from time to time, and
had some dressed as Red Slayers."

Nicholas said, "What are they doing?  Why these copies of our
people?"

Amos said, "We can speculate later, but what we need to do now is see
if we can take one of those ships."

Nicholas nodded.  "Marcus, I know you're tired, but go with Amos.  Take
Ghuda with you."

They left.  Nicholas said, "Calls, rest for a while.  Then you, Nakor,
and I will make a plan to get into the estate and free the
prisoners."

Calls said, "Very well."  He left as well.

Nakor said, "I've rested.  I'm going shopping."

"What for?"

"Some things I will need.  Dahakon is being kept busy by Pug.  But his
woman, this Lady Clovis, she will cause trouble for us."

"Why?"  asked Nicholas.

"You know what Praji said about her being a soul drinker?"

Nicholas nodded, his race showing his concern.  "Is she?"

Nakor shook his head emphatically.  "No, no.  That's a story to scare
people."

Nicholas said, "That's a relief."

"She's something else."

"What?"

"I don't know.  I have a thought.  Can't be sure until I talk to
her."

"You're going to talk to her?"  Nicholas was astonished.

Nakor grinned.  "Maybe.  I'd rather avoid that, but you never can tell;
I may not have a choice.  I do know she's very dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because she's the one who is running things."

"This raid?"

Nakor shook his head.  "I mean everything.  She's the one who controls
Dahakon and the Overlord.  She's the true power behind all the strange
things in this city.  She's the real danger here.  It is likely she is
the one in contact with the Pantathians."

Nicholas said, "Can you face her?"

Nakor laughed.  "Facing her is easy.  Surviving is hard."

Nicholas was forced to laugh.  "What do you need?"

"Oh, some things.  And I'll need Anthony with me."

"Ask him.  I think he'll go."

"Probably.  He's like that," said Nakor.  "I will be back before
nightfall."

He left the room, and Nicholas sat down to think.  He began reviewing
the timing of the elements of his plan in his head.  The ship would
have to be taken and sailed through the outer harbor to the river
mouth, where it would meet the boats and load cargo and passengers
aboard.  The boats would have to be taken from the river docks to a
beach near the burned-out farmhouse to pick up the prisoners, then move
down the river to meet the ship.  The prisoners would have to be freed
from the estate and moved to the farm and defended until the boats got
there.

He fell back on his bed and threw his arm across his eyes.  His left
foot began to throb.  "This will never work," he groaned.

GHUDA STOOD ON the roof of the hostel, atop an observation platform
once used to alert those inside the small complex of approaching
trouble.  Praji and Nakor climbed up the small ladder from inside the
building.

"What are you doing up here?"  asked Praji.  "Nicholas wants us to make
plans."

Ghuda held up his hand.  "In a minute."

Nakor said, "Oh."

Ghuda pointed to the sunset.  "You once said, "There are sunsets above
other oceans, Ghuda.  Mighty sights and great wonders to behold."
Remember?"

Nakor grinned.  "To get you to come along."

Ghuda smiled.  "I haven't taken the time to watch one.  Thought this
might be my last opportunity."

Praji said, "Grim talk."

Ghuda shrugged.  "I'm not one given to premonitions, or fatal
resignation, but in our line of work .. ."

Praji nodded, saying nothing.

The sun lowered over the city.  From their vantage point at the
southern end of the bazaar, a vast sea of roofs led off in all
directions.  The city curved back along the bay on one side, the
estuary on the other, so that beyond the buildings to the west they
could see the ocean, a thin strip of blue water along the horizon.

The sun sank lower, an orange ball partially masked by the evening
haze, moisture coming in from the water.  Low clouds presented black
faces, with silver, golden, pink, and orange highlights, and the sky
was streaked with reds and golds.

The orb of the sun lowered until it disappeared, and at the last
instant, they saw a green flash.  Ghuda smiled.  "I've never seen that
before."

Nakor said, "Most people don't.  You have to watch a lot of sunsets
over water to see it.  Clouds have to be right in the sky and the
weather must be right, and even then you can miss it.  I have seen it
only once before in my life."

Praji said, "Worth the watching."  He laughed.  "Come along.  That's
the last fun we may have for a while."

Ghuda lingered a moment, then said, "Wonders to behold."  He turned and
followed the others below.

ESCAPE

Harry ran into the room.  Nicholas asked, "What?"

Breathlessly he said, "There's a detachment of the Overlord's soldiers
heading this way."

"Here?"  asked Marcus, standing up and pushing back his chair.

"Maybe.  I don't know.  They're crossing the bazaar and heading down
the street.  And they don't look happy."

Nicholas said, "Brisa, get up on the roof and shout if they're coming
this way."  He barked orders to the men of Crydee, who hurried to carry
them out.  It was midday, and a half-dozen strangers were in the common
room.  Nicholas shouted, "Anyone here who doesn't wish to find himself
in the middle of a fight better leave now!"

A couple of men ran for the door, while others moved in a more sedate
fashion.  Suddenly Nakor shouted, "Nicholas!  That man!  Don't let him
go!"

Nicholas spun around as a thin man in nondescript workman's clothing
hurried toward the door.  Nicholas leaped to stop him, drawing his
dagger.  The man pulled a dagger from his belt and lashed out.  Vaja
stepped up behind the man, hoisted his sword high, and slammed the bell
guard down on the smaller man's head.  He collapsed to the floor, the
dagger falling from limp fingers.  Ghuda and Praji quickly hoisted the
man to his feet, bleeding slightly from a scalp wound.

"Get him out of here," said Amos.  "Someone clean up the mess."

Ghuda and Praji dragged the semiconscious attacker into the back room.
Harry knelt and cleaned up the blood with a bar rag, then tossed it to
Keeler, who hid it behind the bar.

Nicholas asked Nakor, "What was that about?"

"I'll tell you after the soldiers have left," answered Nakor as he
hurried toward the back room.

Nicholas said, "Marcus, you, Calls, and Harry wait in the back with
Ghuda and Praji.  Vaja, stay close.  Everyone try to look surprised
when those soldiers come in, but the moment I give the word ..."

Marcus said, "We'll be ready," as they headed for the back room.

In the common room, they sat, but hands rested near sword hilts, and
they inspected the room, noticing the position of tables and
anticipating the best lines of attack if they had to leave their chairs
quickly.  Four men stood at the bar, looking into half-empty mugs,
daggers hidden out of sight but ready.  Keeler cocked a heavy crossbow
behind the bar.

Nicholas heard a voice of female outrage and knew the Ranjana was
complaining about something.  He was half out of his chair to
investigate when the door flew open and an officer and four guards came
into the room.  The officer wore a uniform similar to that worn by the
twenty men Nicholas had encountered at Shingazi's Landing.

"Who commands here?"  he asked loudly.

Nicholas continued coming to his feet and said, "I do.  I'm Captain
Nicholas."

The man's eyes instantly flicked to look at Nicholas's feet.  The
Prince felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but he willed
himself to calmness.  All the captain saw was two normal boots.

"We understand you have a girl with you," said the captain, slowly, his
voice deep, his words chosen carefully.  "If she is who we think she
is, you may be eligible for a reward."

Nicholas forced a grin.  "Girl?  We don't have any girl with us.

The captain of the guard motioned for his men to spread out.  "Search
every room."

Nicholas moved to put himself between the closest guardsman and the
hallway leading to the rear.  "I have a couple of sick men back there;
I don't want them disturbed.  I said we don't have any girl with us."
His voice was loud and his words enunciated clearly.  He let his hand
rest on his belt knife.

The guardsman looked over his shoulder awaiting instructions.  The
captain turned to the man closest to the door and nodded.  That soldier
opened the door, and another dozen men Bled into the room.  "We prefer
to see for ourselves," said the captain after his men were inside.

Nicholas said, "I prefer that you don't."

"What's all the noise?"  asked a feminine voice from behind.

Nicholas turned to see Brisa appear at the door to the back.  He
glanced at Amos and Anthony, both of whom stared at the girl.  She was
without her usual man's shirt and trousers, and instead wore a skimpy
vest without benefit of shirt or blouse beneath which hung open,
showing off a much fuller bosom than Nicholas had suspected, and a
slender waist and flat stomach.  Around her hips stretched a thin
skirt, gathered up in a large knot at one hip, hanging precariously off
the other, and tracing every curve of thigh and leg as she moved.  Her
hair was tousled and she yawned.  She moved languidly across the room,
swaying her hips in an exaggerated fashion.  Reaching Nicholas's side,
she slipped her arm through his and said, "Why all the yelling,
Nicky?"

The guard captain said, "You lied to me!"

Nicholas responded, "I said we had no girl with us.  This is my woman."
As a guard moved toward the hallway, Nicholas said, "I still don't want
you back there."

Brisa said, "Oh, I don't mind," adding, to the captain, "Our room is a
mess, so please be careful."

Nicholas glanced at her and she nodded slightly.  "Very well," he
said.

A half-dozen soldiers moved back into the rear of the hostel, to
reappear a few minutes later.  "No sign of any other women, Captain.
Just some sick men lying in the common sleeping room in the back."

The captain threw Nicholas a long look, then turned and left without
comment.  Nicholas nodded once to one of his own men, who glanced
through the shutters on the window.  "They're leaving, Captain," he
reported.

Nicholas turned to Brisa.  "Where are they?"

"Up on the roof," said the girl with a relieved expression.  "Nakor and
Calls are up there with them."

Nicholas grinned.  "You're brilliant."

"This wasn't my idea," she said, her voice turning angry as she noticed
every man in the room staring at her.  She pulled the tiny vest closed
in front, then crossed her arms when the small garment wouldn't
adequately cover her.  "Nakor heard you yelling at the captain.  That
little bastard pulled me off the ladder when I started to climb to the
roof like you told me.  Then he pushed me into the Ranjana's room, and
told Calls, Marcus, and Harry to take the girls up on the roof and pull
up the ladder through the trapdoor in the ceiling.  Next he grabbed my
shirt and pulled it open ripped all the buttons off and had it off me
In a blink!  Before I could move, he yanked my trousers down around my
ankles and I was standing there starkers!  Then he pushes me into this
pile of clothing that witch had and said to put on something skimpy and
get out and distract everyone for a few minutes."

Amos grinned.  "Well, my pretty wench, you certain did that."

Blushing furiously, the girl turned and headed back toward the
Ranjana's quarters.  "I've never been so embarrassed in my life
parading around half-naked like a Keshian tavern dancer!  I'm going to
kill that little monkey!"

Nicholas watched her disappearing into the hall, and the way her hips
moved under the skimpy skirt.  Amos's hand fell on his shoulder and he
heard Trask say, "Harry's a lucky fellow.  She is one fine-looking
young woman."

Nicholas smiled for a moment, then his expression turned serious.
"We've got to leave tonight.  Did you see the way that captain looked
at my foot when I told him my name?"

"Yes.  They're looking for you and anyone else who might have come here
from Crydee."  He rubbed his chin.  "Remember, unless they sent someone
back to check, they don't know the Raptor has sunk.  They may be
expecting those they didn't kill at Crydee to be after them any day
now.  If Nakor's right and this Lady Clovis is behind everything, she
might suspect you were on the vessel following her black ship.  Her
raiders probably got a description of everyone important at Grydee from
that Quegan trader Vasarius.  They know who wasn't killed during the
raid.  If Martin had been leading here .. ."  He shook his head.  "Who
knows what might have happened."  Nicholas said, "I'm glad they didn't
see Marcus and Harry.  Two cousins who looked like brothers and a
redheaded young man of the same general age would have been too much a
coincidence.  They still may come back."

"And someone's told them the Ranjana is here," said Amos.  "Maybe that
Anward Nogosh Pata was trying to repair some of the damage done to his
master's dealings with the Overlord."

A shout caused Nicholas and Amos to hurry to the rear, where they found
Brisa hitting Nakor on the head and shoulders with one hand, while
trying to keep her vest closed with the other.  The little man was half
laughing as he shouted, "I'll sew the buttons on!  I'll do it right
now!"

The Ranjana's mood was no better than Brisa's.  She threw a dark look
at Nicholas as she said, "That man put his hands on me!"  She pointed
at Calls, who smiled broadly, for the first time Nicholas could
remember.  "He pushed me up the ladder, and put his hands on my
bottom1."  complained the girl with indignation.  "I will have him
trampled under elephants!"

Calls shrugged.  "She wasn't moving as quickly as the maids had, and I
heard the captain order the search."

Nicholas said, "Girl, those men would have taken you out of here, to
the Overlord's palace, and I think you'd not have lived to see sundown.
Now be quiet and go to your quarters and pack."

"We're leaving?"

Nicholas nodded.  "Tomorrow, but early.  So have your maids have
everything ready by tonight's meal.  Now, go!"

Brisa pushed Nakor away and said, "I'll sew them on myself, but we
still have a score to settle."

She vanished into the Ranjana's room behind her and slammed the door.
Nakor grinned.  "That was fun."

Watching the door for a minute, and thinking of how attractive Brisa
was when she wasn't decked out in shapeless man's clothing, Nicholas
could only say, "I imagine it was."  "You're a strange man," said Amos
to Nakor, laughing.

"How did you know to keep that man from leaving?"  Nicholas asked Nakor
as Marcus and Harry came down the ladder from the roof.

"Smelled him," said Nakor, motioning for them to follow.  He led them
back to the common sleeping room, where Ghuda and Praji sat on beds on
either side of the unconscious man.  Nakor moved over to him and opened
his shirt.  He pulled a small pouch on a thong from around the man's
neck.  "See?"

Nicholas took the pouch and smelled a familiar pungent odor.
"Cloves?"

Nakor nodded.  "I smelled it on him before, the first time I saw him in
the commons, a day or two ago.  Then I smelled it again when he tried
to leave."

Amos opened the pouch and poured a pile of cloves out.  "So what's this
all about?"

"Cloves.  Clovis.  Obvious."

"I still don't understand," said Amos.

"Do you know what clove is called in the Delkians dialect of Kesh?"

Amos said, "No."

"Black rose.  Ask any spice merchant south of the Girdle of Kesh.  It
took me some time," admitted Nakor.  "I couldn't understand why this
man smelled like cloves.  But it came to me."  He took the bag from
Amos.  "If they leave a message for another 2gent, say, in an
agreed-upon place, they put one of these cloves with it, and the other
agent knows it is genuine.  Simple."

Nicholas said, "Very."

Amos said, "Too simple."

Nicholas said, "For ruling and conquest.  But remember who we're
dealing with and what their motives are, and you'll see that they're
effective enough."

Amos nodded.  He remembered what Nicholas had told him and what he had
seen at the Battle of Sethanon.  The Pantathians were not concerned
with conquest and ruling.  They were a death cult bent on recalling
their goddess through the Ufestone.  If death was the only object, one
need not be that clever, thought Amos.

"What do we do with this one?"  asked Ghuda, indicating the unconscious
agent.

Nicholas said, "Tie him up and keep him someplace safe.

Have Keeler cut him loose after we've been gone a day.  We'll be safely
away or ... it won't matter."

The others nodded.  They knew exactly what he meant by that.

BRISA PULLED HER trousers on, tied the waist cord securely, then sat on
the floor, ignoring the black looks directed at her by the Ranjana. She
refused to leave half-clothed, so she insisted on sewing the buttons
back on her shirt before quitting the noblewoman's quarters. She had
bullied a needle and thread from one of the maids.

"You may be used to the rough hands of common men on you," snapped the
Ranjana, "but I am not!"

Brisa said, "Take your black mood out on someone else, girl.  I'm not
inclined to put up with it."  She bit at the thread and checked the
condition of the first button.  Starting on the second one, she said,
"And if you're too stupid to notice, Calls is not what I would call
common."

The Ranjana lost her petulant pose long enough to say, "He is
uncommonly strong.  I am not large, but I would not have guessed any
man could have pushed me upward that rapidly and easily."

"With one hand, too, if he was on the ladder."

The maids exchanged looks of amazement, as they had all been on the
roof and had seen none of this.  The Ranjana said, "He's not
bad-looking, either, though the re something about him that's
strange."

"More than you'll ever know," said Brisa with a mocking tone.

The Ranjana said, "More than I would ever wish to know.  My maids may
know common men, and it's clear you're used to them, but I am to be
saved for a man of rank, a man of wealth and power."

"And you think being the fifteenth wife of this Overlord is something
special?"  She shook her head.  "Some people."

The Ranjana smiled.  "Your captain is handsome, in a stern way, but I
like it when he smiles."  She found Brisa staring at her in amusement,
and said, "But he's too common a man for one such as I."

Brisa couldn't help it, and burst out laughing.

"What's so amusing?"  the Ranjana demanded.

"Ah, nothing," said Brisa, finishing the second button.

"No, what is it?"  asked the Ranjana while Brisa set to work on the
third button.

Brisa ignored her for a minute; she finished the third button and
started on the last.  "Girl," demanded the Ranjana.  "What was so
funny?"

Brisa put down the needle and donned her man's shirt.  Standing up, she
said, "Just that some people have an odd notion of what's noble and
what's common.  You wouldn't know a prince if you'd been standing next
to him for weeks."  She left without further word.

The Ranjana stood, hands on hips, a moment, then stormed to the door
and pulled it open.  A guard stood outside, and as she attempted to
movt around him, he said, "Sorry, my lady, but you're to stay in the
room and oversee the packing of your baggage."

"I need to talk to that girl "

The soldier interrupted.  "Sorry, my lady.  The captain was very clear
you were to do nothing but pack until supper."

The Ranjana stepped back into her room and closed her door.  She turned
with a thoughtful expression on her face and said, "Prince?"  After a
moment of reflection, she clapped her hands together and said, "Hurry!
What are you waiting for.  Everything must be packed and ready for
travel by supper!"

Seeing her maids were hurrying to get her clothing and jewels packed
away, the Ranjana crossed to her bed and lay down, thinking.  "A
Prince?"  Then a smile came to her and she began to hum a faint tune.

As THE SUN sank in the west, Harry stood nervously overseeing the line
of carts and wagons heading for the docks.  The boats were all waiting,
manned by hired boatmen paid extra to be ready to leave at any time of
the day or night.  Tuka was at the dock to see none of them wandered
off or got drunk while waiting.  Praji, Vaja, and twenty-four
mercenaries, posing as guards, were there to ensure the little wagon
driver's orders were obeyed.  Calls and Marcus would join them, and as
the boats set off down the river, it would he their job to get the
prisoners out of Dahakon's estate.

Harry directed the four guards to go to the head of the small caravan,
while Brisa herded the Ranjana and her maids.

Nicholas had decided to keep the girls with his party a while longer,
before releasing them with enough money to purchase escorts back up
river.  Harry was worried; the Ranjana was being cooperative to the
point of behaving sweetly, even to Brisa.

Brisa looked suspicious whenever the noblewoman asked a question, but
she welcomed nattering over arguments.  Brisa kept her eyes moving
through the late afternoon shadows, looking for signs of unexpected
movement, or of being watched, while she half listened to the
chattering Ranjana.  Most of the questions were about Nicholas, which
she fended off with vague answers.

Harry was watching the last wagon leave the bazaar when he heard a
shout and the sound of confusion from the north side of the giant
square.  A detachment of soldiers rode^ into view, laying about with
lashes as they drove everyone out of their way.  Behind came a line of
wagons, each carrying what looked to be prisoners.  Then Harry's eyes
widened.

He turned to his wagon driver.  "A bonus if you make sure everyone in
front of you gets to the docks in order.  I must take a message to my
master!"

As the wagon driver shouted, "How much?"  Harry raced back into the
bazaar, dodging through the press of shoppers and merchants.  He could
see the plumes of two guard officers above the heads of the crowd,
which gathered to watch the spectacle, and some of the heads of the
prisoners in the high wagons as well.

Harry forced his way close enough to get a good look, then turned and
sprinted back through the crowd, knocking aside anyone in his way.  A
string of curses and oaths followed after him as he ran toward the
hostel.

A few minutes later, he pushed his way into the commons, past a dozen
curious soldiers and headed for Nicholas's room.  Without knocking, he
pushed his way in, to find Nicholas going over his plan for the night
with Amos, Ghuda, Marcus, and Calls.  Anthony and Nakor had already
left to do some mysterious errand the little man insisted was vital.

"What?"  said Nicholas.  "You're supposed to be with the wagons less.

"They're moving the prisoners!"  said Harry, almost breath "Where?"
said Amos.

Harry sucked in a breath.  "To the southwest.  It looks like they're
heading for the docks!"

"Damn!"  said Nicholas, pushing his way past the others, who all
followed after Nicholas and Harry.  In the common room, Nicholas turned
and said, "Calls, Marcus, head for the river docks.  If you don't hear
from us, do as we've planned.  If anything changes, we'll send a
runner."

Outside the hostel, they split up, and Harry, Amos, Ghuda, and Nicholas
hurried after the wagons.  They dodged behind the procession and ducked
around gawkers, keeping the last wagon, flanked by two mounted guards,
in sight.  Nicholas said, "I recognize one of those faces it's Edward,
a page from the castle."

He indicated a young man who sat in the rear of the last wagon, staring
off into space with a vacant expression.

Amos said, "He looks like something's wrong with him."

Ghuda said, "They all do."

Nicholas moved to the side of the street and ran along to make up some
of the distance, then ducked back into the road, almost knocking over a
woman carrying a tray of fruit, who had been watching the wagons.  She
shouted at him, and one of the guards turned to see what the
disturbance was.

Nicholas turned to the woman and said, "Sorry."

"Watch where you're going, you fool!"  she shouted.

"Who're you calling a fool!"  he shouted back.

Then Ghuda grabbed his arm and said, "He's stopped watching."

They were off, and Nicholas craned his neck to see the wagons.  They
followed until they were at the docks.  As market traffic thinned out,
they were forced to fall farther behind the wagons, lest they be
noticed.  When they could finally get close, by ambling down toward a
line of sheds as if on some errand, they caught a good look at the
proceedings.  Longboats waited to carry the prisoners to a ship in the
harbor.

Amos pulled Nicholas and Harry back between two sheds, and Ghuda ducked
in behind them.  "What is this?"  Amos said.

Nicholas said, "I don't know.  There's something wrong with our
people."

"Maybe these aren't our people," said Harry.  "Maybe these are the
copies."

Nicholas swore.  "If that's true, we still have to go into the estate
to find out."  He thought a minute, then said, "Harry, go back to the
river docks and tell Calls and Marcus to head across now.  I want Calls
to get in and see if our people are still there.  If they are, have
them bring word back to Praji and Vaja and go forward with the plan. If
they're not ... or if our people are dead, it's useless to raid for
revenge.  Have them hold the boats at the river docks until  I tell
them what to do.  If our people are there, you're in charge of the
river boats.  Get them down to the meeting place and get our people
aboard, then head for the harbor."

Harry said, "Got it," and turned to leave.

"Harry!"  shouted Nicholas after him.

Harry halted.  "What?"

"Stay alive."

Harry grinned back.  "You too, Nicky," he answered, and ran off.

The three who remained watched until the first group of boats reached
the first ship, then Amos swore.  "They're taking both ships out!"

"When?"  asked Nicholas.

Amos had asked around about the local tides and sailing conditions, but
couldn't get too much information without arousing suspicions.  He
said, "My best guess is sometime between midnight and dawn, whenever
the tide turns."

"Is there anything else there we can steal?"

Amos glanced around the bay.  "Lot of ships have come and gone.  But ..
."  He pointed.  "That be gala He indicated a smaller sailing vessel
with two masts, lateen-rigged.  "She's a coaster, but she's fast.  If
we get out of the harbor before those warships leave, we can intercept
one up the coast.  They'll have to keep close to the wind coming out of
the harbor, until they run southeast to run around that peninsula east
of here.  We can take whichever ship is second in line the other can't
turn to come back and help in time.  But we have to close before they
turn, or both ships will just run away from us."

Ghuda said, "Can that little ship hold everyone?"

"No," said Amos.  "We'll have to come back, load up, then take out
after the first ship."

Nicholas said, "We need to take one before we worry about the other.
Come on.  Let's get back to the hostel and send word to the river about
the change."

They set out, and suddenly Nicholas said, "Oh, gods!"  "What?"  asked
Amos.  "Nakor."

Ghuda said, " "Oh, gods," is right."  "Does anyone know what he and
Anthony are doing?"  "No," said Nicholas.  "We can only hope it doesn't
stir up a hornets' nest before we're out of the city."  They hurried
back to the hostel.

As NIGHT FELL, Calls vaulted over the wall of the estate.  He hurried,
unconcerned about being observed.  He was familiar with the scant
security under normal conditions, and Nicholas's message about the
prisoners being moved to the ship made it even less likely anyone was
about the estate.

As he turned the corner of a large hedge, part of a landscaped yard
going to seed, he almost knocked over a guard.  Before the man could
react, Calls struck out with the flat of his hand, catching the man in
the throat, crushing his windpipe.  The guard fell over backward,
thrashing on the ground.  Calls hurried along, not waiting to watch him
die.

Calls was not given to vainly cursing luck or fate, but despite the
long odds of a guard left behind to patrol the estates, he still knew
that time was more important than stealth.  The condition of the
prisoners the last time he saw them meant their captors had no concern
beyond keeping them alive to make their living copies, and since it now
appeared that task was complete, there would be no reason to keep them
alive.

The crunch of boots on gravel announced the approach of another guard,
and Calls hugged the ground behind a small gardener's shed.  When the
soldier walked past, Calls stood up and quickly reached out, grabbing
the man by the chin and back of the head.  Before the startled soldier
could raise his own hands, Calls snapped his neck.

Calls ran.  He reached the side of the walled court where the prisoners
were kept and leaped, landing on the wall.  Crouching low, he saw the
prisoners still lying upon their pallets, abandoned by their keepers
and the creatures that were transformed into copies.

Calls saw they were unconscious, to the last of them, but still alive.
He leaped down into the compound and approached the nearest prisoner.
Kneeling next to a young man, now gaunt and filthy, he attempted to
rouse him.  The man groaned softly, but wouldn't awaken.

Looking up, he saw that something had changed since the last time he
had been to the compound.  The el fling stood and trotted to the other
end of the square.  There was a life-sized statue there, of what at
first looked to be an elf but, upon closer examination, was something
else entirely.  Then Calls felt his hair stand up on his neck and arms,
and a rush of fear shot through him.  Never in his life had he felt
such dread, but never before had he encountered what stood before him.
The idol was a Valheru, an icon of the long-lost masters of Midkemia.
And something basic and profound in Calls's being responded.  He might
only be half-elven by birth, but that half cried out in fear at
something no living creature had seen in this life.  Only his father,
Tomas, had firsthand knowledge of the Valheru, and then because he was
the legatee of that heritage.  For a time he had been both man and
Dragon Lord, and his memories had been those of a creature dead for
thousands of years.

Calls circled the statue, examining St.  It was a female Valheru,
wearing armor and helm.  The motif was that of snakes, embossed on her
helm and the shield she carried.  Calls then knew that Nicholas's worst
fear was well founded: the Pantathian serpent priests were behind all
that had transpired so far, without a doubt.  This was AJma-Lodaka, the
Valheru who had created the Pantathians millennia ago, raising serpents
to consciousness and intelligence, to serve in her home, amusing but
trivial creatures.  But in the centuries since the Valheru had quit
Midkemia, these creatures had evolved, becoming a death cult who
worshipped their lost goddess, Aima-Lodaka, believing that should they
conspire to bring her back to this world, all would die and enter her
service, and the Pantathians would be elevated to the rank of demigods
as reward for their loyalty.

Calls snapped out of his reverie and left the compound.  He pushed open
one of the double doors and got his first look at the interior of the
square building.  It was empty, save for more chains and some abandoned
tools.

Calls hurried, for he needed to get word to Marcus and across the river
to Harry.  He knew that if he didn't get help back to the prisoners
soon, they would most likely die.

MARGARET FOUGHT AGAINST the restraints, tendrils of silk blowing in the
breeze, which wrapped around her ankles and wrists, holding her in
place.  She sought to shout, to scream in anger and fear, yet her mouth
filled with the soft stuff and prevented her.  In the gloom a figure
approached.

"Ah!"  she exclaimed, sitting upright.  The bed was drenched with
perspiration.  The room was dark.  Her head throbbed with the worst
headache she had known in her young life, what she imagined a hangover
felt like, from things she'd overheard after the big celebrations at
Castle Crydee.

From her bed, Abigail stirred, making sleepy questioning noises.

Margaret drew a deep breath and composed herself.  Her heart pounded
and she felt as if she had been running.  She got out of bed and found
herself uncoordinated, her mind spinning, only the stab of fear that
she had felt a moment before giving her anything close to clarity.  She
put out one hand and steadied herself against the wall, while her blood
rushed in her ears and her pounding heart echoed in her head with a
dull throb.

She reached for the water jar kept on the table between her bed and
Abigail's and found it empty.  That struck her as being odd.

She moved to Abigail's bed and said, "Abby?"  Her voice sounded like a
dull croak in her own ears.

She sat down and shook Abigail, who stirred, mumbling as if trying to
speak in her sleep.  Margaret tried to raise her voice and said,
"Abby!"  shaking her friend as hard as she could.

Abigail sat up and asked, "What ?"

Margaret stared at her friend.  Abigail looked as if she hadn't slept
in a week.  Her eyes were circled by dark rings, and her face was paler
than usual.  Her hair was unkempt and dirty, and she kept blinking, as
if fighting to awaken.

Margaret said, "You look terrible."

Abigail blinked harder, shook her head, and said, "You don't look like
much yourself."  Her voice sounded as harsh and dry as had
Margaret's.

Margaret forced herself to her feet and went to a mirror.  The image
that greeted her was older than the last she had seen.  Her face was as
drawn as Abigail's, as if she also hadn't slept for days.

Her nightshirt was damp and stank.  She made a face.  "I smei!  as if I
haven't bathed in days."

Abigail's expression was still vague.  And she asked, "What?"

"I said .. ."  Margaret glanced around the room.  "Where are they?"

"They?"

Crossing to her friend, Margaret took her by the shoulders and looked
into her eyes.  "Abby?"

"What?"  said Abigail irritably, pushing her away.

"Those things: where are they?"

"What things?"

"Don't you remember?"

Pushing past Margaret, Abby said, "Remember what?  Where's breakfast?
I'm starving."

Margaret moved back from her friend.  Her nightshirt was also heavily
soiled, stained below the waist, and her bed reeked.  "You're a
mess."

Abigail looked around, still as if unable to get her bearing. "Mess?"

Margaret then noticed it was dark outside.  From the way she felt, and
the mess in both their beds, she knew that they hadn't merely wakened
early.  They had slept the clock round at least one full day, more
likely two or three.  Never before had they been allowed to do that.
Every day a servant had come to wake them an hour after dawn, bringing
them their morning meal.  Margaret went to the window and looked out
into the garden.  It was deserted.  She waited a moment and there
wasn't a sound.  Usually at night she could hear people moving
somewhere on the grounds, and occasionally she had heard a distant
voice, or what sounded like a scream.

Hurrying to the door, she tried the handle.  It opened.  Peering down
the corridor in either direction, she saw no other signs of life.  She
turned to Abigail and said, "There's no one around."

Abigal stood quietly, her eyes fixed on a point in the air.  Margaret
moved to stand before her and said, "Abby!"

The other girl blinked, but she said nothing.  While Margaret watched,
Abigail seemed to wilt, her body going limp as she sank back toward the
bed.  Her eyes closed and she was almost sitting when Margaret grabbed
her shoulders.  Bracing the other girl while she fought her own
dizziness, Margaret shook her friend and shouted her name.

Getting no results, Margaret cursed the empty water jar.  She kept her
hold on Abigail and half pushed, half carried her to the door chat
opened onto the garden.  She unlatched that door and pulled her friend
through, propelling her toward the pool in the middle.

Margaret then pushed Abigail into the water.  She sank a moment, then
with a convulsion sat up in the shallow pool, spitting and coughing.
"What!"  she said, her tone furious.  "Why did you do that?"  she
demanded.

Margaret stripped off her filthy nightshirt, sat in the pool next to
her friend, and began washing days of sweat and waste from her.
"Because you stink as badly as I do and I couldn't seem to wake you."

Abigail wrinkled her nose.  "Is that us?"

"It is," answered Margaret, slipping under the water and wetting her
hair.  She came up and blew water from nose and mouth.  "I don't know
how clean we can get, but if we're going to get out of here, I didn't
want anyone finding us by our stink."

"Get out?"  said Abigail, now fully awake.

Margaret made a valiant attempt to scrub her hair with fresh water.
"The door is unguarded, and I don't hear anyone around, and those two
creatures are gone."

Abigail moved to the small sculpture of a water bearer, ducking her
head under the water flowing from its jug to rinse away the dirt in her
hair.  "How long?"

"Were we asleep?"

Abigail nodded.

"I don't know," said Margaret.  "From the mess in embeds, a few days,
maybe a week.  I feel terrible, but I'm starving and thirsty."

Abigail drank from the fountain and said, "I feel rotten, too."  She
stuck her head under the fountain for a moment, then said, "I'm as
clean as I'm going to be without soap."  She tried to stand up, but her
wobbly knees betrayed her and she fell back into the water.

"Careful," said Margaret, moving to drink from the fountain.  "You're a
lot more shaky than I am."

"I wonder why?"  said Abigail, brushing her wet hair back with both
hands as she carefully stood up in the knee-high water.

Margaret finished cleaning herself and walked out of the pool.  She
gave her friend a hand as they returned to their room.  "I don't know.
I probably fought harder against whatever they were " She stopped, and
her mouth opened.  "They made copies of us!"

Abigail blinked.  "What are you talking about?"  "The two creatures
that were in here with us."  "The lizard things?"  asked Abigail,
disgust on her face.  "They changed, they grew hair, and their bodies
changed and at the end they looked and sounded like us!"

Abigail looked frightened.  "Margaret, how could anyone do that?"

"I don't know, but we've got to get out of here.  Anthony and the
others are out there somewhere, looking for us, and we've got to warn
them that there are those things out there that look like us."

They opened the wicker hamper used to keep their clean clothes and
Margaret drew out an underskirt.  She tossed it to Abigail and said,
"Dry off."  She grabbed another to use as a towel, throwing it on the
bed when she was done.  She selected the two least confining gowns and
passed one to Abigail.  "Leave off the underskirts; we need to move as
easily as possible.  We may be climbing walls."

She put on soft slippers, and when she was dressed, she looked to see
how Abigail was doing.  The other girl was moving sluggishly, but she
was almost dressed.  Margaret helped her on with her slippers.

Margaret stood up and went to the door, peeking out to make sure no one
had appeared while they bathed.  Seeing no one, she guided Abigail out
into the hall.  At the end of the halt, she opened the door to the
outside and looked around.  There was no one in sight.  Signaling for
silence, she led Abigail into the night.

"Do I REALLY need this?"  asked Anthony, indicating the pouch he
carried.

"Yes," said Nakor.  "You never know what might come in handy.  This
woman who calls herself Clovis is dangerous, and she uses tricks. Maybe
not as powerful as Pug, but enough to kill us both with a look. We need
to be ready for anything.  What we have in the pouch will be totally
unexpected."

"But .. ."  began Anthony, then stopped.  He knew better than to argue
with the occasionally cryptic little man.  The content of the bag
confounded him; he couldn't see what it might be good for.

They were moving through the tunnel from the palace to Dahakon's
estate.  Nakor had walked into the palace while the bulk of the
garrison was marching to the docks.  He had entered the outer courtyard
carrying an empty box, while Anthony carried a sack of apples.  Before
the guard could challenge them, Nakor asked for directions to the
kitchen, saying they were bringing part of a shipment of food that was
delayed.

The guard had looked slightly confused, but nothing about the two of
them looked remotely threatening, so he gave them instructions.  They
hurried off.  Nakor went right past the kitchen entrance and around the
side of the palace until he found an unguarded door.  They had
deposited the empty box in a side corridor, and Nakor carefully put the
bag of apples into his trick rucksack before leading Anthony down into
the lower levels and to the tunnel that led under the river.

Reaching the stairs up to Dahakon's estate, Nakor said, "Do you
understand what you're to do?"

"Yes, I mean no.  I know what you've told me to do, but I don't have
any idea what good it will do."

"Doesn't matter," Nakor said with a grin, "just do it."

They reached the heart of the estate without seeing another living
person.  It was several hours after nightfall, and Anthony knew that if
all went according to plan, Calls and the rescuers would be inside the
estate within the next two hours.  Their job was to ensure that the
magician and his soul-drinking lady didn't interfere.

They made their way through a series of dark halls, dimly illuminated
by a single lamp at each intersection, and at last Nakor led Anthony
into the chambers used by Dahakon.  The young magician shuddered at the
decaying bodies on the wall, then stood in open-mouthed amazement at
the sight of the motionless magician sitting on a chair, eyes staring
sightlessly into space.

Nakor went over to Dahakon and said, "He's still busy."

"Pug?"  asked Anthony.

Nakor nodded.  He fished out the lens he had taken and said, "Look
through this."  Anthony did, and Nakor said, "They battle.  I think Pug
could win easily, but it might mean trouble for us.  Better to keep
this one out of the way."

"So that's what's going on," said a voice from behind them.

Anthony and Nakor both spun around to find the Lady Clovis standing at
the door, her eyes narrowed as she regarded the two intruders.

Then recognition transformed her face.  "You!"  she shouted.

Nakor's eyes widened, and he said, "Jorna?"  He gaped as she nodded,
and he said, "I thought it was you.  You've got a new body!"

The woman moved forward and Anthony swallowed hard.  Everything about
her screamed at him on a level so basic he had to force himself to
remember she was the evil power behind every horrible event that had
occurred to those he loved.  Every death, every minute of suffering,
every loss of friends and loved ones was authored by her.  Still, the
sway of her hips, the inviting parted lips, the heave of her bosom, the
deep black eyes all called to him, and he felt his body respond.

Then Nakor said, "Stop that silliness!"  Reaching over to Anthony, he
pinched him hard on the arm.

Anthony cried out and his eyes teared from pain.  Instantly his desire
for the woman vanished.  Nakor said, "Those smells you use to trap men
stopped working on me a hundred years ago, jorna."  Nakor then pulled
an onion out of his bag and jammed his thumb into it.  He stuck it
under Anthony's nose and laughed.  "My friend can't get excited with
his eyes watering and his nose running."

"I'm the Lady Clovis now," she said, looking down at Nakor.  "You
haven't changed much."

Nakor shrugged.  "You used to be a troublemaker, but nothing like this.
When did you join with the snakes?"

She shrugged.  "When they gave me a way to keep my youth."  She walked
away and displayed her body to good advantage, like a practiced
courtesan showing herself to her master.  "I was getting old..  .. What
name are you using now?"

"I am Nakor."

"Nakor?"

"Nakor the Blue Rider!"  he said with pride.

"Whatever."  She shrugged, and, Anthony was forced to breathe deeply
the fragrance of the onion to keep his wits about him as he watched the
rise of her breasts, barely hidden by the skimpy vest she wore.  "It
doesn't matter.  The business that brought me here is at an end; I may
stay for a while and keep Valgasha on the throne, before I leave him to
the none-too-tender mercies of the clans.  But when my friends finish
their business, I shall leave."

"What are they offering to one of your powers?"  asked Nakor, moving
slowly toward Anthony.  "You have riches, or you did when I last saw
you.  You have talents.  You know a lot of tricks.  You look young."

"I look young, but I'm not," she said, and almost spit the words at
Nakor.  "I must kill two or three lovers a year just to age normally,
five or six more to remove a year from my looks.  Do you know how
difficult that is when you're supposed to remain faithful to the most
powerful magician in the area?  Dahakon was too useful to get him
angry, and he may have been stupid in some significant respects "

"His taste in women?"  volunteered Nakor.

She smiled.  "That's one example, but he was cunning; he kept me under
watch most of the time.  This has been a very difficult decade for me,
Nakor.  Fidelity was never high on my list of virtues."

She patted the motionless magician upon the head, almost
affectionately.  "Have you noticed that those who spend too much time
playing with dead things seem to lose their perspective?  Dahakon can
do amazing things with dead people, but they tend to be such boring
company, no imagination whatsoever, you know."

"What did they offer you?"

She laughed.  It was a rich sound, almost musical in tone.
"Immortality!  More: eternal youth!"  Her eyes were wide and Anthony
thought perhaps she was also mad.

Nakor shook his head.  "You believe them?"  He shook his head.  "I
thought you smarter than that.  They want more than you can ever give
them."

The woman said, "Do you claim to know what their ultimate goal is, or
is this some feeble attempt to get information from me?"

"I know what they're doing.  You don't, or you would never have joined
with the Pantathians.  Pug knows what they're doing, too."

"Pug," she said with violence.  "The inheritor to the mantle of Macros.
The greatest magician of our time."

Nakor shrugged.  "Some say.  I know he could have ended this farce in a
minute."  He pointed to Dahakon.

"Then why didn't he?"

"Because we need to find out what the Pantathians are doing, again.  So
we can stop them.  If he kills Dahakon, you run and take the prisoners
somewhere else.  Or maybe he comes here himself, so you and Dahakon
kill the prisoners to keep him away.  We still don't know the plan."
Nakor winked.  "Instead he keeps Dahakon busy, while we come and get
the prisoners, figure out the plan then defeat you."  His tone was
almost apologetic.  "Nothing personal."

She shook her head.  "I would let you live, for old times' sake, if I
could, but I can't."

"Don't make us hurt you," warned Nakor.

She laughed.  "How?"

Nakor pointed to Anthony, who barely kept himself from trembling and
stood with his eyes watering and nose running, looking at Nakor,

"He is the true inheritor of the mantle of Macros!"  said Nakor
dramatically.  "He is Macros's son!"

The woman looked at Anthony.  "Him?"

Nakor said dramatically, "Anthony, we must neutralize her.  Unleash the
fury of your powers!"

Anthony nodded.  That was the phrase Nakor had told him would mean he
was to use the small pouch.  Clovis began in-canting a spell, and
Anthony felt the hair on his arms and neck stand up at the conjuring of
fey powers.  He recognized the phrases, and knew she was erecting a
protective barrier against a mystic attack.  He also knew that he
possessed nothing close to the skills or strength to breach such a
protective spell.

Suddenly she stood encased in a nimbus of silver light.  Anthony
reached inside the bag and thumbed the small paper device Nakor had
given him, then threw it hard against the floor.  A column of black
smoke erupted, filling the room quickly.

"What is this?"  cried Clovis.  She began chanting again, and Anthony
knew she called on dark forces to come and destroy

Nakor and himself.  Praying fervently that Nakor knew what he was
doing, he opened the pouch and threw it hard at Clovis.

She put up her hands as it passed through the silver barrier around
her, interrupting her chanting.  It struck her in the face, and she was
enveloped in black powder.  All three froze a moment, then she sneezed.
She opened her mouth to speak, and sneezed again, her eyes tearing as
she sneezed a third time.  She coughed, as if choking, and sneezed
violently.  Anthony sneezed, too.

The woman tried to speak, to begin her spell again, but she couldn't
stop sneezing.  Nakor-reached into his rucksack and pulled out a large
cloth bag.  He reached back and swung as hard as he could, striking the
woman on the back of the head with it.

She collapsed into a heap.

Anthony blew his nose to clear it, and with eyes watering, he said,
"Pepper?"

Nakor sneezed.  "You can't conjure if you're sneezing.  I knew if she
expected some magic attack, she would neglect to protect herself from
the obvious.  She was always preoccupied with great things and
neglected the common."  He measured the distance, then hit her hard
again with the bag.  "She will be unconscious for a while."

"What did you hit her with?"

"The bag of apples.  Hurt, I bet."

"Do we leave her?"  asked Anthony.

"We couldn't kill her if we tried.  If we cut off her head, it'll just
irritate her more.  If she thinks we ran away, she'll be upset, but she
imagines her side has already won.  She'll have no reason to follow us
unless she finds out we've stolen one of her ships."

He looked around the room, handed the bag of apples to Anthony, and
said, "If she stirs, hit her again."

He ran into the other room, Dahakon's study, then returned with a
brown-stained knife.

"I thought you said we couldn't kill her," said Anthony.

"We can't.  But we can inconvenience her."  He went to where Dahakon
sat and slashed the magician's throat.  A faint line of crimson
appeared along the skin, but no blood flowed.  He then used the knife
to cut some cords from the curtains, which he used to bind Clovis hand
and foot.  Nakor threw the knife to the floor and said, "Let's go.
Calls and the others should be with the prisoners."

They hurried from the chambers and Anthony said, "What did you do with
Dahakon?"

"If he breaks off his fight with Pug, he'll have something to keep him
busy.  Preventing himself from bleeding to death will keep his mind off
us for a while.  I can't count on his being as pragmatic about these
things as Jorna Clovis, I mean.  He may come after us anyway."

"Where do you know her from?"

"Back in Kesh, years ago."

"You were friends?"

"She was my wife."  He grinned.  "Well, sort of.  We lived together."

Anthony flushed.  "You lived with that murderess?"

Nakor grinned.  "I was younger.  She was very pretty, and very good in
bed.  I didn't look for the same things in a woman when I was a young
man that I look for now."

Anthony said, "How did you recognize her?"

"Some things about people don't change.  When you've gotten better at
doing tricks, you'll find you can see the true person, no matter what
form they put on.  It's a very useful thing to know."

"I think if we live to tell of this, you should return to Stardock and
teach some of those tricks."

"I might teach you some, then you can go back to Stardock.  I don't
like that place."

They reached the hall that led to the courtyard and found a dead
servant lying on the floor.  Nakor looked at him as they passed.  "She
was busy before she found us."

Anthony turned his head away.  The man was nude, and his body was
shrunken, as if every drop of fluid had been sucked from his flesh. The
stink of black magic filled the air, and Anthony found himself deeply
disturbed at the rush of desire he had felt in the woman's presence. 
His respect for Nakor's ability to resist it doubled.

They approached the walled court where the prisoners were being held,
when Nakor stopped.  "Look," he whispered.

Two figures huddled in the darkness, barely seen from where Anthony
stood.  Nakor signaled and Anthony followed.

They moved quietly and crept up behind the hiding figures,

and suddenly Anthony felt a rush of heat and a tingling in his body.
"Margaret!"  he gasped, and the two figures leaped to their feet.

Margaret turned and her eyes opened wide.  "Anthony?"  she asked, then
in two steps she flew into his arms.  Sobbing with relief, she said, "I
have never been so happy to see anyone in my life."

Abigail came to stand next to the young magician, and touched him on
the arm, as if to see if he was real.  "Where are the others?"

Nakor said, "They should be freeing the other prisoners.  Come
along."

Anthony held Margaret tight, and was loath to let go of her.  He forced
himself to, and stepped away.  "I'm pleased to see you're safe."

She looked at him with tears in her eyes.  "Is that all you can say?"
She reached up, put her hand behind his head, and kissed him.

He stood motionless an instant, then embraced her again.  When they
parted, she said, "How could you touch me every day for months and
think I'd not feel what you were feeling?"  Tears ran down her face. "I
know you, Anthony.  I know your heart and I love you, too."

Nakor brushed a tear from his own eye, and said, "We must go."

He took Abigail by the arm and guided her toward the enclosed
courtyard.  The sound of hammers on metal rang out, and when they
entered the court, they saw the mercenaries hard at work breaking the
shackles of the captives.

Abigail saw a familiar figure and cried, "Marcus!"  With a leap over
two pallets, Marcus hurled himself at the girl.  He swept her up in his
arms and kissed her deeply.  Then he put her down.

The normally taciturn Marcus said, "I thought I'd never see you again."
He threw his arm around Margaret and kissed her on the cheek.  "Or
you."

Nakor said, "Save your hellos for later.  We have to move quickly.  How
long?"

Marcus said, "Another ten minutes.  There were tools stored there" he
pointed back to the door that opened into the hall surrounding the
courtyard "but there were only two chisels."

"How are the prisoners?"  asked Nakor.  At those words, Anthony's
character as a healer asserted itself; he reluctantly disengaged
himself from Margaret and moved to look at the captives.  After
examining a pair of them, he said, "Get them to drink as much water as
you can, but slowly.  Make them sip.  Then we have to get them to the
boat."  He moved among them until he came to the statue.  A strange
itch struck him like a force, and he called, "Nakor?"

The little man hurried over and looked at the statue.  He circled it
and was about to reach out to touch it, when Anthony said, "Don't!"

Nakor hesitated, then nodded.  Turning, Anthony shouted at the
prisoners, "Did any of you touch this?"

A man nearby said, "No.  The changelings did."  "Changelings?"  asked
Nakor.

"Those snake things."  The man coughed.  "They kept us chained up here
with these walking snakes.  They kept changing until they looked like
us those of us who didn't die," he said bitterly.  He seemed to be a
young man, but his eyes were dark pits, and his face was now lined
beyond his years.  His hair was streaked with premature grey.  "They
all came and embraced that thing and uttered some sort of vow in their
obscene language.  Then each of them stuck its forearm with a long
needle and rubbed it on the statue."

"Where did they take those of you who died?"  shouted Anthony, showing
near panic in his face.

The man pointed to a door opposite the one Calls had used to enter the
square.  "Over there.  They took them through there."

Anthony hurried to the door, leaping over a pallet to reach it.  He
pulled on the handle, and found it locked.  To Marcus he said, "Can you
force this?"

Marcus hurried over with hammer and chisel and hacked at the lock
plate.  In a few minutes it fell away, and Anthony shoved past the
burly mercenary.  Marcus stepped back and covered his mouth.  "Gods!"
he shouted, then turned his head and retched.

Anthony yelled, "Nakor, bring a light.  Everyone else stay back."

Nakor hurried, took a torch from one of the mercenaries, and joined
Anthony.  In the hollow of the wall, bodies lay, both human and the
lizard creatures who had been their matches.  The humans were grisly
corpses, but it was the lizard creatures that captured Anthony's
attention.

They were bloated, blackened things, with cracked skin that oozed pus
and blood.  Lips were split and green, while eyes were blackened
raisins in their sockets.  What could be made of their features showed
they died in agony, and their hands were claws without nails, worn
bloody trying to scrape their way through the stone wall.  The effect
was all the more horrifying in that some were totally alien in aspect
while others showed various stages of humanity in their distorted
features.

Anthony whispered, "Do you sense it?"

Nakor said, "I sense something.  Something dark and evil."

Anthony closed his eyes, and in canted  He waved his hands in the air,
summoning magic to him, then suddenly his eyes opened, wide enough so
that Nakor could see whites completely around the blue irises.  "Get
out," he whispered hoarsely.

Nakor hurried out of the hall, and Anthony came after.  To Marcus and
Calls he said, "Get everyone out of here, then burn this place."  With
an authority in his voice none of them had ever heard before, Anthony
said, "Burn the other buildings: the outbuildings, the stables, the
kitchens; burn the main house as we go through.  Burn everything!"

Marcus called, "Get everyone out!"

The last prisoner was carried out of the square, and a torch was tossed
on top of the decaying bodies.  In another area of the hollow square,
some lamp oil and rags were found and were tossed onto the fire. Marcus
directed the mercenaries to light torches and start firing the other
buildings.  Within minutes they heard the loud whoosh as the dry hay in
the abandoned stable began to burn.  Then the kitchen and workers'
quarters were torched and men were sent to start fires in the outer
apartments of the main house.

Returning from starting a fire in the room where Margaret and Abigail
were kept, Calls asked, "What did you find in there, Anthony?"

"Bodies," said Anthony.

Marcus said, "Anthony, what is it?"

Anthony halted a moment, while the mercenaries carried the prisoners
into the large house, following Nakor, who was leading them to the
tunnel.  Whispering as tears of rage ran down his cheeks, Anthony said,
"They're sending a plague to the Kingdom, Marcus.  They're sending a
magic sickness ^to make the worst illness you've heard of seem as
nothing.  We've got to stop them!"

Marcus's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, then, taking Abigail's
hand, he set off toward the main house of the estate, Anthony and
Margaret behind him.

AMBUSH

Harry pointed.  "What is it?"  asked Brisa.

"Fire," answered Praji.  "Big one, from the way it's lighting the
sky."

They were in the lead boat heading for the burned-out farmhouse, where,
if the gods were kind, they would find the prisoners waiting to be
picked up.  Harry felt cold sweat break out.  "It's going to get busy
around here soon."

Praji said, "No doubt about it.  There will be soldiers coming to see
what's happening up there.  If they start looking around down here,
we're going to have a fight."

A boatman said something to Tuka, who said to Harry, "Sab, we head in
now."

Harry nodded and signaled to the boat behind.  While he was hard to see
in the darkness, each boat had a spotter at the bow and stern
specifically to relay orders.  The first boat nestled into the bank
with a low grinding sound and the others followed suit, until all ten
boats were secure.

Harry jumped from the bow and ran to the farmhouse.  The cover of the
well had been pushed aside, and a man was emerging with some
difficulty.  Harry grabbed him by the arm and helped him climb out.
"Harry!"  came a low shout from the ruins of the farmhouse, and Calls
emerged, waving him over.

Harry gave the weak man some assistance and, when he reached the house,
let him sit on the ground.

"You just get here?"  asked Harry.

"It's taking longer than we thought," said Caiis.  "Marcus and the
others are down below, helping the prisoners climb, but it's slow.
They're weak, and some will have to be hauled

UP'"

Praji came over and Harry said, "Get some rope and rig a sling, then
bring four strong men here to haul the weaker prisoners up through the
well."

Praji hurried off and Harry said, "It's six of one or a half dozen of
the other; we wait either here or out in the bay."

Calls nodded.  "Nicholas and Amos must be bearing down on that ship
about now."

"I wish them luck."  Harry glanced at the sky, where the second of
Midkemia's three moons was rising.  The third would be up in another
hour.  "It's going to be very bright out here soon."  Three full moons
were a rare event, and the term "three moons bright" meant almost like
day.  "We're not going to have much luck sneaking around tonight.
What's that fire?"  asked Harry.

"Dire news, I fear," answered the half-elf.  "Anthony says some dark
plague was born there and only fire would destroy it.  If we hadn't
burned Dahakon's estate, he says everyone in this city would be dead
within a month, two at the ktest, and anyone leaving the city would
carry it with them.  He thinks this plague could kill half the people
on this continent before it was through."

"Gods!  That's vile."  Harry shook his head in disgust.  Glancing at
the distant fire, he said, "Well, we're going to have some curious
soldiers here before too long."  He regarded the twenty or so
sick-looking prisoners, recognizing one, a page who he had played
football with.  Kneeling, he asked, "Edward, how are you?"

"Not good, Squire," he said, trying to smile bravely, "but I'll bounce
back now that we're free."  His race was drawn, and Harry could see he
was sick of spirit as well as body.  He had been a captive and
witnessed horrors undreamed of in his young life before the raid.
Release from chains did not free him from those memories.

Harry said, "I could use your assistance.  Are you up to it?"

THE JC/NG "S BUCCAN EK

The page nodded, and Harry said, "Start helping these others to the
boats.  Start at the one farthest back, that's a good lad."

The boy got to his feet and went to aid another prisoner, a young girl
who stared into space with vacant eyes.  The page said, "Up, all of
you; you heard the Squire.  We've got to get to the boats.  We're going
home."  The last was said as a half-sob, but it did the trick.

The other prisoners got to their feet and began to stagger toward the
waiting boats.  Another figure came out of the well, and Harry ran to
direct him toward the boat.

Calling down the well, Harry shouted, "We're here with the boats!  Can
you hurry them?"

Marcus's voice echoed back up from the darkness below.  "We'll try, but
they're weak."

"We're rigging a sling and we'll pull up those that can't climb."

"Good."

Time dragged as the weakened prisoners made their way slowly up the
ladder.  When Praji, Vaja, and two others arrived with the rope sling,
it was lowered down the well and the prisoners unable to climb were
pulled up.

Harry went to the boats and told Tuka, "When I give the word, you push
off" with the boats already full and get into the harbor.  Move toward
the mouth of the bay and wait for Nicholas."

The lit de man asked, "What about going upriver, Sab?"

"After, my friend, after."  Almost absently he said, "We have one more
stop to make."

They both stood there silently for a while, watching the distant estate
of Dahakon the magician, the Grand Adviser to the Overlord, burn in a
stunning display.

"WHAT'S THAT?"  ASKED Amos.

Nicholas said, "Looks like a fire on the other side of the bay."

Amos said, "I hope that's not bad news for our friends."  Nicholas
said, "Let's not worry about that.  Look!"  Amos saw where Nicholas was
pointing and said loudly,

"All hands!  Make ready to come about!"

The be gala was a pleasure boat, belonging to a merchant who used it
for both business and recreation.  It could comfort ably carry seven or
eight passengers in the three small cabins, and there was room for a
reasonable cargo below.  In close to the wind, it was slow, but in a
following wind it raced.  And Amos was turning it to move fast enough
to come alongside the second ship leaving the harbor.

The first had come into view a moment earlier, the copy of the Royal
Gull.  Now the facsimile of the Royal Eagle hove into view, and Amos
turned his boat to bring it into line.  He had calculated how a
knowledgeable captain would bring a ship out of that harbor, keeping
tight to the wind to drive along the potentially deadly rocks of the
headlands that became a long peninsula providing the eastern boundary
of the sheltering harbor.  While the bright moons were proving a
handicap for Harry's desire for stealth, they were a boon to Amos.

The crew leaped to their jobs.  They were unfamiliar with this ship,
but they were all experienced sailors and had spent every moment since
coming aboard familiarizing themselves with the rigging and tackle. The
two guards who were taken when Nicholas and his party climbed aboard
were tied up below, unhurt, but thoroughly terrified.

The be gala sprang out like a predator.  Ghuda stood by the bow with a
rope and grappling hook ready, while three other men stood nearby.  In
total, a dozen of Nicholas's thirty men were ready to pull the two
ships together while the others swarmed aboard.  Nicholas prayed that
surprise would help them overcome resistance before the crew of the
target ship could rally.  They had no idea what the complement would
be, but Amos judged no fewer than thirty seamen and whatever complement
of guards and bogus prisoners they had put aboard.

A warning shout came from above as one of the lookouts cried out at the
unexpected sight of the ship pulling alongside.  An archer on the bow
silenced him as Ghuda swung his rope and released.  Instantly the
others with ropes followed his example, and a half-dozen men in the
rigging of the be gala leaped across to the higher deck, swords and
knives drawn as they looked for opponents.  Nicholas climbed a ratline,
then jumped across four feet of air above water to grab the rail of the
other ship.

He was over and ready when a sailor came at him with a cutlass.
Nicholas killed the black-clad seaman before he could strike.  Around
him the sound of battle rang through the darkness and faintly he could
hear what sounded like an inquiring shout from the first ship.

Nicholas trusted everyone to do his job, and he, rushed to the entrance
to the rear cabin.  If there were any Pantathians or their more
powerful minions aboard, this was where they would be.  He kicked in
the door of the captain's cabin and heard the "thunk" of a crossbow
bolt embedding itself into the wood of the doorframe.  The captain
calmly laid down the crossbow and pulled out a sword.  "Surrender your
ship!"  commanded Nicholas, but the captain said nothing as he came
around from behind his desk.

Suddenly Nicholas was defending himself as the man executed a furious
attack.  Nicholas backed away, then counterattacked, and the duel was
engaged in earnest.  Nicholas was younger and faster, but the older
captain was obviously skilled and practiced.  Nicholas tried to focus
on his opponent, but he couldn't help but worry about how the rest of
the battle was going.  He knew that the plan was to cut loose the two
guards below in the be gala so they could at least work to keep the
ship off the rocks, while Amos and everyone else came aboard this ship.
It was an all-or-nothing gamble, for if Nicholas's raiders were driven
back, the re was no place to go.

Nicholas slashed out and caught the captain along the arm, forcing him
to drop his sword.  Leveling the point of his sword at the captain, he
said, "Surrender!"

The man pulled a knife from his belt and threw himself at Nicholas, who
instinctively pushed forward with his sword.  The sword entered the man
below the breastbone, piercing upward into the heart, and the man
collapsed.

The sensation that traveled up Nicholas's arm was no different from
what he had experienced when he killed Render, and it was no less
disturbing, the friction of steel on bone and sinew.  Nicholas pulled
out his blade and turned.  There were two other cabins on this level,
the doors across from one another before the captain's.  Nicholas chose
the right-hand door.  He kicked hard with his right foot, then ducked
to his left, having learned his lesson.  When no bolt flew through the
door, he looked inside.

The cabin was empty.  He repeated the procedure with the other door and
a bolt flew through it, barely missing him.  If he hadn't dodged aside,
that one most certainly would have skewered him.

He sprang to the door, only to have a shoulder driven into his stomach
as the first mate leaped through it.  Nicholas heard cloth rip and felt
something brush along his ribs, and he struck hard with the butt of his
sword hilt at the base of the man's skull.  A grunt of pain was all the
response he gpt, and he felt another scrape along his ribs as he
hammered at the man's head.  Suddenly the first mate went limp and
Nicholas pushed him off.

Nicholas stood up and felt a burning on his left side.  He reached down
and his hand came away wet.  He looked at the floor and saw the knife
the first mate had tried to kill him with, blood on the blade. Nicholas
examined his shirt and saw the blade had grazed him, slicing the skin,
but not cutting very deep.  He pulled a lung full of air and fought off
a bout of dizziness as his side began to burn and throb.

Nicholas returned to the main deck, where Ghuda and the soldiers seemed
to hold the upper hand.  The black-clad defenders were overwhelmed by
the suddenness of the attack, and most of them lay on the deck.

Glancing to his right, he saw Amos backed into a corner by two men
coming at him.  Nicholas ran to his aid, but as Amos blocked one man's
cut, that man engaged Amos's blade, holding it aloft, allowing the
other to drive his sword into Amos's stomach.

"Amos!"  Nicholas shouted as he struck out and killed the man who held
Amos's blade.  Then he took an attack from the second man and, with a
riposte, drove his own sword's point into him.

He lucked aside the wounded men and knelt next to Amos.  He was
unconscious and his breathing was shallow and labored.  Nicholas
glanced over and saw Ghuda kill the man he was facing.  There was no
respite in the fighting.

Nicholas hurried from Amos's side, and fell as a hand grabbed his
ankle.  Nicholas rolled over and lashed out with his boot, taking the
wounded sailor in the face.  There was the sound of bone crunching
under his heel, and the man screamed.

Nicholas leaped up and drove his sword point into the man's neck.  He
spun as Ghuda shouted, "They're fantastic!  They won't surrender!"

Grimly Nicholas shouted, "No quarter!"  He knew it meant killing every
man on the ship.  A bitter taste of acid filled his mouth and he spit,
then ran to attack a black-clad sailor who, despite his wounds, was
rising behind one of Nicholas's own men, to attack him once again.

The fight seemed to go on indefinitely, and twice Nicholas could swear
he was killing men he had faced before.  Then it was suddenly silent.

Ghuda said, "That's all of them."

Nicholas nodded dully.  He was drenched in perspiration and blood and
his knees shook with fatigue.  His left foot ached dully, and his side
burned.  Then Nicholas remembered: "Amos!"

He ran back to where the fallen Admiral lay, and with relief saw he was
still breathing.  Ghuda knelt next to Nicholas and said, "He's in a bad
way.  We need Anthony and his skill."

Nicholas said, "Get him to the captain's cabin."

Two sailors gently picked up Amos and carried him inside.  Nicholas
looked around and saw that every man was staring at him.  Suddenly he
realized that, with Amos stricken, he would have to sail this ship.
Looking past Ghuda to one of the sailors, he said, "Who's the oldest
man here?"

The man said, "Pickens, I think, Highness."

"Pickens!"  called Nicholas, and a voice answered from the foredeck.

"Here!"  A man in his late thirties hurried down from the foredeck and
said, "Yes, Captain."

"You're first mate, Pickens.  Get these bodies overboard."

"Aye, Captain," said the newly promoted seaman.  Turning to the crew,
wh& were exhausted and bloody, he said, "You heard the captain!  What
are you waiting for?  Get those corpses over the side!"

Ghuda said, "You all right?"

Nicholas glanced at the bloody shirt he wore and said, "It's nothing.
It's Amos I'm worried about."

"He's tough," said Ghuda, but it was clear he was also worried.

Nicholas said, "I've learned a lot from Amos on this voyage,

and I've sailed some before; I just hope I don't make too much of a
hash of this."

Lowering his voice, Ghuda said, "Just tell your Mr.  Pickens what you
want done, and let him fret about how to do it."

Nicholas half smiled, half winced.  "Sound thinking."

A sailor hurried up on deck and said, "Higher Captain, there's
prisoners below."

Nicholas followed after, shouting, "Mr.  Pickens!"

"Aye, Captain?"

"When you're done cleaning up, turn this ship around and head back to
the city!"

"Aye, Captain."

Grimly Nicholas smiled and said to Ghuda, "This might work."

They hurried to the main hatchway, where he looked down.  From three
decks down, a dozen faces peered up at them.  No one spoke.

Ghuda said, "Are these our people or those copies?"

Nicholas said, "I don't know."  Feeling overwhelmed, he said, "Lock
them in.  We'll sort this out when we find the others."

He stood up and felt the ship roll under him as the crew finished
pushing the dead over the side and returned to the task of directing
the ship.  Ghuda nudged him and pointed, and Nicholas understood.
Reluctantly he walked back to the companionway leading up to the
quarterdeck, where he was expected to oversee the ship now that he was
captain.

Climbing the ladder, he found Pickens standing before the wheel, a
sailor manning the helm.  The mate cried, "Trim sails to come about!"
Turning to the helmsman, he said, "Come to starboard."  Then he
shouted, "Coming about!"

Aloft, the sailors hurried to their assigned places.  Pickens said,
"This ship's a wicked copy of the first, Captain.  I can't tell them
apart, and I sailed the Eagle ten years."

"How are we doing?"  asked Nicholas.

"Six wounded, three dead.  Another ten minutes and we would have run
aground.  But we're in good enough shape."

Nicholas softly said, "I hope you're right."

As Nicholas stood motionless, rolling with the deck, a warning shout
from above called out there was another ship close by.  Nicholas felt
his pulse race, but the reassuring voice

THE KING 's BUCCANEC K

said, "Not to worry, Captain.  I won't run over the be gala on our way
back."  Lifting his voice, he said, "Keep a weather eye out!"

Nicholas smiled and his newly appointed first mate said, "Why don't you
go below and have that wound looked at?"

Nicholas nodded.  "You have the helm, Mr.  Pickens."

"Aye, sir!"  he said, snapping a salute.

Nicholas left the quarterdeck and went to where soldiers were taking
care of the wounded.  One saw him and without asking helped him out of
his tunic.  Nicholas looked away while the man probed the wound, then
held his hands up while the man wrapped a clean cloth bandage around
his ribs.

He silently prayed that Harry and the others were getting through their
end of the plan without problems.

HARRY DUCKED BEHIND the low protection of the cabin of the riverboat as
arrows sped overhead.  Calls rose up calmly and loosed an answering
shot, then ducked back behind the cabin as a scream from the shore
verified he had hit his target.

Lying on the deck, Praji said, "That's four of them.  You'd think
they'd get the hint and pull back."

Harry called past Praji's prone form to Tuka.  "How much farther?"

"I think another hundred yards, Sab."

They were drifting down the river, being fired at by archers on
horseback who had come riding to investigate the fire.  A bargeman had
died from the first volley of arrows, and after that everyone hugged
the decks.  Harry called out, "Marcus!"

"What?"  came the answer from the second boat.

"How are your people?"

There was a moment of silence, then Marcus called back, "We've got a
wounded man here, but it's not too bad."

Calls called out, "Marcus there are two particularly good targets
outlined against the rising moon."

"I'll take the one on the left," he said.

"On three," called Calls.  "One, two," and on "three," he stood and
fired.  Harry heard an answering bowstring hum as Marcus fired, too- A
pair of shouts cut the night, and no more arrows came from the shore.

Harry counted to ten, then shouted, "Oars!  Now!"

Boatmen jumped to grab the oars that had been shipped when the bowmen
had begun shooting at them.  They fitted them into the oarlocks and
pulled hard, while the tiller men steered them back toward the center
of the river.  In short order, the ragged line had re-formed, and Harry
shouted, "Is everyone all right?"

The question was shouted from boat to boat and the answer came back
quickly: one dead, the first man shot; two injured, neither badly.
Harry moved back to the bow of the first boat, glancing down at Brisa,
who still huddled behind the cabin.  "You all right?"

"Scared to death," she snapped back.  "But other than that, I'm
fine."

He knelt next to her.  "We'll be fine soon."  "If your friend and his
merry band have managed to ambush a ship under full sail ... I grew up
around ships, remember."  She shook her head.  "I'm not holding my
breath," He put his hand on hers.  "We'll be all right."  She tried to
smile.  "I hope so."

They entered the bay and moved along at a good pace, the wide
riverboats wallowing in the swells.  Harry said, "I'm glad we don't
have to take these things out to sea."

Praji and Vaja stood holding on to the rail that ran around the low
cabin.  Praji said, "Sounds like fun to me."

Vaja said, "If you've not observed it before, my friend has a twisted
sense of humor."

"I get the idea," said Harry.

A shout from the rearmost boat caused Harry to turn.  It was repeated,
and then he heard Marcus shout, "There are boats coming after us."

"Oh, damn," said Harry, pushing past Praji to the tiller.  He called to
Marcus, "How many and how far?"

Marcus relayed the question and in a moment shouted back, "Three, a
couple of hundred yards behind.  They're longboats, and they're loaded
with armed men."

Harry quickly weighed his options, then said, "We've got the most
fighters on the first two boats."  He called to Marcus, "Have your boat
pull out to the right, and let the others pass.  You and Calls will
have to discourage those who follow."

Praji glanced around.  "Not much room to fight.  Have the girl jump to
another boat as it passes."

Harry said, "Good idea."  Before Brisa could protest, he called out to
Marcus, "Have Margaret and Abigail get into a passing boat, and anyone
else who can't fight."

Harry ignored the rude remark that came from Margaret about her
fighting ability.  He just shouted, "You're too weak, so shut up!"

Then he turned to find Brisa advancing on him.  Before she could say
anything, he pointed his finger.  "And you're getting off, too.  I
don't have time to argue!"

She stopped, blinked a minute, then threw her arms around his neck,
hugging him tightly.  With a deep kiss, she jumped atop the cabin and
moved to where a boat was pulling alongside.  "I love you, stupid.
Don't get yourself killed!"  She leaped easily across the few feet of
water between, landing on the deck.

"I love you, too," Harry said.

He pulled his sword and went to the rear of the boat.  He saw Abigail
and Margaret on the next boat that passed, and then heard shouts from
the tenth boat in line.  The message was relayed and Marcus said,
"They're shooting at the last boat."

Calls climbed up to the cabin roof and said, "No longbows."

Marcus climbed up on the cabin of his boat as more boats passed them,
the rowers pulling furiously on the oars.  The two bowmen pulled as one
and let fly, and two men in the pursuing boats fell.  Instantly the
rowers in the longboats backed water and Harry laughed.  Calls said,
"That should discourage them for a while."  He patted his quiver.  "If
they don't figure out we're running low on arrows," he added softly.

From ahead someone shouted, "The ship!"  Harry turned and felt relief
flooding through him as the ship came into view.  It was reefing in
sails and turning into the wind, so it would slow enough for those on
the boats to board.  Harry said, "We're going to have to keep those men
behind us off our necks while we unload cargo."

Tuka said, "Sab, what about us?"

Harry said, "We'll worry about saving your lives, then we'll find a way
to get you ashore."

Tuka nodded, but it was clear the loss of his promised ten boats to
lead on a caravan and the profits to be made was weighing heavily on
the little man's mind.  Harry noticed and said, "Not to worry.  We'll
make it worth your while.  You'll still be paid to get the Ranjana
upriver to her father."

Tuka tried to brighten at that news, but it was clear he was not
convinced.

The first boat reached the side of the ship and a cargo net was
lowered.  The mercenaries and boatmen opened the covers of the small
cabins that covered the holds, and threw them into the water.  They
frantically loaded the supplies they would need for the long voyage
home and, when the boat was empty, climbed lines up to the ship.  Harry
called out, "Some of you, wait for the second boat and give them a
hand!"

A pair of boatmen who were about to climb away hung from the ropes as
the first boat at the ship was pushed away by the second, then lowered
themselves to the deck to help unload that boat.

The pursuing longboats hovered awhile, then one turned and retreated.
"Are they leaving?"  Harry asked.

"No," answered Calls.  "I don't think so.  I think they're going for
reinforcements."

The boats moved into place, and with the additional hands on deck, the
unloading went quickly.  Up on the deck, Nicholas watched with concern
as what had occurred was relayed to him by those coming aboard. Pickens
had told him they could be under way within minutes of the order being
given, but it would take them a while to get out of the harbor mouth.

Then Nicholas saw Margaret and Abigail climb aboard, helping two of the
weaker prisoners get over the rail.  He hurried to give them a hand,
then helped the girls climb over the rail.  Both gave him a warm
greeting, but Abigail turned away and looked down to the boats below,
asking, "Marcus?  Will he be all right?"

Nicholas felt a mixture of jealousy and relief; then both emotions were
pushed aside as a voice from above called out, "Captain!  Ship weighing
anchor!"

"Where away?"  he called.

"Off the stern to port!"

Nicholas climbed up to the quarterdeck, hurrying to the stern.  There
he saw a ship unfurling sail in the moonlight.  To Pickens he said,
"How long?"

"She'll be under way in ten minutes, longest.  She'll be on us in twice
that time."

Nicholas shouted, "How many boats left?"

"Two," came the answer.

TH fClNG "S BUCCANEER

He hurried to the side of the ship where sailors and mercenaries
frantically hurried to clear the cargo net, so it could be lowered to
the next-to-last boat.  He went to the rail and shouted, "Harry!"

"What?"  came the answer.

"Who's got the gold?"

"It's here, with me!"

"Bring it, then get off.  Abandon the rest of the cargo.  Get everyone
aboard.  We're leaving."

A protesting voice informed Nicholas that the Ranjana was aboard and
she said, "Captain!  My things are on that boat."

Nicholas said, "We'll buy you some new things, if we live long enough."
Looking at Margaret and Brisa, he said, "I know I can count on you two.
Margaret, this is Brisa; Brisa, Margaret.  Would the two of you get
the Ranjana off the deck and into the cabin to the port side of
Amos's?"

They took the Ranjana and her four maids in tow, and soon Harry, Calls,
and Marcus were scrambling aboard and the heavy chest of Shingazi's
gold was being raised.  Nakor and Anthony were among the last aboard,
and Nicholas shouted, "Mr.  Pickens!  Get us out of here!"

Orders were passed and Nicholas glanced around.  The sailors and
soldiers from Crydee who had been pressed into sea duty were running to
follow PSckens's orders.  The mercenaries that Praji had hired stood to
one side, while the boatmen Tuka had employed huddled near the main
hatch.  Nicholas said, "Just keep out of the way," to the boatmen, then
said to Praji, "Your men may have a real fight yet."

Some of them muttered, but Nicholas said, "That's what you're paid to
do!"  He turned and hurried to the quarterdeck.

Climbing to the latter, he shouted, "Mr.  Pickens, are we going to make
it?"

"It's going to be close," said the sailor.  He glanced behind him, then
turned with a grin.  "But we're going to leave them in our wake."

Nicholas climbed back down to the main deck, turned to say something to
the others, then collapsed in a heap.

NICHOLAS ROUSED IN the first mate's cabin.  Sun poured in through the
porthole, so he knew he had slept well past dawn.  He attempted to move
and found his side hot and stiff.  Examining himself, Nicholas saw
someone had put a fresh bandage with a poultice on his side, and put
him to bed.

He pulled on his trousers and opened the sea chest at the foot of the
bed.  The former occupant of the cabin had only a black tunic, so he
put that on, finding it a fair fit.  Pulling on his boots, Nicholas
moved stiffly to the door and opened it.

Before going on deck, he opened the door to the captain's cabin and
crossed to the single bunk where Amos lay.  His breathing was deeper
but his color was still bad.  Nicholas stood watching him a moment,
then turned and left him alone.

Reaching the main deck, Nicholas found several knots of men standing
around, while others slept upon the deck as best they could.  Marcus,
Anthony, Harry, and Ghuda stood near the ladder up to the quarterdeck,
while Praji and Vaja stood on the other side of the main deck, talking
with the other mercenaries.

Moving to Marcus's side, he asked, "What's going on?"

Harry said, "We've got a couple of problems."

"Such as?"  said Nicholas.

Ghuda looked around.  "Well, Calls is up on the quarterdeck behind us,
just in case Praji and his friends get more emphatic about being put
ashore."

Nicholas glanced around, then took his bearings.  "When did we clear
the peninsula?"

"Yesterday, a little before sundown."

"How long have I been sleeping?"  asked Nicholas.

"We left the City of the Serpent River the night before last.  It's a
little past noon," replied Marcus.

Harry said, "Your wound was worse than you thought.  Anthony treated it
and put you to bed.  Five minutes later, the trouble started."

"Give me the short version," said Nicholas, watching the mercenaries.

"It was the boatmen started it," said Ghuda.  "They wailed like
fishwives about leaving their families and not being paid to cross the
sea."

"Why didn't you heave to and put them over the side after we were clear
of the harbor?"

Marcus made an exasperated motion.  "I wanted to, but Anthony and Calls
both insisted that Pickens keep on after that other ship."

"Then the mercenaries began grumbling," added Ghuda, "claiming you're
abducting them.  Things got testy last night after we broke out some
wine.  Thought it might relax things, but instead it got everyone sore
as a boil."

Nicholas said, "Let me see what I can do."

He climbed to the quarterdeck and found Calls leaning on his bow.  "Why
didn't you let the boatmen and mercenaries ashore?"

Calls said, "I think I'd better stay here in case Praji's friends get
more irritated.  Anthony is down below in the crew's quarters.  He can
explain it better than I can, anyway."

Nicholas asked, "Praji?"

"He's all right.  I think his friends would have been a lot more
trouble if he hadn't cautioned them to be patient."  Calls smiled.  "I
think he considers you a pretty decent captain and is waiting to see
what you say."

Nicholas walked down the ladder and moved to where Praji stood.
"Captain," said the mercenary by way of greeting.

"I don't know what's going on, but I'll give you my word; those of you
who want to go ashore will be put out in a boat before sundown with a
bonus for your troubles."

Instantly the men in the circle relaxed, and Nicholas turned and
motioned for Calls to join them.  Looking behind the el fling he saw a
haggard first mate on the deck.  "Mr.  Pickens!"  he called.

"Aye, sir!"

"Have you been on watch the entire day and a half?"

"Aye, sir!"  came the response.

"Go below and get some sleep.  Pick a man to watch our course.  I'll be
below for a while."

"Aye, sir," he said with some relief.

"Harry!"  Nicholas called.

"Yes, Nicholas?"

"Get up on the quarterdeck and make sure we don't run aground.  You're
now second mate."

With a rueful smile, he said, "Aye, Captain."

Nicholas motioned for Marcus and Ghuda to join them, and they went down
the companionway to the crews' quarters.  Anthony was there ministering
to the prisoners, who were sleeping in the bunks, or softly talking
among themselves; Abigail and Margaret were helping him.

"How is everyone?"  Nicholas asked.

Anthony said, "You're awake!"

Nicholas was about to make a quip about this obvious remark, until he
saw Anthony's eyes.  They were sunk in black circles, and his cheeks
were hollow.  "When did you last sleep?"

Anthony shrugged.  "A day or so before we left.  I don't remember.
There's so much to do."

Margaret said, "I've told him to get some rest, but he ignores me." Her
expression was an equal mixture of irritation and admiration.

"How are the prisoners?"

"They're all fine," said Anthony.  "The worst is over as long as they
rest and eat.  We got most of the provisions on board, but we will have
to watch our rations."

"How is Amos?"  asked Nicholas, lowering his voice.

"Bad," said Anthony.  "I've done all I could; the bleeding was heavy
and the wound is deep.  But he's strong for a man his age, and the
scars on his body show this isn't the first time he's survived a near
death blow.  If he wakes up in the next day or two, I think he'll pull
through.

"But if he does, he's going to be in no condition to captain this ship
home; it's your job for at least another month, Nicholas."

Nicholas nodded.  "What is the reason you didn't put the mercenaries
and boatmen ashore?"

Anthony and Calls exchanged glances, then Anthony said, "I don't know
where to begin."  He looked at the end of his wits, so Nicholas gave
him time to compose his answer.  "We can't let the other ship get too
far ahead.  I didn't want to risk slowing down to let down a boat."

So,something in his tone suggested grave concerns.  Nicholas said, "Go
on."

"It's worse than anything we thought, Nicholas," said the young
magician.  "Nakor has told me some things I don't think you know I
know."  He glanced at Marcus who nodded.  "I don't know all of it
there's something the royal family is privy to, and that's all right
but what I do know frightens me more than anything I can imagine.

"The Pantathians have created a plague.  It's worse than any illness
I've seen."  "Why?"

"There's no cure for it," he said harshly.  "They've used magics of the
blackest land to fashion this thing.  Those creatures of theirs were
created to carry it to the Kingdom."

Nicholas closed his eyes.  "It .. . makes an evil sense.  They're a
death cult and would gladly die to ... further their cause."

Anthony continued.  "I don't know how the illness works.  I've seen
some of their failures.  It's horrible."

"And you know it can't be cured?"

"Nakor thinks so, and he knows more about magic" he smiled weakly "or
tricks, than I do.  Maybe Pug, or some of the more practiced priests of
Dala or Kilian, or the Ishapi-ans ... I don't know.  But I don't think
we'd have time."

"Why?"

"A ... hunch.  I think the disease progresses rapidly.  From what I
could see, those who died succumbed rapidly.  The condition of the
outer skin what looks like human skin over their own true skin and the
other damage done by the illness don't lead me to think anyone could
live for more than a few days once the sickness takes hold.  I have no
idea how it's spread; Nakor is with the creatures, seeing what he can
learn of them."

"Is he safe?"  asked Nicholas with alarm.

"As much as anyone could be," answered Anthony.

"Where are they?"

"In the cargo hold.  We can get there through that passage," said
Anthony, pointing to a small door in the forward bulkhead.

Nicholas moved to the door and opened it, finding a short passage to
another door.  He moved through it and opened the second door.  From
the rear he heard Anthony caution the others to stay behind.

Nicholas found himself standing on the second cargo deck, with the
grillwork of the main hatch above admitting light.  The lowest deck in
the hold had been converted to a barracks of sorts.  A large open hatch
looked down on it.  Nicholas noticed that most of the supplies brought
aboard from the riverboats had been stored on this deck.  "Where's the
rest of our cargo?"  he asked.

Anthony said, "Lashed up on deck.  Nakor and I wouldn't let it be put
down there.  Too dangerous."

"Ah, Nicholas," said a familiar voice from below.  Nicholas glanced
down and found Nakor sitting on an empty bed, looking at the people who
were resting on about half the beds in sight.  There was nothing
unusual about any of them, and Nicholas was startled to recognize some
from having seen them around the town and in the castle at Crydee.

"I ... it's amazing," he said softly.

"Do you begin to see?"  asked Anthony.  "These creatures could return
to the Kingdom and walk among us, spreading the disease until half the
Western Realm was infected.  Even if your father's influence could get
Stardock and the temples to deal with the problem, there would be chaos
throughout the Kingdom for years after these creatures set foot
ashore."

"Nakor," Nicholas called down, "have you learned anything useful?"

"Yes," said the little man.  "Lower the rope."

Nicholas looked around and saw a rope had been tied to an iron loop in
the wall.  He lowered it, and the little man shinnied up.

When he was standing next to Nicholas, he pulled up the rope and said,
"They are essentially harmless until the disease begins."

Nicholas stared down at the upturned faces.  Some ventured shy smiles.
A few spoke soft words of greeting.  The Prince turned away and said,
"Looking at them unnerves me."  He returned to the crew quarters, where
Marcus and Ghuda waited.  The sight of the real prisoners, haggard and
ill from their ordeal, seemed to put things back in perspective for
Nicholas.

Anthony said, "That's the problem."

"What?"

"We have to kill those things."

"What?"  said Nicholas.

Nakor nodded agreement.  "They will grow ill.  Not for weeks, because
it would not do to have them become ill before they reach the Kingdom,
yes?  But they may be able to infect now.  I do not know how; we only
know it will spread.  Some temples think it is evil spirits, while
others think it is tainted air.  My theory "

Nicholas interrupted.  "Why must we kill them?  Why not just stick them
on an island somewhere?"

"We don't know if we're being chased," said Marcus.  "It wouldn't do to
have them dropped off on some island and have those who follow pick
them up the next day.  They might not be able to insinuate a false Abby
or Margaret into your father's palace, but they could bring thirty
plague carriers in to Krondor easily enough."

Nicholas said, "How do we do it?"

Nakor said, "It is difficult.  I am hard to kill I would have to be
exposed to this illness far longer than anyone else on the ship to
succumb so I should be the one to go down.  I can mix something into
the water to make them sleep, very deeply.  If you lower a cargo net, I
can pile them all into it, and you can lower them over the side."

"Can't you mix something into their water to kill them painlessly?"
asked Nicholas.

Nakor said, "No.  Too dangerous.  The death of these creatures might
act to release the disease to others.  There is no way to know.  We
must be very careful.  I would prefer to burn the bodies, but that is
impossible here at sea."

"It sounds cruel," said Nicholas.  "To drown them in their sleep."

Ghuda said, "It is cruel, lad.  But life is often cruel.  If you need
to steel your resolve, just remember those poor dead and injured back
in Crydee."

Nicholas sighed.  "I doubt these poor creatures knew of that.  Still,
your point is taken."  Looking at Nakor, he said, "Do it."

Nakor left.  Then Nicholas said, "We need to stop to put ashore the
boatmen and the mercenaries."

"That poses something of a problem," said Ghuda.

"Why?"

Marcus answered, "Because without them, we're not going to have enough
men to sail this ship and board and take the other.  We took this one
because those who sailed it didn't expect to be hit coming out of the
harbor.  The fraudulent Gull saw us take this ship.  They'll be looking
for us, and they'll know we're after her.  Expect a dogfight."

Nicholas said, "Let's go talk to them."

Walking up on deck, Nicholas found the Ranjana and her maids taking air
at the front of the ship with Brisa.  She smiled broadly at Nicholas
and called after him concerning his health.

Raymond E. He made a noncommittal gesture and a meaningless response as
he hurried to the main deck.  He signaled Tuka to gather the boatmen to
him, and moved to confront the mercenaries.  When they were all
assembled, he said, "My name is Nicholas.  I am the son of Arutha con
Doing Prince of Krondor."

The boatmen and mercenaries all looked blankly at him, for the names
meant nothing to them.  Praji said, "We were talking about bonuses and
going ashore, Prince."

Nicholas said, "You know we chase a ship that's twin to this.  I can't
spare the time to stop, but I can slow enough to lower a boat and have
those of you who wish to, leave."  Some muttering began.  "I will pay
every man here the bonus I spoke of."  Over his shoulder he said,
"Marcus, go find that chest of gold I had brought aboard."

Marcus and Ghuda hurried off, Nicholas said, "I offer much more for
those of you who will stay."

"How much more?"  asked Praji.

"Watch," said Nicholas.  In a minute, Ghuda and Marcus returned
carrying the chest.  They set it heavily on the deck, and Nicholas
opened it.  The boatmen goggled and the mercenaries made low sounds in
their throats at the sight of the gold and jewels.  Nicholas said,
"Tuka, take from the chest what I promised your men."

The little wagon driver hesitated, then reached into the chest.  He
fished around in it, finding a few small silver coins and some of the
smallest gold coins.  He finally stood up and held out a handful of
coins for Nicholas's inspection.  "This is what is due to the river men
Encosi."

Nicholas nodded.  "Praji, fish out what's due your men."

Praji was less hesitant, but he still pulled out only a single handful
of coins.  Nicholas said, "Pass them out."

Each did so.  Then Nicholas picked up a handful of gold and saidj "Pass
these out as well."  Praji took the coins and spread them around to
each man, who all looked surprised and pleased.

Then Nicholas said, "Praji, hold your hands out."

Praji did so, and Nicholas filled them with coins.  Praji's eyes grew
enormous, and the boatmen all stood in mute amazement.  "What I've
given you is your bonus.  Any-man who leaves now will take that with
him."  He then pointed at the

THE K/NG 's BUCCANEE /t gold in Praji's hands.  "But those who come
with me, to my homeland, to those I will give this, and more!"

The boatmen and mercenaries spoke among themselves, and Praji said,
"Prince, where is this land of yours?"

"Across the Blue Sea, Praji.  Three months' sailing, and more.  The
other side of the world."

Quickly a small group split off and Tuka said, "Encosi, these men,
while overwhelmed by your generosity, have wives and children and would
die to be parted from them.  They would ask you to put them ashore."

"Done."  Glancing at the others, he said, "You'll stay?"

"To the other side of the world, Prince," said Praji.

Orders were passed and a boat was made ready.  As he went to confront
the Ranjana, Nicholas turned to Praji and said, "I didn't realize we
had so many single men with us."

"We don't," said the mercenary.  "Just that some of them won't die to
be parted from their wives and children."

Nicholas shook his head.  He found the Ranjana and her maids talking
with Margaret and Abigail.  Nicholas said, "My lady, I'm putting a boat
ashore.  Five of the boatmen and three of the mercenaries are returning
to the City of the Serpent River.  They will act as your escort.  I
will provide funds sufficient to return you to your father."

"No," said the girl.

Nicholas had half turned away, then stopped.  "No?"  he asked.

"I will not be put ashore so far from civilization.  Besides, were I to
return home, my father would have me beaten and sold to a camel
driver."

Nicholas said, "Look, I don't know what you're playing at, but Andres
Rusolavi's agent, Anward Nogosh Pata, assures me your father is a kind
man who loves you, and you will in no way be punished by returning
home."

The girl's manner changed.  "You are right.  I have lied.  I wish to
remain for another reason."

"What?"  said Nicholas, nearing the end of his patience.

Suddenly the girl was pressing against him, her arms around his neck.
"You have won my heart, my brave captain."  She kissed Nicholas
passionately on the lips.  As the flustered

Prince attempted to disengage himself, she said, "I will be your wife."
,

Nicholas looked over the shoulder of the now hrmly attached Ranjana to
see Margaret and Abigail, Marcus and Ghuda fighting hard not to break
out laughing.

the lookout shouted "Ship ahoy!"

Nicholas disentangled himself from the Ranjana's interminable
protestations of undying love, and shouted, "Where away?"

"Dead astern."

He put his hand urgently on the girl's chest and shoved her away with
enough force that her maids had to catch her to keep her from falling.
He raced to the stern and climbed to the quarterdeck, then scanned the
horizon.  After a moment he saw a any black speck.

"Mr.  Pickens," he said, "how long to put ashore the boatmen and
mercenaries?"

The first mate scanned the shore and said, "If we heave to, an hour or
more, but if we slow to a crawl, and lose a jolly boat, fifteen
minutes."

Nicholas indicated all those upon the deck.  "Can we get all of those
into a boat?"

"Not and have it stay afloat in the surf, Captain.  Three trips, four
would be better."

Nicholas swore.  "How long before that ship's here?"

"Hard to say," said the sailor.  "If it's the ship that tried to
intercept us night before last, about an hour.  If it's something else
.. ."  He let the thought go unfinished.

"Right."  Nicholas made a decision.  "Make ready to stand to, Mr.
Pickens."  To those on the lower deck he shouted, "Get ready to put a
jolly boat over the side!"

Sailors hurried to unlimber one of the large boats lashed upside down
over the rear hatch cover.  A boom was swung over and the boat was
quickly raised, moved to just over the side, and then lowered.  The
boatmen and mercenaries who were the most anxious to leave scampered
down a pair of rope ladders, with two sailors.  When they were in the
boat, they rowed furiously toward the shore, and Nicholas watched with
concern as they entered the combers, then shot the breakers to the
beach.  Two of the boatmen helped launch the boat back into the water,
and the two sailors pulled hard to get the boat through the breakers.

"This is taking too long," said Nicholas as he glanced to "where the
pursuing ship was growing larger on the horizon.  The boat reached the
side of the Eagle, and the second batch of boatmen and mercenaries
scampered down.

As the jolly boat reached the beach, the lookout called, "Captain, I
see her colors!"

Nicholas looked at the approaching ship and saw that she carried a
black sail.  "What ensign?"  he called.  "She flies a black flag with a
golden serpent."  Praji called up, "She's the Overlord's."  Nicholas
stared hard at the approaching ship and the angle of her movement. "Mr.
Pickens, I'm no deep-water veteran, but I'd say that ship is moving
against the wind."

The sailor studied her for a minute, and said, "Yes, Captain.  You're
not a veteran, but she is indeed moving against the wind."

A moment later, the lookout cried, "Captain, she mounts a ram on her
bow!"

"War galley.  She can ignore the wind and row straight at us," said
Nicholas.  "I never saw one in the harbor."

Praji shouted up from the main deck, "The Overlord has a private pond
fed by the estuary; he keeps his own fleet there."

"Some pond," said Ghuda.

"That's the Overlord's dr oman said Praji.  "Two banks of oars a side,
and a ram and boarding bridge on the bow.  She

THE JC/NG 's BUCCANEE K

mounts a catapult on the stern castle and a balHsta before the mast,
too."

"Make ready to sail, Mr.  Pickens," ordered Nicholas.  "I'm not letting
that bitch get close enough to fire on us."  He moved to the rail
overlooking the main deck and shouted down, "When the jolly boat's
alongside, put the Ranjana and her maids off, and whoever else will
fit, and the rest of you will have to swim.  We are leaving."

Marcus glanced around and said, "Nicholas, the girl.  She's not
here."

"Find her!"  shouted Nicholas.  "We have no time for her silliness!"

Marcus hurried back toward the girls' cabin, and when the jolly boat
was again next to the ship, the last of the boatmen and two mercenaries
hurried down the ladder.  Shouts erupted from the cabin below the
quarterdeck, and Calls and Ghuda hurried to investigate.  A squirming,
kicking, biting, scratching Ranjana was being hauled out by Marcus,
while Brisa, Abigail, and Margaret herded the maids behind her.  "Give
her some gold to buy her way home, and put her over the side!"
commanded Nicholas.

"I will not go home!"  shrieked the girl, doing her best to claw her
way out of Marcus's grip.  "The Rahajan will kill me!"

"So much for undying love," said Brisa, glancing at Margaret with a
wicked grin.

A shout from the jolly boat and splashes in the water caused a sailor
to look over the side.  "Captain," he called, "the mercenaries have
taken the jolly boat."

Two more of Praji's mercenaries looked over the rail and shouted, then
climbed up and leaped into the water after the fleeing boat.  "Should
we put another boat over, Captain?"  asked Pickens.

Looking at the war galley as it began to draw down on the Eagle,
Nicholas said, "No, there's no time."

Marcus shouted, "Should I pitch her over the side?"

The girl screamed, "No!  I cannot swim!  I'll drown!"

Nicholas threw his hands up in resignation and said, "No.  Put her
down."  Making a noise of unalloyed aggravation, he said, "Get us out
of here, Mr.  Pickens.  Full sail!"

"Make ready on all sheets and shrouds!"  cried the first mate.  "Raise
anchor."

Slowly at first, the Eagle moved forward, then, as her sails billowed
and she caught the wind, she moved through the water like a dolphin.

Nicholas looked at the pursuing ship and asked, "Are they close enough
to fire on us?"

As if in answer, a fireball arced from the deck of the dr oman and
landed with a hissing splash a dozen yards abaft the ship.  Calmly
Pickens said, "Well, let's just hope we don't run out of wind before
they run out of muscle."

Across the water, Nicholas could hear the faint sound of the drum used
to set the pace for the rowers.  Turning his back on the other ship,
Nicholas said, "They can't hold attack speed very long.  The slaves
will begin fainting at the oars."

Pickens nodded.  "They've still got their own sail, Captain."

Nicholas looked back again, as the evil-looking black and gold sail
billowed in the wind.  "They can't overtake us with wind."

"No, Captain, but they could stay close enough to give us serious
trouble if the wind dies-"

"Then pray for a strong wind, Mr.  Pickens.  We've a long way to
home."

"Aye, Captain."

Nicholas went back to the main deck and confronted the Ranjana, who
stood defiantly with her fists upon her hips.  "You will not put me
ashore!"  she commanded.

Nicholas stopped, started to speak, stopped, then made another sound of
aggravation.  He turned his back and walked to his cabin.

Examining the damage the girl had done to his arm, Marcus said, "It's a
good thing he didn't order me to chuck you over the side, girl."

The Ranjana turned and pulled a small jeweled dagger from the wide
waistband of her skirt.  Pointing it at Marcus, she said, "Yes, it was
a good thing!"

She flung the dagger down so it stuck quivering in the deck between
Marcus's boots.  She spun and with a wave of her hands instructed her
maids to follow her into her cabin.  Brisa laughed.  "She's full of
surprises, isn't she?"

Harry said, "I think Nicholas is going to find that out soon enough."

Margaret and Abigail both looked on in amazement, and

Margaret said, "You said she was difficult, but nothing about being
murderous."

Abigail came to Marcus and made soothing noises, to his embarrassment,
as she examined the scratches.  Abigail then said, "What did you mean,
Nicholas is going to find that out, Harry?"

It was Brisa who answered.  "Let's just say that girl will find some
way to get Nicholas to do what she wants.  There's a lot more to her
than she's letting on."

Harry nodded.  "And Nicholas doesn't exactly have a lot of experience
with women."

Margaret said, "And you do, Squire?  This from the lad who blushed when
I teased him in the garden?"

Marcus said, "A lot has happened since we last saw you, sister."

Harry said, "My friend, you have a knack for understatement," and burst
out laughing.  A moment later, so did Ghuda, and soon everyone in the
group was laughing.

NICHOLAS TRIED TO sleep; he'd kicked of This boots, but lay fully
clothed on the bunk.  Close to exhaustion, he still couldn't get his
mind to cease racing with worry.  The Overlord's ship dogged their
heels.  Whoever was captaining it was skilled at using wind and oars to
cut the distance whenever he had the chance.  Pickens had said they'd
leave the dr oman behind once they stopped following the coast and
turned to move across the sea.  Nicholas had eaten alone in his cabin,
after sitting for a while with Amos in his.  Then he had attempted to
puzzle out Amos's log, deciphering the Admiral's notes and
abbreviations regarding currents and wind.  Nicholas knew enough of
sailing to know that they couldn't literally retrace their way home
they had to find a route close to the way down, but one that took
advantage of currents and winds blowing in the opposite direction from
the way they had come.  Otherwise they'd be on the tack for hundreds of
miles.

Nicholas finally managed to doze when a creak of the door opening
brought him instantly awake.  "Huh?"  he said as he drew his sword
noisily from the scabbard.

"Don't," said a female voice.  Someone sat on the bed next to him.

"Abby?"  asked Nicholas, reaching for a light.

"She's with Marcus in the rope locker," said the voice.  "They're .. .
getting reacquainted, let's say."  He struck spark and brought the
lantern to life, and discovered the Ranjana sitting next to him.

"What are you doing here?"  he asked, irritated at the intrusion.

"We need to talk," she said.  She wore a silk gown that clung to her
curves, and her hair had been done up with gold and pearl pins,
accenting her dark curls.

"About what?"  he asked.

"This place we're going?  You're really a Prince?"

Nicholas said, "Ranjana what is your name?"

las ha

las ha I am a Prince.  My uncle is King, My brother will be

King after him."

The girl looked down as if embarrassed.  "I'm sorry to have caused you
so much trouble.  I have been talking to the one called Margaret.  I
really had no idea there had been so much killing and suffering, or
that you'd come so far to find the one called Abigail."

Nicholas sighed, lying back against the bulkhead, his arm behind his
head.  "When I began this journey, I would have told you how much I
loved Abigail.  That all seems silly now."

"Love is never silly," said las ha

"Well, I didn't mean to say it was.  But thinking what I felt was love
is silly."

"Oh?"

"Was that all you came here to say, that you're sorry?"  "Yes no."  She
sighed.  "When.I said I loved you, it was to keep from being sent back
to Kilbar."

"Somehow I figured that out," said Nicholas, his' irritation showing.

"But I was not lying when I said it would be my life."  "Your father
would really kill you or sell you for something the Overlord
plotted?"

She sighed deeply again.  "No, it's because of something I did.  Or
rather, the Ranjana did."

"What?"  asked Nicholas, his race showing his confusion.

"I am not the Ranjana of Kilbar."

"Who are you?"

"I am her maid, las ha  The other maids are in on the ruse, as well."

"You'd better explain this to me," said Nicholas.

"The Ranjana had no desire to be the fifteenth wife of the Overlord of
the City of the Serpent River.  She has been in love with a minor
prince of Harnsa since they were children together.  So she bribed
Andres Rusolavi, the broker, to substitute me for her and send us
south, while she made her way to Hamsa to marry her prince in secret.
There is almost no communication between Hamsa and the City of the
Serpent River, so my lady got her prince, I would be another pretty
race for the Overlord and would live in luxury, and the other maids
would be rewarded for their silence by me."

Nicholas made an aggravated sound.  "So it was another

=.?"

"I am afraid so, my Prince.  Now I must throw myself upon your mercy
and beg you not to sell myself and the others into slavery."

Nicholas fixed her with a narrow gaze.  "Somehow I think you've already
been told by Margaret that we don't have slavery in the Kingdom."

There was a faint smile at the corner of the girl's lips, but all she
said was "Oh?"

Wiping his gritty eyes with his hands, he said, "I'd better check on
Amos."

As he attempted to sit up, she leaned forward and her soft Hps met his.
He sat motionless a moment, then, when she pulled back, he said, "What
was that for?"

"Because while I do not love you, my brave captain, I think you are a
kind man and would treat a maid as well as a Ranjana."

Nicholas said, "Fairly spoken, lady."  He stood up.  "But somehow it's
going to be a while before I take much of what anyone from your land
says at face value."

She stood up in turn.  "Tell me of this Kingdom of yours."

Nicholas said, "I can show you after I check on Amos.  Come along."

He picked up the lantern and led her into Amos's room, where the
injured Admiral lay sleeping.  Nicholas paused a moment, looking down
at Amos, who was still pale.

"Will he live?"  asked the girl quietly.

"I certainly hope so," answered Nicholas.  "He's to wed my grandmother
when we return.  We my family love him very much."  He stared down at
Amos's still features a long moment.

Nicholas turned to the chart locker and put down the lantern.  He
inspected the charts that the Pantathians had provided for the original
captain.  Between them and Amos's log, he hoped he could plot their way
home.  He selected one chart that showed the Bitter Sea and unrolled
it.  Pointing to Krondor, he said, "This is where I lived."

She squinted.  "I cannot read, Captain.  What do these lines say?"

Nicholas began to speak of Krondor, and showed her how far they had
sailed from the City of the Serpent River and what that looked like on
the map.  The girl gasped.  "So vast a land to be owned by one man."

"Not owned," he corrected.  "I'll have to explain it to you in detail
later, but my uncle is King because it is his birthright, but he also
has obligations to protect those who live here.  In my country,
nobility is not just a privilege but also a responsibility.  We rule
but we also serve."

He explained a little of his family, and when he was done, the girl
said, "So you will not be given a city to rule?"

Nicholas shrugged.  "I don't know what my father and uncle plan for me.
A state marriage, I expect, to a Princess of Roldem or of Kesh.  Or to
an important Duke's daughter."  He said, "I may be sent to Rillanon and
serve in my brother's court when he becomes King."  "Where is this
Rillanon?"

He unrolled another map and laid it out next to the first, to show her
the Kingdom Sea.  "This island here" he pointed "is the home of my
people.  That is where we began and why we are called the Kingdom of
the Isles."

"You must show me this Rillanon," said the girl, slipping her arm
through his.  He flushed at the feel of her breast against his arm,

"Ah, perhaps," he said, disengaging himself and putting away the
charts, "I think, however, you'll have no trouble finding someone to
show you just about anything you want to see."

She pouted and Nicholas felt his heart skip.  "I am but a poor maid.
What man of rank would look twice at me?"

Nicholas grinned.  "Any number, I dare say.  You are certainly
beautiful."

She brightened.  "You really think me beautiful?"

Trying to make light of it, he said, "When you're not trying to claw
Marcus's eyes out or shrieking like a wounded cat."

She smiled, covering her mouth with her hand.  "That is how the Ranjana
acts, my captain.  I sought to act as she would, to make my
impersonation convincing."

Suddenly it became silent, as Nicholas realized he didn't have any idea
what to say next.  The girl stood looking up at him, illuminated by the
sort glow from the lantern.  Their eyes met and she stepped forward and
kissed him again.  This time his body took over, and without thought,
he pulled her tightly against him.

They stood making soft sounds for a moment, when a voice said weakly,
NSc ky can't you and your girly find a cabin of your own?"

Nicholas turned.  "Amos!"

He took two steps toward Amos and turned to las ha  "Go get Anthony!"
he said, and the girl hurried out to find the magician.

"Help me sit up," Amos said.

Nicholas let Amos grip his arm while getting more comfortable, then
adjusted the pillows behind him.

"Well, Ghuda owes me five golden sovereigns," said Amos.

"Why?"  asked Nicholas.

"I bet him that girl would convince one of you young lechers to bring
her with us.  So you're the one bedding her?"

"No, I'm not sleeping with her," said Nicholas.

"Gods, son, what's wrong with you?"  He coughed and said, "Ah, damn me,
but I hurt."

"You're lucky to be alive," said Nicholas.

"You're not the first to tell me that," said Amos.  "Now, what's
happened since I got stuck?"

Nicholas filled him in, and by the time he was done, Anthony appeared.
The healer examined Amos and said, "You'll do well to stay in bed
awhile.  I'll have someone bring you some broth.  That belly wound is
dangerous, so you'll have to watch what you eat for a while."

"Would you think a little wine was in order?"  asked Amos with a weak
smile.

"A small glass with the broth," said Anthony.  "It will help you sleep
better."

Anthony left and Nicholas said, "Tomorrow, we "

"Have to kill those things below," said Amos.  "Yes, I was wondering
why you waited."

"It's hard, Amos.  I know what Nakor and Calls have told me, and what
Margaret and Abigail said, but they look like people; they look like
friends from Castle Crydee."

"But they're not" was all Amos said.  "You're a Prince of the Blood
Royal, like your father and brothers, and you have a duty.  Often that
means taking life to protect your own.  It's not fair, or right, or
even just, only necessary.  That's the way of it."

Nicholas nodded.  "I'll let you sleep.  Tomorrow I'll need you to
decipher those scratches in your log so we can find our way home."

Amos said, "Tomorrow."  Already he looked ready to go back to sleep.
"One thing."  "What?"

"That little girl.  Don't let her get too close."  "I thought you said
there was something wrong with me.

Amos said, "No, I don't mean bedding her.  She could probably teach you
a thing or three.  No, just remember who you are and where your destiny
lies.  You're free to love who you may, but the King will tell you who
you're to wed,"

Nicholas nodded.  "I've been told that all my life, Amos."

"Just remember nSat when she's got you by the short handle.  Most men
can't think well then; don't make promises."  Then he grinned and
Nicholas was looking at the old Amos.  "Just because you can't allow
her to take control of your life doesn't mean you can't enjoy letting
her try,"

Nicholas blushed.  "Good night, Amos.  I'll see you in the morning."

He returned to has own cabin and remembered he'd left the lantern in
Amos's.  In the dark, he stripped off his shirt and trousers, and sat
on the bed.  He leaped to his feet when something moved.  las ha voice
said, "Get under the covers.  It's cold in here!"

He hesitated, then slipped in beside the girl.  He felt warm skin
against his own.  He was motionless a moment, unsure of what to do
next, when her lips found his.  He responded, and then he laughed.

"What?"  she asked, her tone a mix of amusement and concern.  "You
think me funny?"

"No," said Nicholas.  "Just thinking of something Amos told me."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later," he said, kissing her again.

HARRY SAID, "THEY'RE still back there, Captain."

Nicholas had just come up on deck, to a blue sky and fresh breeze. "How
long can they keep this up?  They can't be carrying provisions for a
long voyage."

"Maybe they don't care," said Harry.  "You done with the cabin?"  With
the women on board, the officers and nobles had been doubling up in
quarters, so Pickens and a new bosun's mate, Gregory, shared the
midshipman's bunk.  Harry and Nicholas were also on opposite watches
Harry had command at night and slept in what had been the first mate's
cabin.  The Ranjana, Margaret, Abigail, and the maids were supposed to
be sleeping in the two small cabins for passengers or guests on Kingdom
ships, but Nicholas wondered if the girls were making the same sorts of
arrangements he and Harry had.

Harry said, "You'll be a little more convincing as a commander if you
wipe that stupid grin off your face."

Nicholas said, "Grin?"

Harry nodded.  "I know the feeling."  He smiled as he nodded toward
Brisa, who was crossing the deck.

"Look, this is a funny time to say this, considering .. ."

"Considering what?"

Nicholas blushed.  "What happened last night, but we should try to be
circumspect about these sleeping arrangements."

Harry said, "Why?  I've got Brisa, you've got the Ranjana, Marcus has
Abigail, Anthony is with Margaret; seems like it's worked out pretty
reasonably."

"Explain that to the other forty-nine men on this ship," Nicholas said.
Harry glanced at a knot of mercenaries sitting on a hatch cover and
watching Brisa walk by.  "Our own men we can trust; they're
professional soldiers and sailors of the King.  But hired knives?  I
want a watch on how much wine and ale are dispensed at meals and an ear
out for trouble.  We've got three months or more of crossing the ocean
ahead of us."  Harry sighed.  "You're right.  I'll say something to the
others.

"The real problem is going to be the maids," said Nicholas.  "A little
wordplay is one thing, but a knife fight over one of them, that could
be disastrous."

Harry said, "I understand.  I'll pass the word to stay alert."

A curse from below brought Nicholas's attention to the main deck, where
Amos stood waving off Anthony's solicitations.  "You may be the healer,
but it's my body and I damn well know when I need some fresh air!  Get
away!"  He slapped weakly at Anthony's offer of help and gripped the
rail.

Nicholas hurried down and said, "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I've been bedridden long enough to smell like the bottom of last
night's ale mug.  I need some air and some clean clothes."

Nakor appeared from belowdecks.  and said, "Anthony, Captain."  Seeing
Amos, he said, "Admiral!  Good to see you."  "Good to see your silly
grin, too," said Amos.  To Nicholas, Nakor said, "Those creatures have
all fallen asleep.  The" drug should last for some time, but with
inhuman things, you can't know.  We must do it now."

Nicholas closed his eyes a moment, then said, "Do it."  Nakor signaled
to Ghuda, who led the work gang.  They slid aside the cargo hatch and
moved a large cargo net with small bags of lead ballast tied to it into
position over the hold.  Nakor nimbly jumped to the net and hung there
while it was lowered.  Time dragged on while they silently waited, for
only Nakor would go into the lower cargo deck, to load the thirty
unconscious creatures into the net.  He claimed he was the least likely
candidate to become infected because of some tricks he knew, and
without knowing how the plague was spread, Nicholas couldn't disagree
with his judgment.

Then a shout came from below, and Ghuda signaled.  The men on the hoist
pushed on the wooden spokes that extended from the capstan, and the
cargo net rose slowly up until it cleared the deck.  Nakor was hanging
on the outside of the net and jumped down to the deck as it cleared the
hold.  It moved higher, until it was above the rail, and two men hauled
on boom lines to swing it over the water.  The bodies within looked
peaceful, sleeping young men and women.

Then, without waiting for any order, Nakor took a knife and cut the
line to the net, releasing it.  With a splash it struck the water, and
Nicholas watched in mute revulsion while those inside the ropy web sank
out of sight without a sound as the ballast pulled them toward the
bottom of the sea.

Anthony put his hand on Nicholas's shoulder and said, "It had to be
done.  There was no other way.  Keep in mind those creatures were
created to die."

"It doesn't make murder any easier," Nicholas said softly.

Anthony said, "I'm going down to the lower deck with Nakor.  Between
us, we can cleanse it of any possible illness left behind.  Then the
mercenaries will have a place to sleep besides the main deck."

Nicholas nodded.

Amos said, "What about that ship that's following us?"

Nicholas said, "Praji called it a dr oman  It's like a Quegan bireme
with a catapult and ballista; it's also got a ram and boarding ramp.
Single lateen sail off a mainmast, and I think there's a span ket
behind, though it never got close enough to see."

"The captain's brave or mad.  That's no deep-water ship.  A storm hits,
and they'll be rowing for their lives."

"Remember who we're dealing with," said Nicholas.

Amos nodded.  "I know better than you, boy.  I've seen their butchery
on a scale you can only imagine."  He glanced upward and said, "The men
seem to be taking care of their duties."

"Pickens is turning out to be a good first mate, and Harry's learning
as we go."  Nicholas smiled.  "So am I."

"Sometimes it's the best way.  Pickens always was a good seaman; it was
his love of too much drink while in port that kept him in the
forecastle."  Glancing back to where Pickens stood, Amos said, "We get
through all this and he stays sober in port, I'll make the promotion
permanent."

Amos staggered a little and had to grab the rail.  Nicholas said, "All
right.  That's enough.  Back to bed.  I'll gladly return command to you
when you're ready, but that's not for a while yet."

As Nicholas helped Amos back to his cabin, Amos said, "Nicky, do me one
favor, will you?"

"What?"

"When we get home, don't mention this business to your grandmother.  No
need to upset her."

Nicholas said, "I think she might notice that puncture wound in your
stomach, Amos."

"I'll come up with a good story by then," he said weakly.

Nicholas helped him back into his bunk, and before he could leave the
cabin, Amos was fast asleep.

TIME WORE ON.  Nicholas's fear about friction between the men with
women present seemed unfounded, as long as the pursuing war galley
could be seen.  For hours there would be no sign of the dr oman then it
would reappear just before sunset, or to be back at dawn.  Without
sight of the Royal Gull, it might have been easy to grow lax and think
the voyage might end without a struggle, but the black shape on the
horizon behind them always reminded them a fight was close at hand.

The prisoners from Crydee were recovering their strength enough to
spend some time on deck.  The dozen women from Crydee and the four
maids with las ha were around to keep the single men from becoming
resentful of those with Nicholas and his friends.  Twice Nicholas had
broken up scuffles between boatmen or mercenaries, but he judged them
no worse than similar altercations between apprentices over city girls
he had observed back at Krondor.

The sailors kept the ship in trim, and those boatmen who had elected to
join this journey became able deckhands.  Soldiers of Crydee found
themselves back at tasks learned on the journey out, while Nicholas,
Marcus, and Harry learned the shipmaster's craft.

Every day Nicholas conferred with Amos, who attempted to help him get
some sense of navigation from the charts and his log.  They were
approaching the place where Amos judged them most likely to find a
friendly current as they turned away from Novindus and headed across
the sea.  Already they had left sight of land behind, and now the water
was turning a darker blue, showing a change in current.  Nicholas still
wasn't as confident of reading such changes as Amos was, but then, Amos
had been doing it forty years longer.

Life on the ship settled into a routine, if a tense one.  But few
people can live constantly under a cloud; there were moments of genuine
humor and no small amount of p Harry and Brisa still sparred and hurled
mock threats at other, but Nicholas noticed he rarely saw them apart

Margaret and Anthony could often be seen on the stealing what little
privacy they could for themselves, were not as demonstrative as Brisa
and Harry, but few were.

Marcus and Abigail had settled into a quiet content though Abigail
could still bring a frown to his face by showing her desire to see
Krondor and Rillanon.  Nicholas was ing to judge his cousin a man
unlikely to travel more day's ride from his home again unless it was
absolutely sary or he was out hunting.

Nicholas found his own life surprisingly satisfying, was passionate and
instructive, and he was a more than pupil.  The dudes of captaining the
ship, and of over sc training of the men for the coming battle, the
time spentJ Amos all put him into a frame of mind that could or called
happy.  He knew that a fight was coming and that ing less than disaster
for his homeland hung in the balance'] he preferred to put that problem
aside until necessity die otherwise.  It was the potential of conflict
that heightened appreciation of the good things he encountered along
the For the interim, he was satisfied to enjoy the work, the company of
good friends, and the affection of a beautiful woman. ,^

Nicholas was too practical to think himself in love with fl girl; what
he felt for her was no small part affection: las ha revealed herself to
be a shrewd and clever young woman wit keen curiosity and the same
tough, street-wise savvy that displayed.  What Brisa had named coldness
back when they first met turned out to be a pointed desire for
survival, a Brisa could appreciate.  las ha lack of formal education
and rough upbringing could not mask her intelligence, and on several
occasions Nicholas had been taken to task by her for confusing
ignorance with stupidity.  But while Nicholas dreamed or magical love,
as young men his age often did, he had known from his earliest days
that he was a child of the state and that the right to chose his own
life would never be his.

This interim of sailing northeast, through the hot afternoons of
equatorial waters, with those he came in search of safe was as close to
freedom as the young Prince had ever known.

Late in the second month they were entering familiar waters; Amos came
up on deck one night and scanned the heavens.  "The stars look like
they're supposed to," he said with a grin.  "We're heading home."  The
last was said with a wistfulness Nicholas had never heard from him.
"What's wrong?"  Nicholas asked.

"Nothing, really," said Amos.  He leaned against the rail of the main
deck and looked out at the dark water.  "I was just thinking that this
is indeed my last voyage."

"It's not as if you're going to be walled up in the palace," said
Nicholas.  "Grandmother has her estates and loves to travel.  You may
wish to stay in Krondor after one season of touring the Kingdom with
her Rillanon, Bas-Tyra, down to see Aunt Carline in Salador, a visit at
Darkmoor to taste the new wines, a trip up to Yabon every second
year."

Amos shook his head.  "Landed gentry.  I'll never get used to that."

Nicholas grinned.  "You will."

Amos said, "just like you're going to get used to returning to your
father's court?"

Nicholas lost his smile.

"I thought so."

Changing the subject, Nicholas said, "Do you think they're making for
Krondor?"

Amos did not need to ask who "they" were, and he knew Nicholas already
knew the answer; they had discussed this several times before, but he
also knew that despite his having matured greatly over the last year,
Nicholas was still young in many ways, and unsure of himself.

Amos thought a moment, then said, "It's the most logical choice."  He
glanced around to ensure they were not being overheard and said, "We
know their ultimate goal: Sethanon and the Lifestone.  The plague is
only a means to an end; by throwing the Kingdom into chaos, they can
easily send an expedition to Sethanon, to release their 'goddess.1 "

"Very foolish creatures," said Nakor.

They both turned suddenly, and Amos said, "Don't do that.  Where did
you come from?"

THE K/NG 's BUCCANEE s

Nakor grinned.  "Where could I have come from?  We're on a ship,
remember?"

Nicholas said, "How much did you hear?"

"Enough.  But nothing I didn't already know."

Nicholas chided himself that he should never underestimate the little
man's knowledge, but he had been certain only a handful of people knew
of the Lifestone.  "What do you think?"

"The snakes are very strange creatures.  I have thought so for many
years."

"You've encountered them before?"  asked Amos.

"The last time I was in Novindus."

Amos and Nicholas said, "You've been to Novindus before?"

"Once, a long time ago though I didn't know it was Novindus at the
time; it's a long story having to do with a trick that didn't work the
way I thought it would, some temple relics I thought were abandoned,
and a secret priesthood with no sense of humor.  Anyway, these
Pantathians are foolish creatures who would murder the planet for this
false goddess of theirs; and in the end, their plans will fail."

Amos didn't speculate on how much Nakor knew.  All be said was "Well, a
man can kill you for foolish reasons just easily as for good ones,"

"That's the thing," said Nakor.  "You're just as dead, can't argue with
religious fanatics."

Ghuda came wandering over and heard the last re "Oh, you can argue," he
pointed out, "but a fat lot of] does you.  A desert man I once knew
called it 'pounding down a rat hole."  "

They all smiled.  "How is the training going?"  asked Nie las.

"Well.  Some of the prisoners have recovered enough to joia'l us;
they're very motivated to have a sword in their hand when we overtake
that other ship."

Nicholas had been reluctant to allow apprentices and pages to carry
weapons, fearing they would be more of a hindrance than a help.  Ghuda
had convinced him that they might need every sword they could muster,
and the training occupied much of the passage, giving the other
mercenaries something useful to do.

They passed the evening quietly; then Amos complained of growing tired
and went to his cabin.  Nicholas saw Harry on the quarterdeck and
decided to turn in.  Reaching his cabin, he found Brisa and las ha
talking.  Brisa jumped to her feet when she saw Nicholas, saying, "I
was just leaving."

Nicholas smiled at her as she walked past.  As the days grew hotter,
the women had taken to wearing simple shifts, and Brisa's was cut
provocatively low up top and high at the hem, showing neck, arms,
bosom, and legs to good advantage.  Nicholas watched her leave and las
ha pointedly cleared her throat.  Nicholas turned to face her with a
grin.

"Come over here," she said, "and I'll make you forget that skinny
tart."

Nicholas doffed his sword belt and removed his boots.  As he dropped
them on the deck, he said, "Skinny?  Brisa?"

las ha reached up and unfastened the top ties of her own shift, letting
it fall to her waist.  "Skinny," she repeated.

Nicholas laughed and playfully buried his face between her breasts.
Then he kissed her and said, "What were you two talking about?  You've
become thick as thieves."

Removing his tunic, she said, "She's helping me learn your barbaric
tongue, if you must know.  She's really not a bad sort.  Once she found
out I wasn't a noblewoman, she's become very civil."

"For someone who doesn't get along with noblewomen,

she and Margaret get along famously, too."

las ha said, "Your cousin is a very unusual woman, I've seen many rich
and noble women, and she's unlike any other."

Nicholas sighed as he nuzzled her neck.  "Too bad you couldn't have
known her mother."  He found it difficult to picture Briana.  A wistful
feeling passed through him.  "What is it?"  las ha asked.

Nicholas shrugged.  "Nothing, really.  People die, you mourn them, then
you get on with life.  That's the way it is."  More brightly he said,
"It's good you're learning the King's

Tongue,"

las ha smiled.  "If I'm to find myself a rich husband, I'll need to
know it."

Nicholas sat up.  "Husband?"

las ha said, "Eventually.  Your wife might not wish to have your
mistress nearby.  And neither one of us imagines for a moment your
father would allow us to wed."

Nicholas sat up and started to protest; then he realized she was saying
nothing he hadn't already considered himself.  He discovered he just
didn't like hearing her say it.

"Your feelings are hurt," she said, half-mocking.  She stood up.  "Let
me make you feel better," she said as she untied the belt around her
shift, allowing the fabric to fall around her ankles.

Nicholas grinned as she came back to him and settled into his arms.

THE PURSUING GALLEY had not been seen for a week, and Amos judged it
had finally succumbed to the long passage.  He came up on deck and took
a deep breath of sea air.  It was early spring again.

Amos went to Nicholas's side on the quarterdeck and said, "One of these
days I may ask for my command back."

"Anytime."

Amos clapped Nicholas on the shoulder.  "You're doing a fine job."

Nicholas said, "I'd feel better knowing where that other ship is."

Amos said, "If that captain knows his craft, they're south of the
Frigate Rocks, about a week south of Three Fingers Island.  They'll
turn there and make directly for the Straits of Darkness."

"We're going to cut them off?"

"I don't know," said Amos.  "This ship is almost as fast as the real
Eagle, and the real Gull was only slightly slower than that.  It's a
difficult choice, and we didn't know the southern waters as well as
their captain."  He rubbed his hand, and said, "But no man knows the
northern waters like I do, and once on the Bitter Sea, I'll use every
current and eddy, every wind and comber to push us along.  We'll take
them, have no doubt."

Nicholas asked, "When is the earliest we might see them?"

"Now," said Amos.  "We could have overtaken them anywhere along the
route, depending upon where their captain starts his eastward run."

Two hours later, the lookout called, "Sail ahoy!"

Nicholas ordered as much canvas on as possible and every man jumped to
push the ship through the water as quickly as could be done.  After a
while the lookout called, "I mark her, Captain.  It's the Royal
Gull1."

Amos shouted, "All hands to stations!"  "No," said Nicholas.  "No?"
asked Amos.  "We'll not attack her yet."  "Why not, for the gods'
sake?"  asked Amos.  Ghuda came up on deck, Praji and Vaja behind him,
and Nicholas addressed all of them.  "We have no idea how many men
they're carrying.  And we don't have surprise.  I'm not going to move
in on her until we've passed the Straits of Darkness and we're almost
home."

"Why?"  demanded Harry, climbing up from the main deck.

Nicholas said, "Because I'm not going to let one of those creatures
reach Krondor.  If I have to, I'll lash the ships together and burn
them both.  If we have to swim home, I'd rather have it a short
distance to friendly shores."

Amos swore.  "Well, we'll have to dog them, and I hope their captain
doesn't have a lot of imagination."

Nicholas said, "Pass the word, we're going to run if she turns to
fight."

Amos said, "I don't like it "

"Those are my orders," said Nicholas.  "We'll take her only if she
turns toward the Free Cities or Kesh.  Otherwise, we're going to follow
her home."

"Aye, Captain," Amos said, saluting.  His expression was a mixture of
doubt and pride.

icholas watched.

The counterfeit Royal Gull was trimming sail, slowing in a provocative
invitation for the Eagle to attempt to overtake it.  Amos stood on the
quarterdeck.  He had become a fixture there for the last two weeks, but
he still hadn't requested a return of command from Nicholas.

Nicholas had been open about his lack of knowledge in running a ship,
but he was an apt student, and between his lifetime of small-boat
experience, the time he had worked on the Raptor, and what he could
learn from first Pickens and now Amos, he was turning into a first-rate
deep-water sailor.  Amos had told him that at the rate he was learning,
he'd be a first-class cabin boy in a year or two.  Nicholas realized
the near-legendary captain had only been teasing, but his successes so
far were constantly offset by a nagging doubt that his luck was about
to run out.

Amos mused, "They're really not asking for us to engage."  Nicholas
agreed, "They know we don't want to ... yet.  But I can't fathom what
they're up to."

Amos called aloft, "Anything to the stern?"

The lookout called back, "Nothing, Admiral!"

They had cleared the Straits of Darkness a week before, and were now
due north of Durbin.  Nicholas said, "You don't really expect to see
anything back there, do you?"

"You never know," said Amos.  He spit over the rail.  "The snakes
managed enough magic to create those plague carriers and had years to
plan this; they probably began this plan the minute Murmandamus died at
Sethanon.  I wouldn't put it past them to have a way to get that bitch
of a bireme across the ocean."  He smiled.  "More to the point, I
wouldn't put it past them to have a ship in reserve somewhere in the
Bitter Sea just in case of this sort of turn of events.  And their
slowing down would make sense if they expect help."

Nicholas said, "That's a risk I can appreciate."

Just then the lookout called, "Sail ahoy!"

"Where away?"  shouted Nicholas.

"Dead to starboard, Captain!"

Nicholas and Amos both crossed the rail and looked, and after a minute
a sail could be seen.  "She's coming fast," said

Nicholas.

Amos said, "Uh-huh.  Keshian cutter.  Privateer out of

Durbin.  Time to run out the colors,"

The imitation Kingdom warship carried a full complement of banners and
ensigns, and Nicholas called, "Run out the Kingdom banner and the royal
ensign."

Amos said, "Put my pennant out there, too, while you're at

TH JffNG '$ BUCCANSE K

it.

Nicholas called out for the Admiral of the Fleet banner to be added,
and soon large colorful flags flew from topmast and mizzenmast.

The Keshian cutter bore down on them, then suddenly veered to port.
Amos laughed.  "That captain sees two Kingdom warships returning from
patrol, one with the Admiral of the Fleet and a member of the royal
household aboard.  He'll give us a wide berth."

The day wore on, and Nicholas kept his interval behind the Royal Gull.
The pursuit took on the aspects of a tacking duel in a race, but in
this race the purpose was not to overtake, or to fell behind, but to
stay within striking distance.

The Gull put on more canvas near sundown, and Amos said, "The bastard's
going to try to run on us in the dark.  Hasn't he figured out I know
these waters too well?  I know where he must come back to come to
Krondor."

"What if he doesn't run to Krondor?"  asked Nicholas.  "He must,"
answered Amos.  "He could put into Sarth, or Land's End, but why
bother?  Your father is almost certain to be out on the Far Coast,
trying to make sense of the mess we've left in Freeport.  I think that
was the purpose for what we thought was a needless raid at Carse,
Tulan, and Barran.  With that level of destruction, your father will
have pulled most of the fleet out of Krondor and sailed straight to the
Far Coast as soon as the Straits cleared.  Then he'll be out to
Freeport."  He calculated.  "He's probably deciding to return here or
go after us by now."

Nicholas said, "She's breaking north!"

Amos said, "I think it's a feint.  Wait a moment, run out sails,
follow, and as soon as it's dark and she can't see us, turn back to
this line for Krondor.  I'll bet you all I've got we'll see them no
farther than a mile away at dawn tomorrow."

Nicholas said, "I know better than to take that bet."  Putting his hand
on Amos's shoulder, he asked, "Something to eat?"

"Why not?"  answered Amos.

The old Admiral was still a little unsteady on his feet by the end of
the day; however, Anthony judged him fully recovered from the sword
wound.  His strength would return slowly, but he would be fit and well
by the time they reached Krondor.  Muttering as they descended the
ladder to the main deck, Amos said, "If we were sailing a straight
line, we could be home in another four days.  But this tacking around,
like a boat race in the harbor, it's a serious waste of wind."

Nicholas agreed.  "I'm anxious to have this over with, but I think we
know that the chances of those murderous dogs accommodating our desires
are slim."

From above, the lookout shouted, "Smoke, Captain!"

"Where away?"

"Dead astern!"

Nicholas and Amos hurried back up on deck and squinted against the
setting sun.  A plume of smoke rose like a tattered flag and Amos said,
"That Keshian cutter found someone."

"Yes, but who?"  asked Nicholas.

AMOS'S PREDICTION HAD been apt.  When dawn broke, the Royal Gull was
less than a mile away, slightly to the north of them.  Nicholas watched
as the ship slowly grew larger, then ordered the helm ported, so their
own speed fell off.  The tacking duel really slowed their pace, and
Amos came up on deck.  He climbed to the quarterdeck and said,
"Something new?"  "Yes," said Nicholas.  "They're doing nothing that
makes sense, except slowing down.  I wonder if they're going to turn
and attack?"

Amos looked at the other ship, "If they're going to, they'll be turning
about .. . now!"  The other ship turned.

"All hands on deck!"  shouted Nicholas.  "Mr.  Pickens, turn to port
and see if we can be heading out on the upwind leg before they get
turned around and their sails trimmed."

Nakor came running up on deck, shouting, "There's something!  There's
something!"

Nicholas said, "What are you talking about?"  "I don't know," said the
little man, hopping back and forth from foot to foot.  "There's a trick
here.  I can feel it!"

Anthony came up an instant later and said, "Nicholas, something strange
is happening to us.  I can sense it."  "Do you have any idea what it
is?"  asked Nicholas.  Abruptly there was a sound like a giant cloth
ripping, and a ringing like a chime, but loud and sustained, hanging in
the air and grating on the nerves, like the shriek of broken chalk on a
slate board,

Nicholas felt his skin break out in chill bumps, and his i breath came
short.  Then Anthony pointed.  "Look!"

Through a shimmering haze on the horizon, the dr oman materialized.
"It's a trick!"  shouted Nakor.  "They've hidden the ship from our
eyes, and the other ship has slowed us down!"

Anthony said, "A spell of masking."

Amos said, "Now we know who that Keshian freebooter encountered late
yesterday."

"And who won."  Nicholas judged the position of the two ships.  "Make
ready for battle!"  he called.  "Mr.  Pickens, bring her back to
starboard.  We're taking the Gull."

Orders were passed, and Ghuda and Praji formed their mercenary
companies, one in the rigging, the other on deck.  Those prisoners from
Crydee who were fit carried weapons, but most of them also carried
ropes and grapples.  Sailors above frantically reversed the set of
sails they had begun trimming for a turn to port, and now were
lengthening sheets they had just shortened, while others quickly pulled
in those that they had just let out.

Marcus and Calls were climbing to archers' platforms in the rigging,
with a half-dozen other archers.  They picked their targets and began
firing, their longbows able to reach farther than any other bows on
either ship.  Sailors on the Gull dived for cover, and when Calls
killed the helmsman, the ship turned and wallowed.

The Eagle bore down on its sister ship, and Amos called ranges for
Nicholas, judging the closing distance and angle with a practiced eye.
At the center of the deck, Margaret, Brisa, and las ha with some of the
towns women and boatmen, quickly set fire pots to burning, fanning
coals to life.

"Hard aport!"  shouted Amos, and Pickens spun the wheel as fast as he
could.  The Eagle descended on the Gull, and men on both decks braced
themselves for a ramming collision.  But as the bow of the Eagle seemed
ready to pierce the railing of the Gull, the Eagle turned ponderously
to the left.  Spars on the bowsprit and braces on the fore channel
shattered, sending wooden splinters flying through the air like
missiles.  Then the hulls struck, a glancing blow, but with enough
force that one soldier was thrown from his perch in the rigging of the
Eagle, and another was left dangling from the ropes, while his sword
clattered on the deck below.

A full score of men stood ready to greet the attackers, and Nicholas
shouted, "Nakor, if you have any tricks to help, now's the time!"

Nakor reached into his black rucksack and pulled out something that
looked like a ball of smoke, black churning in his hand.  Then Nicholas
saw it was a swarm of some kind of insects.

He threw it toward the Gull, and the cloud grew, and a loud angry
buzzing filled the air as the two ships lurched together.  The row of
defenders cried out and began swatting at stinging insects.

Nakor said, "It won't last long.  Hurry."

Nicholas gave the signal.  "Now!"  shouted Harry, overseeing the men
from Crydee with the grapples, and they threw the heavy three-pronged
hooks.  Two bounced off the rail and fell between the ships, while
another bounced harmlessly off the deck when the man throwing it let go
of the rope in his excitement.  But the others held, and pulled, and
the two ships came together with a grinding crash.

The men with the grappling ropes quickly tied them off, then drew their
weapons to join in the boarding.  Each wore a headband of black cloth,
at Nicholas's insistence, so that should any man find himself racing an
inhuman copy, he would know he raced a false human, even if the face
was that of a brother or friend.  Each man had been warned that to lose
the headband was to chance being killed by a friend, and if the
headband was lost, to fall to the deck and get out of the way.

Praji's mercenaries swarmed the deck, while those with Ghuda swung
across from the rigging above.  Nicholas looked to the main deck and
saw that Tuka and his boatmen, and some of the women from Crydee, stood
ready.  They would either carry hot pitch to be thrown at the next
ship, or put out fires that might erupt on the Eagle.

Nicholas saw that everything was as ordered as it would be, drew his
own sword, and took a running leap at the rail.  With one foot on the
rail of the Eagle, he pushed off and launched himself across six feet
of space high above two hulls grinding together, to land on the
forecastle of the Gull.  Nakor's stinging bugs were gone, but they'd
done their job.

The ships were lashed together fore-to-art, and their sails and rigging
conspired to force the locked pair of ships to turn in a slow circle.
Nicholas cursed the luck that forced him to take the Gull bow to stern.
It would make it much more difficult to cut her loose and get away
than had they overtaken her from the same direction.  He hoped it would
not leave them vulnerable to the approaching dr oman

A black-clad officer attacked Nicholas, and the Prince parried the
first blow.  The man had a tendency to follow a pattern of three blows,
and the third time he began the sequence, Nicholas easily took him in
the chest with the point of his sword.  Nicholas glanced around and saw
one of his own men being pushed over the side of the rail.  Nicholas
killed the man doing the pushing, and helped the man regain the deck.
They saw they were alone on the foredeck, and Nicholas shouted,

"Amos, over here!"  !  Amos picked up a small cask, the sort used for
brandy, and threw it across to Nicholas.  Nicholas's knees buckled, and
he let out a woof of exertion as he caught it, but he held on to it.

To the soldier with him he shouted, "Open that small hatchway, and be
careful of surprises!"

The man pushed it aside with his foot, leaning away, and a crossbow
bolt shot out.  Nicholas didn't wait; he threw the cask down into the
darkness.  He heard a satisfying crash of wood and a cry of pain.
"That's one!"  he shouted to Amos.

Amos tossed him another, and he quickly smashed that down after the
first; then they pushed the cover closed.

Picking up his sword, Nicholas looked down at the main deck, seeing
that the fighting was spread out across the deck, a no-man's-land, with
no clear-cut line separating the opposing forces.

Nicholas swung down the ladder, planting his boot in the back of a man
facing one of Praji's mercenaries.  The black-clad sailor stumbled
forward, and the mercenary quickly killed him.

Nicholas skirted the fighting until he was moving along the rail
closest to his own ship.  Ghuda, Prajj, and Vaja were holding a clear
area of deck, and Nicholas joined them, forcing their way past a small
central hatchway.  As soon as he was there, Nicholas turned and
shoured, "Another barrel!"

Amos and Harry carried a larger barrel and had to rest it on the moving
rails of the ships while Nicholas took hold of it.  Harry scrambled
over and helped his friend pick up the large barrel.  It was ten
gallons of oil, and with the rolling deck below them, they had a
difficult time getting it over the hatchway.  Nicholas counted three
and they dropped it.

The oil was lamp oil and wouldn't burn without a wick under normal
conditions, but Nakor had insisted that if the fire around it grew hot
enough, it would aid the ship in burning, melting the pitch between the
planks of the hull and either burning her to the water line, or causing
enough leaks to sink her.

Turning away from the hatch, Nicholas saw that the main hatchway was
momentarily clear.  "Get another!"  he shouted to Harry, while he raced
to stand over the next hatchway.

Two sailors from the Gull seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and
Nicholas engaged them both.  He had practiced against multiple
opponents in the marshalling yard as soon as he had picked up his first
sword, but never before had his life been the prize.  He remembered
what his father and his drill instructor had told him over and over:
unless the two men he was facing had practiced together, they were as
likely to get in each other's way as to help each other.  Wait, defend,
and watch for an opening.

As if his rather had staged an example for his benefit, the man on the
left stepped in front of the man on the right.  The second man bumped
him, pushing him off balance, and he died on Nicholas's sword before he
could recover it.  Nicholas then pushed back the second man, and took
him in the throat as Ghuda arrived, carrying a large barrel.  He dumped
it down the hatchway and shouted, "That's all of them!"

"Call for the fire and get off this ship!"  shouted Nicholas.

Every man on the raiding party had been told that as soon as fire had
been passed to the Gull, the only order would be to fight back to the
Eagle.

Tuka's boatmen stood around a small cooking pot, set over an open
brazier, heating pitch.  Above, men waited in the yards, while
Nicholas's boarders fought a retreat.

The crew of the Gull, rather than press the advantage, sought to cut
the Eagle loose, and Nicholas saw that his men were clearing the
rail.

"Now!"  cried Nicholas.

Above, Calls and Marcus began shooting fire arrows into the sails of
the Gull.  The other men in the yards lowered ropes and had bubbling
pitch tied to them.  They quickly pulled them up, for the hot pitch
would cool rapidly, and the hotter the pitch, the easier to light.

Nicholas watched with trepidation: handling fire aboard any ship was
risky during a battle it was extremely dangerous.  No worst disaster
than fire at sea existed, for a ship was like a tinderbox.  A little
flame anywhere in the sail or rigging, and the entire ship could be
engulfed in minutes.  Most of the material used to keep water out
pitch, tar, and oil burned furiously, and even wetting canvas during a
battle was scant protection against fire arrows or hot coals.

Nicholas stood by the large brazier amidships, ready to dump the coals
on his own deck and pour oil on the fire.  If a blaze could not be set
aboard the Gull, he would burn both ships, ordering his crew and
passengers to abandon ship.

In the rigging, men of Crydee cautiously struck flint and steel to
under, and brought flame to life; they shielded the flickering ember,
for their own sails were as dry and vulnerable to flame as the Gull's.
Reaching the end of the spars where the others waited, they passed
along the burning brands, which were touched to the surface of the
buckets of pitch.  The pitch sprang into flame, and the men quickly
threw the buckets onto the rigging and yards of the neighboring ship.

Nicholas stood alone on the deck of the Gull, making sure his raiders
were safely back, but as he started to climb back, a pair of sailors
charged him and he found himself sitting on the rail, unable to move
quickly.  Someone hurled over the rail beside him, landing atop the two
men.  They all went to the deck in a heap, and Nicholas saw Ghuda get
up.  The big mercenary turned and started toward Nicholas, a smile on
his face.  "Let's " he began to say, then looked surprised.

He took a step toward Nicholas, reaching behind him, as if trying to
scratch his back, and said, "Damn me!"

Nicholas, on the deck of the Eagle, saw Ghuda slump facedown across the
rails, a knife protruding from his back.  Nicholas reached over and
pulled at the big mercenary, dragging him to the Eagle with a strength
he wouldn't have thought possible.

Tuka raced forward, a burning pot of pitch dangling from one hand.  He
started a swinging arc, casting the pot over the rail to the Gull, when
an arrow struck him in the chest.  With a gurgling screech, he stumbled
forward and over the rail, falling between the two hulls, which slid
together with a sick, grinding crunch.  The scream was cut off
instantly.

Nicholas felt ill.  Anthony hurried to his side, and Nicholas said,
"See to him," pointing at Ghuda.

Nicholas's mercenaries hacked at the ropes that tied the ships
together, while dodging sporadic arrow fire, as flames rained down on
the Gull, perilously close to the Eagle.  Margaret and las ha stood
ready with buckets of sand and water for any sign of flames on the
deck.  The men in the rigging were all carrying knives, to quickly cut
loose any sail or line that might catch fire.

Nicholas saw the crew of the Gull was now frantically attempting to
combat flames in the rigging and sails, and ordered PSckens to pull
away from the enemy ship.

Pickens called back, "We're locked up, Captain!  We're into the wind
and can't get loose until we turn!"

Nicholas called for the boatmen to bring oars from the jolly boats and
fend off the Gull.  A dozen oars were carried to the rail and men
attempted to push away the other ship, but to no avail.

Lazily the two ships turned in the wind, locked together by
circumstance.  Then the two hulls began to slide along each other, with
a grinding, shrieking sound as wood and metal scraped in a shuddering
embrace.

Then the Eagle heeled around the stern of the Gull, and with a
thunderous bump the two ships struck one last time, and the Eagle
rolled free.

Small fires erupted in the rigging and on the deck, but these were
quickly put out.  Men who had been dumping flaming pitch on the enemies
a few minutes before were now growing exhausted from hauling water up
on those same ropes and dumping it on the sails, to keep sparks and
embers from the Gull from drifting on the wind and firing the Eagle.

Nicholas hurried to the after castle mounting the quarterdeck, and
watched as they slid past the Gull.  Marcus swung down from the rigging
and put his hand on his cousin's shoulder.  "We did it."

Nicholas said, "I hope so."

Then Nicholas felt Marcus's hand grip his shoulder hard, and he saw
what Marcus was seeing.  As flames began to spread through the sails of
the Gull, figures were running up on deck.  Among those coming up from
belowdecks, framed by smoke and a shower of embers, stood Margaret and
Abigail, shrieking in terror.

Close enough they could hear them, Nicholas and Marcus stood in mute
horror.  Nicholas glanced down at the main deck and saw Margaret there,
dressed in her short shift, while the

Margaret on the Gull wore a Princess's gown.

Then the Margaret on the Gull called, "Marcus!  Help me!"  The Abigail
at her side screamed, "Nicholas!  Save us!"  With a low concussion,
something belowdecks in the Gull caught fire, and flames shot up from
the hatchways.  The gown worn by the Margaret on the Gull caught fire,
and she shrieked as she beat at the flames with her hands.

An arrow sped from the rigging and caught her in the chest,

:i knocking her back and out of sight.  A second arrow caught J Abigail
in the chest, and she, too, fell.

Calls swung down from the rigging above, landing lightly next to
Nicholas and Marcus.  "I saw no sense in prolonging that misery.  They
might be false, but the image was no less terrible for that."

He nodded toward the mid-deck, where Abigail stood in mute horror, eyes
wide at having witnessed her own death, while Margaret stood
ashen-faced, her hands held tiehdv b* .  i " * ^*Anthony.  "S

Nicholas nodded, then turned to look sternward.  The," dr oman was
bearing down on them, and he shouted, "G**: ready!  We're not done yet!
Hard to starboard, Mr.  Pickens."  fl

Amos shouted, "Look!"

Nakor and Praji came up on deck and over to Nk "What?"  asked Praji.

"Who's that in the bow?"

Nicholas felt his heart sink as Nakor said, "It's __

A man in a brown robe, his arms folded in the sle stood regarding the
Eagle, and the burning Gull, impassi

"He must have used his arts to bring that ship here," Praji.

"No," said Nakor.  "No trick to bring it here.  He folk" us the entire
way.  He only hid it from us with his trick."

"Impossible," said Amos.  "That ship couldn't hold em stores to feed
the slaves and crew!"

"Look," said Nicholas, pointing.

A figure moved to stand at Dehakon's side, Valgasha, Overlord.  His
skin was pale, bloated and flyblown, his movements jerky and
uncoordinated.  Upon his wrist the eagle spi its wings, a rotting
mockery of its former splendor.

"Necromancy," said Nakor.  "He's an evil bastard."

Then Dehakon raised his hand, and Nicholas felt his skin pucker with
chill bumps again.  "He's in canting said Anthony from below.

Calls notched an arrow and let fly, but the shaft seemed to strike an
invisible wall, stopping inches from the magician, falling to the
deck.

Men began to gather on deck, many calling down the favor of their gods
as a ship of dead men approached.  Across the water, figures gathered
on deck, a silent force of corpses.

Nakor closed his eyes and made a gesture, then he opened them again.
"This is very bad."

Nicholas said, "Really?"

"He uses very powerful tricks to keep those men moving, but, worse,
they carry the plague."

"We can't mount a second offensive against that ship," said Amos.  "We
don't have enough pitch and oil."

"We'll ram her," said Nicholas.

"Not in this lifetime," said Amos.  He pointed.  The sails on the dr
oman lowered, while the oars began to lift and fall.  "The rowers are
rowing, dead or not."

"Mighty arts," said Praji, spitting over the side.

"How do you fight dead men?"  asked Marcus.

"The best way you know how," answered Nicholas, drawing his sword.  He
glanced toward the distant shoreline and said, "Where are we, Amos?"

"Less than a half day's sailing from Land's End, another three days to
Krondor."

"We're going to let her close and ram us, we're going to fire the
Eagle, then those who can will swim for shore."

"It's more than three miles," said Amos softly.  "Few of us are going
to make it."

Even more softly, Nicholas said, "I know."

Harry came racing up from the main deck.  "We're going to fight
that?"

Nicholas nodded.

Nakor said, "Anthony!"

The young magician said, "What?"

"It's time'."  Nakor said with a grin.

"Time for what?"  asked Anthony, blinking in confusion.

"Use the amulet!"

Anthony's eyes narrowed, then he reached into his tunic and pulled out
the talisman Pug had originally given to Nicholas.  He closed his hand
around it and shouted, "Pug!"  Nothing happened for a minute, then
Anthony closed his eyes and shouted Pug's name again.

As he spoke the name a third time, a low thud of wind struck the ship,
as if a thunderclap had sounded next to them, and the ship heeled over
slightly.  Men shouted and exclaimed, and pointed.  Directly in front
of the dr oman a creature hung in the air.  As large as the ship
itself, its wings beat a wind with enough force to back away the
bireme.

"A dragon!"  said Amos.

The dragon was golden, with a silver crest.  Ruby eyes the size of
shields gleamed in the sunset, while talons black as ebony extended
like a cat's.  Dahakon gaped, and for a moment was motionless.  The
dragon snapped wings, held position before the dr oman and opened its
giant maw.

Fire erupted, white-hot and blinding, and washed over the ship.  The
sails and decks exploded into flames, while the dead crew ignited.  The
Overlord and his eagle stood like a statue, a mockery of majesty, as
flames consumed them.  The bird blackened and toppled from its master's
arm, which shriveled moments later as the ruler of the City of the
Serpent River died in truth.

For a terrible moment, the rest of the dr oman crew stood motionless,
their skin burning on them while they crouched for the attack. Lifeless
warriors, mindless of their own destruction, they awaited the
magician's command to swarm over the side and take the Eagle.  Then
swords fell from fingers too shriveled to hold them, and they began to
topple.

The Royal Eagle moved listlessly, no effort being made to keep her on
course as every living soul aboard was riveted by the sight of the most
majestic creature in Midkemia, one told of in story and legend, hanging
less than a hundred yards away, destroying the ship of the dead.

Then Anthony pointed.  "Look!"

In the midst of the conflagration, Dahakon stood motionless, surrounded
by a ruby nimbus that shielded him from the dragon's fury.  Nicholas
said, "Is there anything we can do?"

Calls notched another arrow and fired again, but this bounced off the
ruby shield as the first had off the invisible one.  Nakor said, "I
think .. ."  He grabbed an arrow from Calls's quiver and broke it
across his knee.  Holding the broken arrow up, he said, "His trick
stops steel.  Can you shoot this?"

Calls took the shaft, broken to three-quarter length, and said, "I can
try."  He notched the arrow and drew it back to its abbreviated length,
then let fly.  Unlike the last two, this struck the magician in the
chest, and he cried out; the ruby shield instantly vanished and the
dragon's flames seared him.

With a shriek that could be heard on the Eagle, the magician erupted
into flame and spun backward, falling out of sight.

The dragon watched the burning ship, then with a snap of its wings, it
moved away.  It soared, gliding above the waves, toward the sunset.  In
a lazy, soaring circle, it rose and passed above the ship, turned
toward the northwest, and sped away.

Harry whispered, "Ryana."

Nicholas nodded.

"Look!"  said Harry.

Nicholas squinted to see what his friend pointed to, and there, upon
the back of the dragon, a tiny figure could be seen riding.

"Is that Pug?"  asked Harry.

Nakor grinned and said, "I think so."  He laughed.  "Now we are
done."

Vaja called from the main deck, "Nakor!"

They all looked and saw he was kneeling over Ghuda.  Nicholas and the
others followed Nakor and Anthony to Ghuda's side.  The wounded
mercenary lay with his head propped on a bag of sand, and blood flowed
from his nose.

Anthony rolled him on his side and examined the wound, and looked at
Nicholas with pain in his eyes.  He shook his head no.

Nakor took Ghuda's hand.  "What is it, old friend?"  Ghuda coughed and
blood ran from the corner of his mouth.  "Friend?"  he said, his voice
weak and liquid.  "I'm lying here drowning in my own blood because you
want me to go halfway around the world with you, and you call me
friend?"  He squeezed Nakor's hand tightly and tears rolled down his
leathery cheeks.  "Sunsets above other oceans, and mighty sights and
great wonders to behold, Nakor."  He coughed violently and spit blood
on Nakor and Anthony.  Gasping for breath that wouldn't come, he said,
"A dragon of gold!"  With his last breath, he said, "My friend."  With
a choking, strangled sound, he convulsed and thrashed a moment, then
lay still.

Nicholas choked back his own pain, looking around the deck.  Other
wounded men lay nearby, and he said, "Anthony."  The young magician
looked where Nicholas pointed, and hurried to lend aid and comfort to
those who needed it.

Nicholas felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see las ha next
to him.  He rose and she said, "Are we going to your home, now?"

Nicholas let the tears run down his cheeks as he took her in his arms.
He didn't trust his voice, so he nodded, then, letting the sob out,
half relief, half sorrow, he said, "We're going home."

Nicholas composed himself, and then he gently set las ha aside. 
Turning toward the quarterdeck, he said, "Mr.  Pickens, make for
Krondor!"

Amos shouted, "Get aloft, you dock rats!"

The Royal Eagk slowly turned; then, as her sails filled, she moved away
in stately fashion from the two burning hulks.  With the sun setting
behind them, Nicholas watched as first the counterfeit Royal Gull and
then the Overlord's bireme sank into the water.

Amos came to stand next to Nicholas and put his hand oft his shoulder.
"Have I told you that lately you've begun to remind me of your
father?"

Nicholas turned toward Amos, and his eyes were shining' with unshed
tears.  "No," he said, his voice hoarse.

Squeezing his shoulder, Amos whispered, "Well, you do.  And I'm as
proud of you as if you were my own grandson."

Nicholas drew a deep breath and said, "Thank you," adding, with a
forced grin, "Grandfather."

Amos gripped Nicholas by the back of the neck and shook him slightly as
he said, "Grandfather!  Damn me, you are like him.  Trying to take the
run out of life!"

Nicholas smiled.  Putting his hand on Amos's shoulder, he said, "No one
has ever managed to rid your life of fun, Amos."

Amos threw him a sad smile and said, "That's the truth of it, isn't it?
Though days like this make you understand why the fun is important."

Amos unexpectedly threw his arms around Nicholas and hugged his foster
grandson.  "Let's bury our dead, Nicky, hoist a drink to their memory,
and go home."

IT WAS A subdued party on the main deck.  The mood of the crew was a
mixture of profound relief, stunned amazement at sight of the dragon,
and sorrow at the injury and death of friends.

Ghuda and Tuka were not the only casualties.  One of las ha maids, her
friend, had been badly burned by some spilled pitch that she had
smothered before it could catch fire and imperil the ship.

Five mercenaries had died, as well as three other boatmen.  A dozen men
of Crydee had given their lives to protect their Kingdom.  Nicholas
took stock and found that of those, six men who had left Crydee with
him to pursue the raiders had died.  Out of the sixty-five men and
women on the ship, only twenty-seven had left with Amos and himself at
the start of the journey.

Nicholas had ordered the brandy broken out and as they stood before him
he said, "Some of you know all we've been through, while others of you
are recently in our company.  But without any of you, I don't know if
we could have accomplished what we have.  The crown is in your debt.
I've decided that whatever booty we have left in that chest below will
be equally divided among all of you."  The mercenaries grinned while
the sailors and soldiers of the Kingdom exchanged startled glances, but
their smiles were equally appreciative.  Bonuses in service to the
Kingdom were rare.  "We've lost some good friends," said Nicholas. "Let
us never forget."  He raised a glass and said, "To Ghuda, and the
others."

They all drank and then Nicholas said, "For you that have come across a
vast ocean to a distant land, we will do all we can to make you feel at
home.  I don't know how we shall aid you to return home, but someday
you shall.  You have our word.  Until then there's honest work and
ample pay for all of you."  Turning toward the sunset, made red-orange
and gold by the smoke from the burning ships, he said, "Set sail for

Krondor!"

A cheer erupted from the crew and men leaped to their duties, anxious
to be heading at last for home.

THREE DAYS LATER, near noon, they sailed into Krondor harbor.  Amos
ordered the royal ensign hoisted, and it was a flustered harbor pilot
who raced to intercept the boat.  Climbing aboard with two assistants,
he greeted Amos and Nicholas with a mixture of wonder and
astonishment.

Nicholas said, "Amos, would you like to take her in for the last
time?"

Amos shrugged.  "It's not really the same thing.  If this were the true
Eagle, or my Royal Dragon, perhaps."  The remark caused the harbor
pilot to glance from Prince to Admiral in confusion.  Then with an evil
grin, Amos said, "You should practice coming in under sail.  Can't
start any sooner."

Nicholas returned the grin.  "Make ready to trim sail!"  he shouted.

The harbor pilot said, "Highness, I urge you; lower your sails and let
us tow you in."

Nicholas said, "Harry!"

"What?"  called his friend.

"Get into the bow and make sure that assistant pilot doesn't faint." In
an almost joyous challenge, he shouted, "We're coming in under sail!"

Sailors scrambled as smaller boats moved out of the way.  The Royal
Ensign gave the Eagle right-of-way over any other save a smaller boat
also under royal colors, and old hands in the harbor knew the Prince's
Admiral's habit of sailing into the royal docks.  With Trask's pennant
flying from the masthead, no one in their right mind was about to cross
the bow of the Royal Eagle; the only two to ever try it now stood on
the Eagle's deck.

Harry shouted, "We're on line!"

Nicholas called out, "Reef all sails!  Ready the landlines!"

The sailors above furiously pulled up the canvas.  The ship moved
forward, her inertia carrying her straight into the docks.  Nicholas
watched expectantly, waiting for the proper moment to call for the
lines to be tossed to those waiting on the dock-side.

The ship continued to slow and Nicholas waited, and waited, until at
last Harry turned and shouted, "We're .. . ah ... a little short,
Nicky."

Nicholas put his head down in the crook of his arm, resting on the
rail, and said, "Master Pilot.  Call for your boat, if you will."

Amos laughed, a belly roar that rattled the sails.  Slapping Nicholas
on the back, he said, "You'll get the hang of it, one of these days."

Nicholas peeked out from the crook of his arm and said, "Now who's
taking the fun out of life?"

the guests cheered Lyam, King of the Isles, drank the toast he had just
made to the bride and groom.  Amos stood grinning, looking almost
unrecognizable in his formal court clothing; lace-front shirts and
cutaway coats had become the fashion in the Kingdom this year.  Only
the desire of his beloved Alicia for him to look his best on their
wedding day could get him into what he called "those silly-looking
garments."  His other choice was his Admiral's uniform, which he
despised even more, so he relented on her request and dressed in
current fashion.

Nicholas sat with the other guests at the head table in the banquet
hall of the Prince's palace in Krondor.  At his right, his sister,
Elena, and her husband were speaking with Erland, one of his brothers,
and Erland's wife, the Princess Genevieve.  Bor-ric, Erland's twin,
spoke to his wife, Yasmine, while Alicia looked on.

Nicholas's mother had been almost overwhelmed when she saw her youngest
child walk into court, without the limp that had marked him for life.
Nicholas had realized that during the last battle he had been so
preoccupied with making sure everything was ready in case things turned
for the worse, that if the foot had hurt him, he hadn't noticed.  Nakor
had said that his healing was now complete.

It had taken months to plan the wedding and get everyone back to
Krondor.  The King had to come from his royal court in Rillanon for the
wedding, and reached Arutha's court before Arutha returned.  Word had
finally reached the Prince of Krondor when Baron Bellamy of Carse sent
a small boat to Freeport, where Arutha and his fleet were waiting. Amos
had been almost right: Arutha had decided against following after
Nicholas and his companions only after a long and bitter debate with
himself.

When Arutha had returned to Krondor, Nicholas and Amos told him and the
King the entire story, from the raid to the destruction of the two
ships north of Land's End.  Lyam sent a special messenger to Sorcerer's
Isle, to see if Pug could be located, and sent Nicholas and Borric to
Sethanon, as only a member of the royal family could be trusted to know
the mission.

Nicholas and his brother had returned two weeks later with word that
all was well at Sethanon, and Nicholas had expressed his awe at meeting
the Oracle of Aal.  To his surprise, the Life-stone had not been in
evidence, being masked by a magic time distortion that Pug had placed
upon it.  Still, the knowledge it was there and vulnerable despite its
protection was not hard to impress on Nicholas after what he had been
through the previous year.

The messenger to Sorcerer's Isle had returned with a message from Pug,
via Gathis, his representative, that the magician would join them for
the wedding.  In time, all the guests had at last gathered and the
ceremony was performed.

The celebration wore on, and Nicholas found himself relaxing for the
first time in what seemed a lifetime.  He glanced over at his companion
for the day, and smiled.  He found las ha adapting well to the court,
and her command of the King's Tongue was growing daily.  She got on
well with the ladies of the court.  Her injured maid had recovered, and
with the aid of Anthony's magic she had been spared severe scars.  The
other three girls were already the focus of attention of many of the
younger men of the court.  The story was making the rounds that they
were five sisters from a distant land, daughters of a powerful Prince,
and the girls showed no inclination to dispel that notion.

Marcus sat with his rather and his sister, who kept a tight grip on
Anthony's hand, while Marcus ignored Abigail's habit of catching the
eye of the more dashing courtiers in the hall.  Nicholas noticed that
Abigail was now almost openly flirting with the son of the Duke of
Ran's second son, Elena's brother-in-law.

Duke Martin had aged, his hair now almost all grey, and his erect
carriage and vigorous step were missing.  What age had not taken,
sorrow had.  Sadly, Nicholas judged his joy in life had died with his
wife.  He already spoke of retiring in Marcus's favor as Duke. Nicholas
knew there would be long discussions between the King, Arutha, and
Martin before that step was permitted.  Still, Martin appeared
profoundly relieved to have his children back.  He had attempted to
communicate his gratitude to Nicholas, forcing an awkward moment
between them.  Nicholas realized what torture convalescence must have
been for Martin, while waiting for word of his children.  All Nicholas
could say was "It was what you would have done in my place."  Martin
had been able only to nod, tears in his eyes; then he embraced his
nephew.  Nicholas knew how difficult that open display had been for
him.

Abigail's laughter brought Nicholas back from his reverie.  He leaned
back, saying behind las ha back to Harry, "How long do you think Marcus
is going to put up with that?"

Harry grinned.  "Right now, I think he'd welcome someone taking Abby
off his hands."

Brisa hit Harry under the table and said, "You two stop that."

las ha smiled.  "Abby's just making sure Marcus doesn't take things for
granted.  He was her first lover, but she doesn't wish him to think
he's the only choice out there."  She laughed.  "They'll probably end
up married; she really does love him."  She studied Marcus a moment.
"He's handsome enough, in a .. stern way, like your father."  She
glanced at Nicholas.  "Both lack your land nature."  Then, playfully,
she said, "Besides, your cousin lacks your .. . imagination."

Nicholas had the decency to blush.  Then his face clouded over.  "How
do you "

Brisa grinned.  "Abby talks.  After her first time, she had to talk to
someone.  You men have such a strange notion of what women talk about
when you're not around."

Nicholas put his hand to his face, covering his eyes.  "Poor

Marcus."  Then his eyes widened in near terror as he looked at Brisa
and las ha and said, "What about you two?"

Brisa grinned and said nothing.  After a moment, Nicholas couldn't help
but grin back.  The street girl looked stunning.  Her dark red hair had
grown long enough since the voyage that Anita and her maids could
arrange it high on her head, setting it off with silver and pearls. She
wore a specially made gown of deep green, which showed her skin and
eyes to good advantage.

las ha had chosen a gown of dark blue and was easily one of the most
striking women at court.  She still talked about finding herself a rich
husband, but Nicholas noticed she didn't seem to be in much of a hurry
to do so.

As the dinner wound down, Borric came over and put his hand on his
brother's shoulder.  Whispering, he said, "Your presence, little
brother, and that of your lady friend, is requested in the family's
private quarters."  He glanced over at Harry and said, "You too,
Squire, and your lady as well."

As the guests filed out, some to return to the city by carriage, others
to guest quarters set aside for them while they visited Krondor, the
family of the King gathered in the royal family's apartment.  With
every cousin, aunt, uncle, and in-law in attendance, the "family"
gathering was nearly as riotous a crowd as the entire wedding party had
been.

As he entered the large room, Nicholas nodded to his aunt Carline, a
still-lovely woman with silver-grey hair.  Her husband, Laurie, Duke of
Salador, smiled and winked at Nicholas.  Nicholas knew that before the
night was over, Laurie would be the center of attention, singing and
playing on an old lute he took everywhere.  No longer the dashing
minstrel of his youth, Laurie was still a fine singer who could hold a
room rapt for hours.  Their daughter and two sons sat in the corner,
planning to escape into the city with some of younger courtiers in the
palace as soon as it was acceptable to excuse themselves.  Nicholas
couldn't believe he was roughly the same age as they were; he felt as
if he had aged ten years in the last year.

Gunther, eldest son of the Duke of Ran, held Elena's hand as she sat
next to her mother.  Close to term with their first baby, she
positively beamed with joy.  Anita reveled in the presence of her
grandchildren and would probably conspire to keep the family in Krondor
days beyond anyone's scheduled plans.

Borric and his wife, the Princess Yasmine, entered, and the doors were
closed behind them.  Several small children were absent, and Nicholas
knew that they were considered too likely to grow fussy and restless
during the family's smaller celebration.  The hour was growing late,
and soon Borric and Yas-mine's two older children would be put to
bed.

Besides the family, Harry and Brisa, las ha and Abigail and her father,
Baron Bellamy, were among the guests.  Bellamy's two sons were back
supervising the rebuilding of both Carse and Crydee.

A second door opened and Nakor entered, wearing a wonderfully fashioned
robe of blue, with a magnificent cape trimmed in a complex design of
white and silver threads.  Behind him came a man dressed in black,
escorting a lovely woman with golden hair.

Nicholas and Harry both stood, their mouths threatening to gape.
Nicholas said, "Pug.  Ryana!"  He composed himself.  "Lady Ryana, what
a pleasure."

The beautiful but alien-looking woman nodded in Nicholas's direction,
and a smile passed between them.  A very self-conscious-looking
Prajichetas and an elegantly dressed Vajasiah entered next.  Calls was
the last to enter, and the door was closed again behind them.

Still powerful-looking despite his years, the King stood before a giant
hearth, without a fire on this warm summer evening.  His blond hair was
free of all but a little grey, turning paler, almost white, over the
years, and his face showed lines from the pressure of office.  Lyam
removed the golden circlet of his office with a sign of relief.  He
looked down at his wife, Queen Magda, and said, "We live for these
informal moments" he grinned and years seemed to fall away "now 'we'
can be T for a little while."  Martin and Arutha went to stand next to
their brother, Martin still limping from his injury.

A porter entered and held open the door as a line of servants came
through, bearing flagons of wine.  Lyam waited until these had been
passed to everyone in the room and then said, "Many of you know some of
what transpired along the Far Coast last year.  Only a few of you know
all of it.  But one thing I wish you all to know and that is that my
nephew, Prince Nicholas, has done a remarkable thing."  He paused while
all eyes turned toward Nicholas.  "In quest for his cousin and others
who were taken unlawfully from this land, he sailed halfway around the
world and, against any reasonable hope, back again with all he could
save.

"I would have liked to propose this toast during the wedding feast, so
everyone in the realm could know of this amazing feat, but as it was
Amos and Alicia's moment, I thought it best to wait until we, the
family and friends of Nicholas, were alone.  I now propose a toast to
Nicholas, who brings pride and honor to the name con Doing

"To Nicholas," they said, and drank from their cups.

As the servants left the room, Nicholas could see all eyes remaining
upon him.  He flushed and found it difficult to swallow, and his eyes
threatened to brim over with tears.  He cleared his throat and said,
"Thank you all."  He squeezed las ha hand and said, "But what I did, I
did with the help of good men and women.  Many who are not here with us
today."  He raised his own flagon.  "To absent friends."

"To absent friends," they repeated, and drank.

The smaller gathering broke down into groups of people chatting about
family and friends, inquiring into the health of elder family members
or the growth of children.  Nicholas was struck that except for the
size of the gathering and the power of the people in attendance, it was
little different from a gathering of any other family.

Pug came over and steered Nicholas to a quiet corner.  "It's our first
chance to talk.  You did all that anyone could have asked you to do,
Nicholas, and more."

"Thank you."

Pug said, "I expect you have a few questions."

"Dahakon?"  asked Nicholas.

"Truly dead," said Pug.  "He was dangerous, and by keeping him occupied
for the months you traveled, I weakened his powers.  He used almost all
he had left keeping that warship after you.  Ryana was more than he
could deal with, once Calls distracted him with that wooden shaft."

"Nakor showed Anthony how to do it."  Nicholas smiled.  "I'm surprised
you brought Ryana with you."

Pug smiled in return.  Softly he said, "Part of her education.  Passing
for human is not easy for one of her kind."

Nicholas looked to where Vajasiah was speaking to Ryana, his every
gesture and expression artfully designed to charm.  "It looks like
she's getting an education right now."

Pug smiled, "Not as much as he will should she agree to steal away with
him.  There are nuances of human behavior lhat she just doesn't
understand yet.  For her age and power, in most ways she's still a
child."

"One question," asked Nicholas.

"What?"

"When I first came to your island, how much of what was to happen did
you already know?"

Pug said, "Some."  Lowering his voice even more, he said, "I had
received a message from the Oracle of Aal, warning me of a closing
pattern.  There were several possible outcomes depending on what we
did.

"I could have destroyed the raiders, if I had known they were coming,
but then I would have known nothing about the Pantathians' part in all
this, and the danger from the plague.  If I had gone after the
prisoners, even those few who you saved would have been lost, and the
Pantathians could still seek out others to act as templates for their
plague carriers."

Nicholas said, "One thing I don't understand: why go to all this
trouble?  Why not simply send some plague carriers to

Krondor?"

Pug said, "Should plague erupt in the city, every magic talent in
Stardock and the Temples would work to ensure that the Prince and his
highest-ranking ministers were spared.  Their leadership is too
important.  But should the plague erupt in the palace, think of the
confusion if your father and all his advisers, the ranking commanders,
the most important merchants and guilds men if all were among the very
first to die."

Nicholas nodded.  "So that's why you let us follow and find out the
real plan."

"I thought it best to hold their most powerful magician in check,
letting you undo the rest of their plan.  I sensed you would be at the
center of this dark confrontation, and Nakor confirmed that judgment."
Pug looked over his shoulder.  "What a fascinating mind he has.  I'm
trying to talk him into returning to Sorcerer's Island with me for a
time."

Nicholas sighed.  "What about that Lady Clovis?"

Pug said, "From what Nakor told me of her, she's most likely still
alive down there, plotting.  We've probably not seen an end of her."

Nicholas said, "Or the Pantathians."

Pug looked at the young Prince and said, "I know that expression; I've
seen it on your father enough times.  Listen to me: someone will end
their menace, someday, but no one said it must be you."  He smiled.
"You've done more than your lifetime's share already."  Glancing at the
group of young women who spoke together, Pug asked, "Are you going to
marry that lady of yours?"

Nicholas grinned.  "Sometimes I think so, sometimes not.  She talks
about finding a rich husband, because she doesn't believe Father or the
King would permit such a marriage."  He lowered his voice again.  "And
truth to tell, sometimes I want to and sometimes I'm looking for a rich
husband for her."

Pug laughed.  "I understand the feeling.  When I was very young, your
aunt Carline often made me feel the same way."

Nicholas's eyes widened.  "Does Uncle Laurie know?"

Pug said, "Who do you think introduced them?"

The King said, "I have an announcement to make."  All eyes turned to
him and he said, "My Lord Henry of Ludland informs me his son, Harry,
is to wed."

There were cheers and applause in the room, and women gathered around
Brisa, hugging her.  Nicholas and Pug made their way to where a
blushing Harry stood receiving congratulations, and Nicholas shook his
hand.  "You bastard," said Nicholas with a laugh.  "You never said a
thing."

Leaning forward so that only Nicholas could hear, he said, "I'm the
middle son of a minor earl; I had to ask her before some rich duke's
boy took her away from me.  When we first met her, could you believe
she'd be so beautiful?"

Nicholas couldn't argue his reasons.  Then Harry whispered, "Besides,
we're going to have a baby."

Nicholas laughed and said, "Shall I have Uncle Lyam announce that,
too?"

Harry grimaced and held up his hand.  "It would put my father in his
grave.  We'll wait a week or two after the wedding, thank you."

"When?"

Harry said, "I think as soon as possible, given the circumstances."

Nicholas agreed with a laugh.

Then Lyam said, "My brother Arutha has something to say."

Arutha, wearing a rare smile, said, "My son and Harry " Amos pointedly
cleared his throat.  Arutha added, " with the aid of Admiral Trask,
have managed to effect the first conquest of new lands since my
grandfather took the Far Coast.  With a pleasant lack of bloodshed, I
might add."  He raised his flagon in salute.  "As we now have need of
some governance in Free-port, with my brother's permission I'm naming
Harry, formerly my son's Squire, as the new Governor of Freeport and
the Sunset Islands."

Lyam said, "And he is elevated to the rank of Baronet of the Prince's
Court,"

Again they congratulated Harry, and Arutha waved Nicholas to his side.
"What about you?"  he asked his youngest son, "Have you given any
thought to what you'd like to do?  I can't very well send you back to
Crydee a Squire now, can I?"

Nicholas said, "I have given it some thought, Father.  I think I'd like
to return to sea.  I'd like a ship."

Amos laughed.  "I said to Arutha you might be thinking of taking my job
now that I'm to retire."

Nicholas laughed, too.  "I'm not quite ready to be calling myself
Admiral yet, Amos."

Amos said, "With the trade that's going to start coming through
Freeport, Carse will also become a major trading center; it's the best
port on the Far Coast.  There's going to be a lot of black hearts who
will try their hand at piracy, so we'll need strong men on tall ships
out there."

Arutha said, "We're going to have to maintain a squadron in Freeport.
Amos is right, with that idiotic free-trade agreement you've endorsed,
we're going to have every trader, pirate, and smuggler in three nations
crawling over those islands.  Your Patrick of Duncastle seems a capable
enough fellow when it comes to breaking heads, a fine King's High
Sheriff, but we're going to need administrators, which is why I'm
sending Harry.  Amos said he's just the sort to deal with merchants and
thieves."

Amos said, "It's true.  If I were to go a-roving again, I'd have him
aboard my ship in an instant; he's a first-rate scrounger, and has a
knack for settling arguments.  And Brisa certainly knows her way around
that city."

"Well then," said Arutha to Nicholas, "I'm sending the Eagle to join
the two I left in Freeport.  We'll give you your captaincy and put you
in charge of that squadron of pirates William Swallow is organizing out
there.  From all I've heard, you'll be a fit match for those brigands,
as you've tried your hand at the pirate's trade yourself lately."

Nicholas grinned.  "In a manner of speaking."  "Lyam's going to name
Marcus Warden of the West when Martin retires, so you'll be answering
to him."  He took on a mock-serious tone.  "I was going to elevate you
to Baron of the Prince's Court, which will give you rank to see Harry
doesn't go too far off course, but perhaps I should have Lyam create a
special title for you say, the King's Buccaneer?"

Nicholas laughed and said, "Captain will be fine, Father.  I'll let you
know when I wish to try for Admiral."

Arutha laughed and put his arm around his son's shoulders.  "You make
me proud, Nicky."

Anita joined them and hugged her son, saying, "I like your lady,
Nicholas.  She's got a spirit that's rare."  Nicholas said, "She's .. .
different."  They laughed and returned to the party, and as the night
wore on, memories were shared, and hopes expressed, and a family that
had known joy and sorrow took profound pleasure from simply being
together again.

