Shards of a Broken Crown (9 page)

Wearying of the
scene, Pug said, “Patrick, what’s done is done. It’s
an unhappy solution, but at least it’s a solution. You can’t
deal with the invaders to the west, Kesh to the south, and the
magicians at Stardock. You must start somewhere; Stardock is the
easiest. With the community there guaranteed their autonomy, Kesh
will have to remove itself back to the old border. That’s two
problems solved. Then you can reclaim the West.”

Patrick said
nothing, forcing himself to calm down. “I do not like it.”

Nakor said, “The
King won’t like it much either, but he’ll understand.
Prince Erland spent time in Kesh. He saved the Emperor and knows the
Empress well. Very well,” he added with a grin. “Erland
will go down and visit again and soon things will be back to normal
along this border.”

“Except
I’ll have lost Stardock.”

Pug said,
“You’ll lose a great deal more unless you agree.”
He looked the young prince squarely in the eyes. “Sometimes
ruling is hard choices, between bad and worse. Agree that Stardock
can rule itself, and you defeat Kesh.”

Pug’s
wording made the young Prince pause. After a moment he spoke. “Very
well. Prepare documents, my lord duke,” he said, using Pug’s
formal rank as Duke of Stardock. “It is your duchy we’re
losing. I’m sure Father will have another office or something
for you. After all, he did explain you were some sort of royal cousin
and need to be treated as such.”

Pug glanced at
his wife. She returned a slight shrug. He was young, she seemed to
say in agreement with his own thoughts. Pug started to turn away, but
Patrick continued to speak. “I think, though, that you’d
best explain directly to the King what is at hand here.”

Pug turned back
to face Patrick. “You wish me to prepare a report for the
King.”

Patrick’s
expression showed his temper was still getting the better of him.
“No, I wish you to use whatever magic arts you have to take
yourself to Rillanon. In fact, I command you to do so,
my lord
duke
! Perhaps being wiser than I, the King can discern how this
isn’t some sort of treason.” He glanced at Miranda. “If
your
wife
isn’t an agent of the Empire, I’ll be
astounded.”

Pug’s eyes
narrowed and he remained silent.

“You’ll
need to demonstrate that loyalty I currently find lacking, magician,
if you’re to regain this court’s favor.”

“Demonstrate?”
said Pug softly. “I have labored to my utmost to prevent the
destruction of all we hold dear.”

Patrick said,
“I’ve read the reports. I’ve heard the tales.
Demons and spawn of the lower hells. Yes, magic to warp the world to
darkness, and all the rest of it.”

Arutha looked
from one man to the other, saying, “Highness! Grandfather,
please! We have much to do and contention in our ranks does us no
good.”

Pug looked at
his grandson, and slowly he said, “I am not attempting to
contend, Arutha. My only purpose has been, from the first, to serve.”

He stepped
forward and his voice was filled with menace. “If you command,
my prince, I will obey. I will take the time to visit with the King.
If you are not satisfied with my performance in recent months,
perhaps he will be persuaded that the price I paid demonstrates my
commitment.”

“Perhaps!”
said Patrick. He spat hot words. “You gave away a duchy that by
all reports you have neglected, and I have a city lying in ruins, as
well as my entire Principality to the west in thrall to hostile
forces. Who between us has lost the most?”

Pug’s
throat burned as color rose in his cheeks. In a hoarse whisper he
said, “Lost? You
dare
speak to me of loss?”
Stepping up so that he was mere inches from the Prince, Pug looked up
at the taller, younger man. “I lost nearly
everything
,
you child! I lost a son and a daughter, and the man she loved who was
as another son to me. William, Gamina, and James gave their lives for
Krondor and the Kingdom. You sit this throne for a few years,
Patrick. When you’ve lived as long as I have, should you be
that fortunate, remember what you said here.”

Patrick appeared
embarrassed as he realized he had overlooked the death of Pug’s
family in the war. Still, his temper got the best of him, and as Pug
turned to walk away, Patrick’s voice thundered, “I will
not be addressed in that manner, magician! Duke or not, royal cousin
or not, you will come back here and beg my pardon!”

Pug spun. Before
he could speak, Arutha turned and stood directly before his Prince.
“Highness!” He put a restraining hand on Patrick’s
shoulder. In a whisper he said, “This brings nothing good! Calm
yourself and we’ll revisit this tomorrow.” Whispering, he
added, “Patrick, your father will not be pleased at this.”

Before the
Prince could speak, Arutha turned and said, “Grandfather. If
you and your lady would dine with me tonight, we can discuss exactly
what sort of communication with the crown shall be undertaken.”
To the remaining courtiers in the hall, he said, “That will be
all today. This court is adjourned.”

He hustled
Patrick through a door to the apartment set aside for him during his
stay in Darkmoor, not allowing the Prince to further inflame the
situation. Pug turned to Miranda, who said, “That boy needs
some training.”

Pug said
nothing, merely offering his arm to his wife and leading her to the
rooms put aside for them. He knew his grandson would come to see them
as soon as the Prince had been placated.

Arutha looked
like a man aged years in a few hours. His eyes, normally bright and
alert, were now deeply sunk with dark circles under them. He sighed
and nodded thanks as Miranda handed him a goblet of wine.

“The
Prince?” asked Pug.

Arutha shrugged.
“It’s difficult. During the war he seemed content to
follow Father and Uncle William’s lead. The preparations for
the city were underway by the time he arrived in Krondor, and he
simply agreed to whatever Father wanted.

“Now, he’s
out of his element. He is being asked to make decisions that would
have taxed the wits of the best generals in this Kingdom’s
history.” He sipped his wine. “Partly it’s my
fault.”

Pug shook his
head. “No, Patrick is responsible for his own actions.”

“But
Father would have—”

Pug interrupted.
“You are not your father.” He let out a slow sigh. “No
one is James. James was unique. As was Prince Arutha. The Western
Realm may never again see men as able as them gathered together at
one time.” Pug grew reflective. “It all began with Lord
Borric. I have never known a man his equal. Arutha was his equal in
many ways, perhaps his superior in some, but on the whole, Borric
raised two sons the Kingdom needed.

“But from
there we are seeing a diminution of the line. King Borric was
seasoned in his travels to Kesh, but nothing like his father the
Prince.” Pug looked out a window at the distant torchlight
along the palisades of the castle. “Perhaps it’s just the
years passing, the ability to think back with history’s
perspective, but at the time of the Riftwar there was a sense in the
West that eventually we should prevail. Now I realize that came from
Prince Arutha, your father at his brashest and most reckless, others
who led and those who followed.”

Looking at his
grandson, Pug said, “You must step forward, Arutha. You will
never be the man for whom you were named, and you will never be your
father, but nature didn’t intend for you to be either of those
men, no matter how worthy they were. You must become the best man you
are capable of. I know the war took as much a toll on you as it did
me. You alone of all those here know what I feel. Men like Owen
Greylock and Erik von Darkmoor must rise to meet the needs of the
nation.” He smiled as he added, “You are more capable
than you think. You will be a fine Duke of Krondor.”

Arutha nodded.
His mother, Gamina, was Pug’s daughter by adoption, but he had
loved and treasured her as much as he had his son, William. To lose
them both within days of one another had been terrible. “I know
that it was worse for you, Grandfather. I mourn my parents. You mourn
your children.”

Pug said
nothing, swallowing hard and gripping Miranda’s hand. Since the
end of the war he had been revisited time and again by a wave of
profound sorrow and pain, and as much as he hoped for the sense of
loss to pass, it didn’t. It grew muted at times, even forgotten
for hours at a stretch, but in any quiet, reflective moment, it
returned.

Even his
marriage to Miranda had been hastily conducted, as if any delay might
steal moments away from them. Pug and his new wife had spent as much
time together as possible, dealing with the revelations of their past
lives and the need to discuss their future. Yet every moment
together, no matter how joyous, was overshadowed by the sense of
loss, the sense of work yet undone, and the sense that nothing could
ever return to them that which was lost.

Pug nodded at
his grandson’s words. He sighed. “Arutha, you and I have
never had the opportunity to be close. After my first wife’s
death I distanced myself from your mother. Watching her grow old was
a fate I tried to avoid.” He looked deep into his grandson’s
eyes. “There is much of both your parents in you. I know your
father trained you from birth to serve, and your life was never your
own, but I also know he would have found a less demanding role for
you had he found you lacking; you would not be allowed to follow
after him had you been less a man than what you are. So, again I say,
you must step forward. Patrick may prove a worthy ruler someday, but
that day is not here yet. And it has often been our history that one
in the role of advisor limited the choices placed before the rulers.”
Remembering the rule of mad King Roderic, Pug said, “Perhaps we
could have used more of such men in the past.”

Arutha said,
“I’ll try, Grandfather.”

Miranda said, “I
don’t presume to advise, as I’ve never done well with
obeying rulers in my day, but you’ll have to do more than try
before we’re done.”

Arutha looked as
if he was ready to wilt. “I know.”

A servant
announced supper was ready, and they adjourned to the next room. As
Pug preceded his grandson, he knew one of the reasons Arutha was so
fatigued: from worry over the whereabouts of his own sons.

Jimmy looked
around. A series of patrols had been coming through the area for the
last two days. They had tried to enter the city and discovered that
no one was being allowed through the established checkpoints. Whoever
was in charge inside Krondor, General Duko or someone else, had
decided that Kingdom infiltration was a serious threat and had sealed
the city.

Those
mercenaries and traders who had gathered outside the city walls were
not troubled, as long as they didn’t cause trouble. A brawl had
erupted the night before at a large bonfire some distance away, over
a gambling debt, woman, or insult, Jimmy didn’t know, but it
had quickly been quelled by a detachment of warriors from the city
who rode out and scattered everyone in sight. There had been nothing
gentle or orderly about it, a simple raid to disperse, conducted with
speed and efficiency. A half dozen men lay dead, while others were
moaning and nursing injuries as the strike force returned to the
city, but order had been restored. Most of the men outside the walls
had come for booty, the opportunity to loot, or to gain steady pay,
not to storm a well-fortified city.

Jimmy had judged
the city fairly easy to retake should Patrick and his army be sitting
outside die walls, but they weren’t. They were in Darkmoor or
en route, and by the time they reached Krondor, the fortifications
would be reaching daunting proportions. Workers—freemen or
prisoners, Jimmy didn’t know which—were up each day at
dawn, repairing the damage from the final assault on the city the
previous summer.

He had chanced a
leisurely ride past the main eastern gates, and saw that they had
been successfully replaced. While not as grand as the originals, the
new gates looked stout and well crafted. Accomplished carpenters were
among those working for the invaders, as most every man of fighting
age on the distant continent of Novindus had been pressed into the
army.

It was nearly
sundown on their second day when Malar asked, “Young sir, are
we to find a safe place to sleep?”

Jimmy shook his
head. “I think I’ve seen enough outside. It’s time
to go inside the city.”

“Forgive
my ignorance, but if each gate and breach is manned in the fashion we
have observed so far, how do you propose to do this thing?”

Jimmy said,
“There are more ways in and out of Krondor than are apparent.
My grandfather knew them all, and he made sure Dash and I knew of
every one of them before we left.”

“Is your
brother likely to find a similar entrance?”

He motioned for
his “servant” to follow him, and they walked slowly past
a group of sullen-looking fighting men, getting ready to settle in
for another cold night around a campfire with little food or
prospects. “Knowing Dash, he’s already in the city.”

Dash sat with
his back against the dirty stone wall. The other prisoners did
likewise. Men crowded together on both sides, but he didn’t
object; the weather was still cold and his captors spared no fuel to
keep the slave pen heated. He wore only his undershirt and trousers.
His boots, jacket, cloak, and all the other possessions he had
carried were taken from him.

He had managed
to evade the patrol that had followed him and had ridden to the edge
of Krondor. There he had found a thriving community of traders,
thieves, camp followers, and others assembled outside the gates of
the city. The invaders had closed the city to anyone not among their
own forces and an odd truce existed along the eastern wall.