A Crown Imperiled (21 page)

Moreover, it appeared that the magician had taken note of Nakor’s antics and had judged correctly that as long as he was around, the water demon would follow him, and if he ended Nakor’s existence first, then the demon might prove more tractable.

A sizzling bolt of energy, blindingly bright, shot over Nakor’s head as he tried to burrow into the dirt, singing his hair and leaving the stench of lightning in the air. A monstrous howl of pain and rage cut through the air and shook the ground where he lay.

As much as Nakor would have loved to have rolled over and observed what had just happened, his instincts forced him to leap to his right, then suddenly to his left, tuck and roll across the ground, then turn and leap back in the opposite direction.

He caught a quick glimpse of the water demon charging up the hill, one leg half-dragged behind him as he lunged towards the knot of warriors and the lone magician on top of the hill. Nakor had judged rightly: the energy blast meant to end his existence had struck the demon instead. If he wasn’t trying too hard to stay alive, he would have found the situation hilarious. But not for long, as a Keshian soldier charged at him, chopping his blade through the air.

Without thought, Nakor dropped the torch and reached up to seize the man’s sword arm. The soldier cried out in pain as Nakor squeezed his wrist, shattering it. With a single push he sent the man flying five feet back, despite his heavy armoured breastplate and helm.

Nakor paused for a second to catch his breath and shook his head ruefully. He had been thinking so much like Nakor, he had almost forgotten he wasn’t the little bandy-legged gambler, but was really a demon with all the strength and toughness a demon possessed. And as it was obvious that the magician not too far away was not a demon-summoner, Nakor decided it was time for more direct action.

Another solider ran towards him as the water demon began to wreak havoc on the officers and those soldiers desperately trying to defend them. Nakor waited until the Keshian swordsman swung and with cat-like reflexes grabbed his arm and broke it as a child would a twig. The man fell to the ground shrieking as Nakor turned away. He had spent his entire existence as the demon Belog using all his energy for intellect. And yet as he had travelled with Child through the demon realm he had gained prodigious physical strength, even if he wasn’t used to employing it. He decided now was the time to use that raw strength.

A third warrior started moving towards him when suddenly another figure raced in from Nakor’s right, blowing over the swordsman completely. Miranda turned and said, ‘Are you all right?’

Nakor laughed. ‘I’m strong!’

‘Yes,’ said Miranda. ‘But you’re also foolish. You had no idea what type of magic you were about to face.’

‘Let’s go find out.’

‘I want him alive if we can manage it.’

Nakor jumped in a majestic arc over the cluster of warriors attempting to stop the water demon.

That massive creature was starting to show the effects of being away from the nurturing water and dealing with huge expenditures of energy and multiple wounds. Miranda wasn’t concerned with that, for she knew that the creature would die, returning to the demon realm from where it had come before it could threaten the city again.

She had found what she had sought, the magician who had tried to blast Nakor. He was holding his robes up so as not to trip on them, running down the hill away from the fight. He would have been comic save for two things: first, he had just tried to help kill a great number of people and while Child found nothing remotely distasteful in that, Miranda did. With each passing day, she was becoming more Miranda and less Child. Secondly, Miranda recognized the magician and that discovery filled her with both disappointment and anger.

She could run like a gazelle, and she had discovered she could leap nearly a hundred yards, so in one jump and a sprint, she was behind the man. She reached out and grabbed him by the back of his robe then stopped, letting him almost break his own neck when he came to an unexpected and sudden stop.

Turning, he drew back his right hand and Miranda could feel the magic form. Knowing instantly what he was doing, she slapped him hard across the face before he could finish his conjuration, breaking his concentration and causing his eyes to brim with tears.

‘Hello, Akesh,’ she said in tones venomous. ‘It’s been a while.’

The Keshian-born magician was stunned and shocked. ‘Miranda!’ he blurted. ‘But—’

‘I know,’ she interrupted. ‘Dead. Apparently, not as dead as people thought.’

‘But—’

‘Silence,’ she said, ‘or I will happily knock you unconscious. We have much to discuss.’

She didn’t release her grip on his robe, but turned to see the water demon faltering as it was now surrounded by archers. In its weakened state its already meagre intelligence was pushed to the limit, and it stood uncertain of which way to attack.

Nakor had found a clear path down the hill and he trotted to where Miranda stood holding the magician. When he got near he grinned and said delightedly, ‘Akesh! So you were the one trying to kill me!’

‘I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw you out there,’ said the Keshian magician. ‘I thought it had to be another madman. Besides—’

‘I know,’ interrupted Nakor. ‘You thought we were both dead.’

‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk,’ said Miranda.

Nakor turned to take in the scene. ‘The demon is almost done, and if I were the Keshian commander, I’d be withdrawing.’ He pointed to the north. ‘We can go that way until we find the entrance to the keep on that high bluff over there.’ He waved in the general direction of the old castle overlooking the city. ‘And then we can go up, and back down to the city.’

‘That’s a long walk,’ said Miranda.

‘Or we can go sit over there in that copse of trees and wait for the Keshians to leave, then walk back down to the city, that way,’ said the grinning little man, pointing over his shoulder to the city.

‘Better idea,’ said Miranda. Looking at the magician she had captured she said, ‘I can rip your head from your shoulders before you can conjure, and that is no idle boast. So, behave yourself and you may survive to apologize to Pug for taking sides in this war and betraying the Conclave. He may let you live.’

The magician said nothing, but his expression reassured Miranda and Nakor he was unlikely to try to escape or otherwise cause grief, and the three started walking over to a stand of trees where they could rest until the Keshian army had withdrawn. Even by the time they reached the trees, the sounds of battle and the roars of the water demon were diminishing.

Miranda said to Nakor, ‘Keep an eye on things until we have a clear path back to the city. And please resist the temptation to do something amusing.’

Nakor nodded, attempting to look serious but failing. ‘I’ll try.’

To the magician named Akesh, she said, ‘Sit and rest. We will likely be here for a while, and while we’re here, you can begin by telling me how you came to be serving as a Keshian lap-dog when you took an oath at the Academy to stay apart from conflicts between nations as well as your oath to the Conclave.’

The magician looked at Miranda sullenly. He might not know what she was capable of in this form, but he knew her from her human incarnation; and after Pug and their son, Magnus, she might very well be the most powerful magician in the world. And Nakor, despite his reputation as something of a joker and card cheat, was also counted a very dangerous opponent.

Akesh took a deep breath, then began to speak.

•  CHAPTER NINE  •

Evasion

J
IM LEAPT OVER THE WALL.

Crouching down he waited until he heard the patrolling sentry reach the far end of the wall and begin his trudge back to where the Baron of the Prince’s Court, Envoy Extraordinaire of the Crown, and any other number of titles bestowed on him by the King at his grandfather’s behest, waited like the common thief he was in his other life. He held a dagger close to his chest and prayed he didn’t have to use it. Right now he had more than enough troubles without adding gratuitous bloodshed to his list of malefactions.

Jim tried to make himself as small as possible as he hunkered down behind a bush. He had picked this spot to escape the confines of the palace for three reasons: first, it was one of the two exits that wasn’t being watched by agents of Sir William Alcorn; second, the other escape route was through the harbour and involved a fair bit of swimming and he wasn’t in the mood to get wet; last of all, this was the most direct route into the city. All he had to do was time things so that he could be over the wall as the guard was one step away from turning at the end of his patrol, then dash for the darkness of sheltering doorways.

The problem was when the guard was walking right towards him: Jim’s only cover was two shrubs and a dull grey cloak which he had gathered around him like a tiny tent. If the guard didn’t glance down as he passed the shrubbery, and James didn’t draw attention to himself, he thought he had a fair chance of making it into the city undetected.

If not, a loyal member of the King’s palace guard would be dead for no good reason and Jim’s escape from the palace would be noticed earlier than planned. He really didn’t care much about the latter issue, as he was bound to be missed before noon in any event. He just hated the idea of murdering a career soldier merely because he happened to be given this duty this night by his company sergeant.

The guard passed, and Jim let out his breath slowly in relief, for no needless blood would be shed tonight. He waited, listening as the footfalls moved away, then quietly he stood up, glanced at the retreating back of the sentry, and was away.

A silent sprint took him to a deep doorway in a storefront across the street, and he watched as the bored guardsman turned and started back on his rounds.

When the guard was at the far end of his patrol, Jim darted off in the opposite direction and a moment later, he turned the corner and was off into the darkened streets of Rillanon.

*

There was the sound of a dull thud of a cleaver slamming into a butcher’s block as a stocky man in a bloodstained apron cut through a haunch of pork. He was heavily muscled under the fat and sported a large gut that belied a turn of speed when it was needed. He had a pair of crystal spectacles pushed up on top of his head, for his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, and he needed keen vision for his accounting. He had paid dearly for them, but they served him well in balancing his ledger.

He nursed a pipe of tabac, the pungent aroma competing with the stench of old blood and ageing meat, and he hummed a nameless tune as he worked. When he had cut a nice dozen chops from the carcass, he picked up the remains and hung it on an iron hook in the corner. ‘Why don’t you come out now? I’m done with the morning’s work.’

Jim stepped out of the shadows and the two men confronted one another. ‘Bill,’ Jim said in neutral tones, as meagre a greeting as he could manage.

‘Saw you slip in and was quite able to split your skull with my cleaver, but when you didn’t move out of the corner, I thought I’d wait a bit to see what you were up to.’ William Cutter, known as Bill the Butcher smiled with a mix of amusement and menace. ‘Lord James, or is it Jim Dasher of Krondor today?’ He paused. ‘QuickJim? Jimmyhand? Jim the Fixer? Or perhaps another monicker with which I’m unfamiliar?’

‘Neither or both, depending on what I leave knowing.’

‘
If
you leave,’ said Bill. ‘Come, I’m being inhospitable.’ He turned his back and walked through a curtained door towards the front of his shop. The sun was rising and the day’s business would begin soon.

The store front was modest, and the butcher’s counter was low and broad, each section with a small hole to facilitate the draining of blood. The stone floor also had a channel for drainage when it was washed each night, the run-off emptying out into the rear alley, above a sewer culvert. In the corner sat a small table and chair, incongruously bearing some delicate china cups and saucers. ‘I take a minute before the business of the day starts to enjoy a quiet cup. Join me?’ Bill waved a meaty hand in the direction of the table and Jim nodded. A brass pot sat over a small brazier, the water just shy of a rolling boil. With deft fingers, Bill the Butcher prepared tea.

They sat down and Bill poured two cups. ‘I take my tea black, so I’m sorry I have no lemon or milk. I’ve some sugar in the back.’

‘Black is fine,’ said Jim.

‘Now, whoever you are at this moment, what brings you to my humble shop and why should I let you leave alive?’

Jim weighed his words. The man opposite him was the head of the biggest underground crime gang in Rillanon. Less organized than the Mockers of Krondor, the Sewer Rats were the largest gang in the city, the centre of a loose association of many gangs: the Dock Stalkers, the North Street Rangers, the Jiggle Purse Bunch, the Greenhill Boys, the Starving Dogs, and a dozen others. To keep mayhem between gangs under control, the Council had been formed and today it was controlled by one man, William ‘Bill the Butcher’ Cutter. More men were subject to him for their lives than any single noble in the east.

‘I need your help,’ Jim said at last.

A harsh barking laugh was followed by silence, then a sip of tea. Putting down his cup, Bill said, ‘You have rocks on you, I’ll give you that. Stones the size of boulders, Jim. I’ve planted brothers and paid widows because of you more than any man in Rillanon, and you’re hardly here for more than one day in twenty. So why should I let you leave here alive, let alone help you?’

‘Imagine the Kingdom ruled by Sir William Alcorn.’

Bill slung his arm across the back of his chair as he leaned into the wall. His eyes turned away from Jim and he looked out the window as he thought. Finally he said, ‘That’s a compelling argument. A strange coincidence of events, Jim, has conspired to keep you alive. For the time being, at least. Tell me more.’

‘Coincidence?’

‘After you tell me what brought you here.’

Jim outlined the general deterioration of his network and the betrayal of key agents, without providing information that might prove useful to Bill in his role as ruler of the Council. When he was finished, Bill said nothing for a minute. Then he asked, ‘Both Mockers and royal agents?’