A Crown Imperiled (46 page)

‘Well, James,’ said Vladislas, ‘now that the formalities are over, what do you suggest?’

‘I don’t know about you, Vlad, but I think this would be a very good time to get drunk.’ He reached for a flagon of wine as he spoke.

‘How is your king?’ asked the Duke Vladislas.

James said, ‘I fear the worst. Gregory was never a robust man. He . . . looked stricken when they carried him out. We have to wait for what the chirurgeons say.’

‘I will pray for him tonight,’ said the Duke, and Duke James knew he would, as his old friend was a pious man. Still, he surprised everyone when he reached for a goblet and said, ‘But I find your suggestion earlier a very good idea.’

Jim looked at Franciezka, who nodded at him. They stood up from the table simultaneously and indicated that Ruffio should join them, leaving the two old dukes to spend time alone. When the three were out of the room, Jim said, ‘Where is Pug?’

Ruffio glanced at Lady Franciezka.

Jim said, ‘Speak freely. I tell her everything.’

If there had been a single moment in her life where the Lady Franciezka Sorboz had to muster up every bit of control she could to keep from laughing, this was that moment. Most of her entire relationship with Jim had revolved around them keeping secrets from one another, secrets the other was desperately seeking to uncover.

Ruffio seemed to understand the jest, and shrugged. ‘He and Magnus are off on an errand he judges critical.’ Lowering his voice, ‘Apparently Miranda and Nakor are back.’

James Dasher Jamison was speechless. Finally he said, ‘But they’re dead.’

With a rueful smile, Ruffio said, ‘Such was the general consensus. Several of my colleagues saw Miranda die, and Nakor never returned from a journey to another realm with Pug and Magnus. But two of my most trusted aides sent word that they had returned to Sorcerer’s Isle and were having lunch with Amirantha the Warlock, and Sandreena the Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield.’

‘Aides?’ asked Jim. ‘You’ve been promoted?’

Ruffio nodded. ‘Pug anticipates everything. As Magnus will some day replace him, I am to replace Magnus. I am now leader of the Conclave in their absence.’

Franciezka chuckled. ‘Well, I’d better update my journals.’

Ruffio said, ‘I will leave you now.’ He reached into his belt and pulled out a small pouch. ‘I understand your last orb failed. Here’s another for your convenience. The first setting will take you to the Villa, of course. I’ve set the second setting to return you to the palace in Rillanon, and the third to the palace in Krondor.’

Jim was delighted. ‘Thank you, Ruffio!’

‘There is also a small cube. Throw the small switch and I will be summoned.’ He glanced around and said, ‘I fear that the damage done by those three . . . homunculi or whatever they were, is far from being undone. We have war and distrust and three nations at a standstill and it may be years before we return to something approaching tranquillity.’

Jim nodded. ‘It is my considered opinion that the object of all this madness is nothing more than to lock three nations up in such a fashion that they are unable to respond to any new threat.’

‘Such is Pug’s thinking,’ said Ruffio.

Before anyone could say anything further, a squire in the livery of the Isles hurried by, dashing into the room they had just left. Franciezka glanced at Jim, as the colour drained from his face. She gripped his arm; then he ran into the room.

‘I can feel it. King Gregory is dead,’ Franciezka said.

Ruffio let out a slow breath. ‘May his journey on the wheel bring him more joy.’ He looked at her and said, ‘I need to return to the Academy and explain that involving Stardock in politics is the height of folly. Then I will away to the Isle and see to the business of the Conclave.’ He smiled at her. ‘Your reputation does you no justice, in either beauty and acumen, my lady. Know that the Conclave means no harm to any nation or ruler. We serve only to protect the world.’

Then he was gone.

Franciezka turned as Jim came out of the room his grandfather occupied and said, ‘Now we have no king, and no heir.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘First go to Krondor. I must speak with my cousin Richard and Prince Edward. He ranks highest in office, but his claim is weaker than several others. Speaking of which, would you see to Stephané? Unless I’m tragically mistaken, she means to have young Hal as husband, and if no one has watched closely, she most likely has him between the sheets already; her best ploy may be to announce to her father she is with child and the young Duke of Crydee is the father.’

‘She’s not that devious,’ said Franciezka with a half-smile.

‘She’s a woman, isn’t she?’

‘I’ll forgive you for that remark if you tell me where you are going after Krondor.’

‘To Rillanon, and to see the temper of the Congress of Lords. We have claimants to the throne, including the Princess’s object of affection, but no clear favourite. Thrones will be bartered and promises made and broken. Alliance and betrayal are the order of the day, and if someone is foolish enough, we may see civil war.’

‘Might it come to that, with Kesh on your borders?’

Jim laughed. ‘As my ancestor, the first Lord James is reputed to have said, “Never underestimate the potential for human stupidity when wealth and power are at stake.”’

She sighed. ‘I fear you’re right. Now, go, and mourn your king, and see to the business of your nation, but know that I will wait to see you again in happier circumstances.’

‘Lady, you have no idea how much it pleases me to hear you say thus. If there is one thing in this bitter experience I would not trade for the Keshian treasury, it is hearing you say that.’

She looked at him for a long moment. ‘I do love you, you fool.’

‘And I love you more than the breath in my lungs.’ He kissed her and held her close, then took out the travel orb and flipped the switch and was gone.

Lady Franciezka Sorboz stood motionless for a moment, having never felt so alone in her life.

*

Magnus stood alone on the cold beach, ignoring the bitter winter wind from the south. He struggled with dark anger unlike any he had known since boyhood.

Magnus reflected as he stared out at the lapping waves. Fatigue had forced him to take time away from studying the matrix and in his heart he knew part of what was causing it was the conflict he felt at seeing his mother’s face every time he pulled away from his study.

Magnus sighed. Staring out at the sea had always been his way to grapple with his internal conflicts. He had been a quiet boy, slow to anger, thoughtful and studious. When his little brother had been born he had been like most other children, torn between loving a companion and resenting an intruder. Caleb had been outgoing and playful, until it became clear he had no magical skills nor would he learn any.

For most children that would have been of no importance, but for Caleb it had been a burden, for he grew up on Sorcerer’s Isle, the son of Pug and Miranda, the younger brother of Magnus, and the only child not a servant who was devoid of magical ability.

Magnus had become his protector, his big brother protecting him as much as possible from the cruelties of the other boys and girls, but even then, Magnus couldn’t watch over him continuously, and as a result Caleb had still been dealt with harshly,

Pug found his son standing alone and said, ‘Are you all right?’

‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘Frankly, I am anything but all right.’

Pug sighed. ‘This encounter with those . . . beings . . . I know it’s unsettling.’

‘Unsettling?’ said Magnus, his voice rising. ‘I’ve seen how you look at her. I understand, Father. I have had moments, brief ones, where I forget, and then I remind myself, she is not Mother. She is not your wife!’

Pug saw anger in his son unlike anything he had witnessed before. ‘What is it, really?’

Magnus considered his words before speaking, then said at last, ‘What is the limit of the price you’re willing to pay?’

Pug was unprepared for his son’s question. ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’

Magnus had always been a self-aware, self-controlled child and adult, but for the first time since his birth, he looked to his father as if it was taking all his self-control to keep from erupting in rage. ‘People have died, Father. Not dozens, or hundreds, or thousands, but millions. They have died because of decisions we’ve made, you and I. When does the price become too high?’

Pug was speechless.

Magnus said, ‘I guess it doesn’t really matter if you don’t know who those people are, or at least if they are not close to you.’ Magnus’s eyes were wet with barely-contained tears of frustration and anger. ‘The stories you told Caleb and me when we were boys. The hundreds that died in the arena on Kelewan? You made your point. The games were evil. And eventually you closed the rift that drew the Dragon Lords, or what was left of them, to Midkemia.’

Pug’s stunned shock began to slowly turn to anger of his own. ‘Are you suggesting somehow I’m to blame for the Valheru starting the Chaos Wars ages before man came to Midkemia?’

‘Of course not!’ shouted Magnus. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence. But have you ever considered that pulling down the arena around the ears of Tsurani citizens whose only crime was to attend a public festival might have been the first time in your life you looked at human life as yours to spend? At whim?’

Pug grabbed Magnus by the front of his robe and cried, ‘What is this about, Magnus?’

Pushing his father’s hands away, Magnus said, ‘You destroyed a world, Father. You did your best to get people free of it, but in the end . . . I don’t know how many died because of what you did.’

‘I had no choice!’ shouted Pug.

‘There is always a choice,’ said Magnus. ‘From the choice to do nothing and let events take their course, to constantly meddling and wreaking havoc on other people’s lives. It just seems that your choices bring about the most destruction.’ He looked at his father as if seeing him for the first time. ‘I don’t know you.’

‘You know what’s at stake.’

‘Do I?’ said Magnus. ‘I know who we face. I will not argue that we have been opposed by forces evil beyond understanding. Madness is their hallmark, and chaos is their chosen mode, but in the end I must ask, have we done our best in opposing them, or do we flail about, breaking whatever gets in our way, because we never ask the question: at what price?’

‘We pay whatever price is asked,’ Pug answered. ‘Otherwise all we know, and more, worlds beyond counting, are lost.’

Magnus turned and looked out over the ocean. ‘I stand here and look out and see miles of rolling waves. Under the water life is teeming, oblivious to what we undertake in our struggles. In the sky birds soar, our conflicts meaning nothing to them. And this is but one world. I’ve seen the stars in the heavens and know the engine of creation is vast beyond my ability to comprehend it, yet in the end I feel as I have said, that there is a limit!’ His voice rose and he pointed back towards the Pantathian city. ‘In there is an abomination. Two people I loved more than I loved any other, my mother and Nakor, are captured in some evil design and returned to us, and for what reason? Even they confess to not knowing why. But I think it’s simply another jest by the gods to convince us that there is no limit to the price. And I want no more of it.’

And with that, Magnus vanished.

Pug stood alone on the cliffs looking at a cold, choppy sea, a chilly early morning wind cutting into him, and never in his life had he felt more alone.

•  CHAPTER TWENTY  •

Manoeuvres

S
OLDIERS MARCHED.

The procession that would carry King Gregory back to Rillanon to be interned in the Vault of Kings moved down the long winding street from palace to dockside. Hal watched from a window in the palace, a window in the room belonging to Duke James of Rillanon.

The old duke, his grandson Jim, and the magician Ruffio stood nearby watching the passing funeral parade. Turning away from the window, Hal looked at Lord James who said, ‘We don’t have much time, my lord.’

Hal was still struggling to accept his rank as being equal to the man who addressed him. Lord James was arguably the most powerful noble in the Kingdom, especially now that the King had died without naming an heir.

‘You must decide and quickly,’ said Jim to Hal.

‘I honestly don’t know what to do,’ Hal replied.

Duke Jamison had been a powerfully built soldier in his younger days, but even now as he entered the twilight of his life he was a presence to be reckoned with, and he had been the one to ask for this meeting. He held up a fist and shook it for emphasis. ‘Even as we speak, Prince Oliver of Simrick will be almost certain to be on a ship heading for Rillanon and the Congress of Lords. Three days after Gregory is interred in the royal vault, the Congress will meet and those claiming the crown will step forward. You must be there.’

‘But my ancestor, the first Martin—’

‘Damn it, boy,’ said James, ‘I know history as well as the next man, and your great-however-many-grandfather did a noble thing for his brother. Yes, it’s a bastard line, made legitimate by a death-bed pronouncement, but that doesn’t make you any less a conDoin and as strong a claimant as any.’

‘Prince Edward—’ began Hal.

‘Will not stand for the crown,’ interrupted James. ‘He has publicly and often said he only took the position in Krondor as a favour to his cousin Gregory. He will watch from the gallery like every other member of the Congress, but if the Ishapian priests lay the crown at his feet he’d not stoop to pick it up.’

‘Me, King?’ said Hal.

Jim said, ‘Most likely not. But without you there, we face the danger of someone else declaring for you, in your name, as a means to broker influence. Montgomery will stand as the first alternative to Oliver. He’s a court-bred creature and has many friends, but until this moment no influence to speak of.’

‘And Lord Chadwick told me he prayed not to have the office fall to him.’

‘Ha!’ answered James. ‘That old fraud would sell his grandmother for the crown. Don’t let Chad’s affability and easy manner gull you, lad. He’s already counting who he can pry away from Montgomery’s faction to back his claim, and who among Oliver’s followers might be bribed or bullied to switch their votes. You stand as an honest alternative, or at least as honest as we’ll ever get in our nation. You’re a Westerner, and the last King to come from the Western Realm proved a most able and beloved ruler, Lyam. His brother was a genius and Arutha’s son Borric was a fine king. After that . . .’ He shrugged.