A Darkness at Sethanon (28 page)

The lift halted
and they got off. Amos hurried down a long corridor. Along the left
wall was a series of vaulted windows, providing an unobstructed view
of the city and the plain beyond. Martin and Arutha could only afford
a quick glance at the vista but it was impressive. They hurried as
Amos turned and motioned for them to keep up. The blond man was
waiting for them before a door. “Why didn’t you say
anything?” he asked Amos in a harsh whisper.

Jerking his
thumb toward the door, Amos said, “He wanted a full report from
you. You know how he can be. Nothing personal until business is
finished. He doesn’t show it, but he’s taking it hard.”

The blond man
nodded, his face a grim mask. “I can scarcely believe it.
Gwynnath dead. It’s a heavy blow to us all.” He had
removed the chain mail coat. Upon his gambeson, over his heart, was a
small red and gold device, but he turned away and passed through the
door before Arutha could comprehend the particulars of that crest.
Amos said, “The Protector’s patrol was ambushed and some
people died. He’s in a rare foul mood, for he blames himself,
so tread lightly. Come, he’ll have my ears if we wait any
longer.”

Amos pushed open
the door and motioned for the brothers to enter. They were in a
conference chamber of some sort, a large round table dominating the
room. Against the far wall a massive fireplace sent forth warmth and
light. Many maps covered the walls, save the left wall, which had
more of the large windows, and overhead a circular candle holder
provided more light.

Before the
fireplace stood the blond man speaking with another, who wore all
black, from tunic to trousers to the chain he still hadn’t
removed. His clothing was covered in dust and his face was dominated
by a large black patch over his left eye. His hair was grey and black
in equal proportion, but his carriage showed nothing of age. For an
instant Arutha was struck by a certain resemblance. He glanced at
Martin, who returned the look. He saw it as well. More in bearing and
manner than in physical appearance, this man resembled their father.

Then the man
stepped forward, and Arutha could see clearly the blazon upon his
tabard. A golden eagle spread his wings upon a sable field. Arutha
knew the cause of the discomfort he had felt at glimpsing the flag
atop the gate. Only one man in the world wore that crest. He was once
counted the finest general in the Kingdom, then branded traitor by
the King as being responsible for the death of Anita’s father.
Here was their own father’s most hated enemy. The man called
Protector by the men of Armengar waved toward a pair of seats. His
voice was deep and commanding, though his words were spoken softly.
“Won’t you be seated . . . cousins?” asked Guy du
Bas-Tyra.

Arutha’s
hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword an instant, but he said
nothing as he and Martin sat. His mind reeled as a hundred questions
crashed together.

Finally he said,
“How -?”

Guy interrupted
him as he took a chair. “It is a long story; I’ll leave
it to Amos to tell you. I have other concerns for the moment.”
A strange, pained look was briefly revealed. He turned away for an
instant, then back to the brothers. He studied Martin. “You
look a little like Borric did when young, do you know that?”

Martin nodded.

Guy said to
Arutha, “You favour him somewhat, but you also look like . . .
your mother. The shape of the eyes . . . if not the colour.” He
said the last softly. Then his tone shifted as a soldier brought in
mugs and ale. “We have no wine in Armengar, the making of it is
a lost art here, as the climate is ill suited for grape arbours. But
they do make stout ale, and I’m thirsty. Join me if you wish.”
He poured himself a mug and let Arutha and Martin serve themselves.
Guy drained his mug, and for a moment his mask fell again and he
said, “Gods, I’m tired.” Then he looked at the
brothers. “Well then, when Armand reported who Dwyne had
fetched in, I could scarcely believe my ears. Now my eyes bear
witness.”

Arutha’s
gaze flicked to where the tall blond man hovered by the fire.
“Armand?” He studied the blazon, a shield bend dexter,
with a crouching red dragon chief on field gold, and an upraised
lion’s claw in gold upon a field red.

Martin said,
“Armand de Sevigny!” The man inclined his head toward the
Duke.

“Baron of
Gyldenholt? Marshal of the Knights of St Gunther?” wondered
Arutha.

Martin swore.
“I’m an idiot. I knew I had seen him. He was at the
palace in Rillanon in the days before you joined us, Arutha. But he
was not there the day of the coronation, the day you arrived.”

The blond man
smiled slightly. “At your service, Highness.”

“Not, as I
recall. You were not among those who swore fealty to Lyam.”

The blond man
shook his head. “True.” His expression seemed almost one
of regret.

Guy said,
“Again, part of the story of how we came here. For the moment,
I need concern myself with why you are here, and if that reason poses
any threat to this city. Why did you come north?”

Arutha sat
silently, his arms crossed before him, studying du Bas-Tyra through
narrowed eyes. He was off balance from finding Guy du Bas-Tyra in
control of this city. He hesitated in answering the question. The
importance of finding Murmandamus might in some way run counter to
what Guy saw as his best interests. And, Arutha was suspicious of
anything involving Guy. Guy had most openly plotted to seize the
throne for himself, almost precipitating a civil war. Anita’s
father had died by his order. Du Bas-Tyra was everything Arutha had
been taught to dislike and mistrust by his father. He was a true
eastern lord, shrewd, cunning, and well practised in the subtleties
of intrigue and treachery. Of de Sevigny Arutha knew little, save he
had been numbered among the most capable rulers in the East, but he
was Guy’s vassal and always had been. And while the Prince
liked and trusted Amos, Trask had been a pirate and was not above
lawbreaking. No, there was ample reason for caution.

Martin watched
Arutha, waiting for an answer. The Prince’s manner was
truculent to all outward appearances, but that was only what the
others in the room saw. Martin knew that his brother was wrestling
with the unanticipated shock of the moment and the desire that
nothing interfere with his mission to find and kill Murmandamus.
Martin glanced around the room and could see that Amos and Armand
both seemed concerned at the lack of a quick response from Arutha.

When no answer
was forthcoming, Guy slammed his hand down on the table. “Play
not with my patience, Arutha.” He pointed his finger. “You
are not a prince in this city. In Armengar only one voice commands,
and that voice is mine!” He sat back, his face flushed behind
the black eye patch. Softening his voice, he said, “I . . .
mean no rudeness. I have my mind on other things.” He lapsed
into thoughtful silence while he stared at them for a long time. At
last he said, “I have no idea what you are doing here, Arutha,
but something of the oddest nature is dictating your choices, or you
didn’t learn a damn thing from your father. The Prince of
Krondor and two of the most powerful dukes in the Kingdom, Salador
and Crydee, riding into the Northlands with a mercenary, a Hadati
hillman, and two boys? Either you’re totally without wit or
you’re clever far beyond my understanding.”

Arutha remained
silent, but Martin said, “There have been changes since you
were last in the Kingdom, Guy.”

Guy again lapsed
into silence. “I think there is a story here I need to know. I
cannot promise you aid, but I think our purposes may prove
compatible.” He said to Amos, “Find them better quarters
and feed them,” and to Arutha, “I’ll give you until
the morning. But when we speak next, do not again tempt my patience.
I must know what brought you here. It is vital. You may seek me out
before tomorrow if you decide to speak.” His voice again became
heavy with some emotion. “I should be here most of the night.”

With a wave he
indicated that Amos was to lead them away. Arutha and Martin followed
the seaman out of the hall, and Amos halted once the door was closed.
He looked at Arutha and Martin for a long moment. “For a couple
of bright lads, you both did right well in showing how to be stupid.”

Amos wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand. He belched and then stuffed another
slice of bread and cheese into his mouth. “Then what?”

“Then,”
answered Martin, “when we got back, Anita had Arutha’s
pledge within an hour and Carline and Laurie were betrothed not long
after.”

“Ha!
Remember that first night out of Krondor aboard the
Sea Swift
?
You told me your brother was a hooked fish - never stood a chance.”

Arutha smiled at
the remark. They were all sitting around a large basket of food and a
hogshead of ale, in a spacious room in a suite given over to their
use. There were no servants - food had been brought by soldiers -and
they served themselves. Baru scratched absently at Blutark’s
ear while the dog chewed on a joint of beef. No one had seemed
concerned about the Beasthound’s staying with the Hadati. Then
Arutha said, “Amos, we’ve been chatting for a half hour.
Will you tell us what’s going on? How in the world did you get
here?”

Amos looked
about. “What’s going on is you’re prisoners, of
sorts, and so you’ll stay until One-eye changes things. Now,
I’ve seen my share of cells, and this is the nicest I’ve
ever seen.” With a sweep of his hand he indicated the large and
spacious room. “No, if you’ve a mind to be in prison,
this here’s a good one.” His eyes narrowed. “But
don’t lose sight it is a prison, laddie. Look, Arutha. I spent
enough years with you and Martin here to know something about you. I
don’t remember you being such a suspicious lot, so I expect
some things over the last two years have caused you to trim sails
that way. But here you’ve got to live, breathe, and eat trust,
or you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

“No,”
answered the Prince. “Just what do you mean?”

Amos thought a
long moment, then said, “This is a city of people surrounded by
nothing but enemies. Trust of your neighbour is a way of life if you
want to keep breathing.” He paused and considered. “Look,
I’ll tell you how we came here and then maybe you’ll
understand.”

Amos settled
back, poured himself another mug of ale and began his story. “Well,
the last I saw you two was as I was sailing out of the harbour aboard
your brother’s ship.” Martin and Arutha both smiled in
remembrance. “Now, if you’ll recall, you had everyone in
the city out looking for Guy. You didn’t find him, because he
was hiding somewhere no one thought to look.”

Martin’s
eyes opened in wonder, one of the few unguarded reactions any of
those in the room had ever seen in him. “On the King’s
ship!”

“When he
heard King Rodric had named Lyam the Heir, Guy cut from Krondor and
ran for Rillanon. He had hopes of seeing something of his plans
salvaged when the Congress of Lords met to ratify the succession. By
the time Lyam got to Rillanon, enough of the eastern lords had
gathered for Guy to judge the lay of the land. It was clear Lyam
would be King - this was before anyone knew about you, Martin - so
Guy resigned himself to being tried for treason. Then, the morning of
the convocation and coronation, word came about Martin’s being
legitimized, so Guy waited to see what would happen later that
afternoon.”

“Waiting
to seize the moment,” commented Arutha.

“Don’t
be so quick to judge,” snapped Amos; then he continued in
softer tones. “He was worried over a civil war and if it came,
he was ready to fight. But while he waited to see what would happen,
he knew Caldric’s men were out snooping about. He had been
dodging them -barely, a couple of times. Guy still had friends in the
capital, and some of them smuggled him and Armand aboard the
Royal
Swallow
- gad, what a pretty craft she was - just about the time
the Ishapian priests reached the palace to start up the coronation.
Anyway, when I . . . borrowed the ship, we discovered we had
passengers.

“Now, I
was ready to toss Guy and Armand over the side, or turn about and
deliver them trussed up to you, but Guy can be a convincing enough
rogue in his way, so I agreed to take him to Bas-Tyra, in exchange
for a healthy price.”

“So he
could plot against Lyam?” asked Arutha incredulously.

“Damn it,
boy,” bellowed Amos, “I let you out of my sight for a
pissing two years and you go and get downright thick-headed on me.”
Looking at Martin, he said, “Must be the company you’ve
been keeping.”

Martin said to
his brother, “Let him finish.”

“No, it
wasn’t to plot treason. It was so he could put his affairs in
order. He figured Lyam’d ordered his head, so he was going to
tidy up some things, then I was going to bring him back to Rillanon,
so he could
give himself up
.”

Arutha looked
stunned.

“About the
only thing he really wanted was to get pardon for Armand and his
other followers. Anyway, we reached Bas-Tyra and stayed a few days.
Then came word of the banishment. Guy and I had become a little more
friendly by then, so we talked and made another deal. He wanted to
leave the Kingdom, to seek a place. He’s a fine general, and
there are many who would have given him service, especially Kesh, but
he wanted to go someplace so remote he would never have to face
Kingdom soldiers in the field. We figured to head east, then turn
south, and make for the Keshian Confederacy. We might have made a
name for ourselves down there. He was going to be a general and I
thought I’d take a bash at being an admiral. We had a spot of
trouble with Armand, for Guy wanted to send him back home to
Gyldenholt, but Armand’s a funny one. He’d sworn fealty
to Guy, years before, and as he had not sworn to Lyam he’d not
quit his liege lord’s service. Damnedest argument I’ve
ever heard. Anyway, he’s still with us. So we set sail for the
Confederacy.