Krondor the Assassins (8 page)

James nodded silently.

Pointing to the door, Arutha said, ‘‘Let Gardan in on your way out. Then go to your room and get some sleep. You’re excused from court duty this morning. You have a busy evening ahead of you.’’

‘‘More scouting the city?’’ asked James.

Arutha said, ‘‘No, my wife’s arranged a homecoming ball, and you must attend.’’

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James rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘‘Couldn’t I go crawl around in the sewers some more?’’

Arutha laughed. ‘‘No. You’ll stand and look interested as rich merchants impress you with tales of their fiscal heroics, and their vapid daughters try to entice you with their marginal charms. That’s a royal command.’’ He fingered a document upon his desk. ‘‘And we have word of an eastern noble headed our way for an unexpected visit. So we must be ready to entertain as well. And murder in the streets does so take the joy out of things, don’t you agree?’’ he added dryly.

‘‘Yes, Highness.’’

James opened the door and admitted Gardan, who nodded a greeting. After Gardan entered the room, James left, closing the door behind him.

The court was nearly empty. In a few moments, de Lacy and Jerome would admit nobles, merchants, and other petitioners to the great hall. With a nod of courtesy to the two men, James hurried out of another side door and started back toward his quarters. He might not look forward to another of Princess Anita’s galas, but he did hear his bed singing a siren call to him right now. The last few weeks in the north, especially almost a week-long horseback ride abetted by mystical herbs to ward off fatigue, had taken its toll.

As he reached the corner of two halls, he found a page and instructed the youth to awaken him one hour before the supper bell rang. James reached his room, went inside, and within minutes was fast asleep.

The musicians struck up a tune and Arutha turned to his wife and bowed. Less formal than the royal court in Rillanon, the Prince’s 63

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court in Krondor was no less bound by traditions. One such was that no one began dancing before the Prince and Princess.

Arutha was an adept dancer. That didn’t surprise James. No one could be as nimble when wheeling a sword as the Prince of Krondor and not have a superb sense of balance and exquisite timing. And the dances were simple. James had heard that the court dances in Rillanon were complex, very formal things, while here in the far more rustic west the court dances were similar to those performed by farmers and townspeople throughout the Western Realm, just executed with a bit more restraint and less noise.

James watched Arutha and Anita nod as one to the music master. He held up his bow and nodded to his musicians, a collection of stringed instruments, a pair of percussionists, and three men playing flutes of various sizes. A sprightly tune was struck up and Anita stepped away from Arutha, while holding his hand, and executed a twirling turn, which caused her ornate gown to flare out. She ducked skillfully under his arm, and James thought it was a good thing those silly large white hats the ladies wore this season were considered daywear only. He considered it improbable she could have got under Arutha’s arm without knocking it off.

The thought struck him as amusing and he smiled. Jerome, standing nearby said, ‘‘Something funny, James?’’

James’s smile vanished. He had never liked Jerome, that distaste going back to their first encounter when James had arrived in court. After Jerome’s first—and last—attempt to bully him, James had knocked down the older boy, informing him pointedly that he was Prince Arutha’s personal squire and not about to be bullied by anyone. James had emphasized the message with the point of a dagger—Jerome’s own—deftly picked 64

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off his belt without Jerome noticing, and the message had never needed to be repeated.

Jerome had remained wary of James from that day on, though he had occasionally tried to bully the younger squires. Since becoming de Lacy’s apprentice, and in all likelihood the next Master of Ceremonies, Jerome had outgrown his bullying behavior, and a polite truce had arisen between himself and James. James still considered him a fussy prig, but judged him far less obnoxious than he had been as a boy. And at times he was even useful.

James said, ‘‘Just an odd thought about fashion.’’

Jerome let a slight smile show itself before turning somber once more. He did not pursue the remark, but his slight change of expression indicated he appreciated James’s observation.

The court was at its lavish best, with every guest adorned in the height of Krondorian fashion. James found these annual shifts in taste odd and occasionally ridiculous, but bore up under them stoically. This year the guards’ uniforms had been changed, at the Princess’s request, as the old gray tabards were now considered too dull.

The honor guard along the walls wore light brown tunics—somewhere between copper and gold—marked with a black eagle soaring over the peak of a mountain. James wasn’t sure he liked the break with tradition, but noticed the Prince’s scarlet mantle of office still bore the old crest.

Another group of guests arrived and filtered into the ballroom.

Leaning toward Jerome, James quietly asked, ‘‘The usual guests?’’

Jerome nodded. ‘‘Local nobles, rich merchants, a few soldiers of rank who have earned our Prince’s favor.’’

‘‘Any Keshians?’’ asked James.

‘‘A few,’’ said Jerome. ‘‘Traders.’’ He glanced over at James and asked, ‘‘Or did you have some particular Keshians in mind?’’

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James shook his head a little as the dance came to a close.

‘‘No, but I wish I did.’’

If Jerome was curious about the remark, he didn’t show it.

James had come to admire his reticence, as a great deal of a Master of Ceremony’s time was spent dealing with idiots, many of them powerful and rich. The ability
not
to hear things convincingly was a skill James felt he lacked and needed to cultivate.

A bit of a bustle at the far end of the hall began as the first dance ended. Arutha bowed to Anita and offered his hand, which she took, to escort her back to the dais.

From the opposite end of the hall came the booming crack of de Lacy’s staff of office striking the floor heralding the arrival of someone of note. De Lacy’s old, but still strong, voice carried the hall, as he intoned, ‘‘Your Highnesses, Lord Radswil, Duke of Olasko!’’

James said, ‘‘Radswil of Olasko?’’

Jerome whispered, ‘‘Pronounced
Rads-vil
, you ignoramus. One of the Eastern Kingdoms—a duchy, actually.’’ Looking with mock disdain at James he said, ‘‘Study the map, my friend. The man’s the younger brother of the Grand Duke Vaclav, and uncle to the Prince of Aranor.’’ Dropping his voice even lower, Jerome said,

‘‘Which means he’s a cousin to the King of Roldem.’’

A stir spread through the room as those who had occupied the dance floor parted to allow a large man and his retinue to cross to where Arutha and Anita were just sitting down. James studied the man and didn’t like what he saw.

The duke was a bruiser, James could tell, despite his fine raiment. A large velvet hat of dark maroon, looking like an oversized beret, dropped off to one shoulder, a large silver brooch with a long white feather sweeping back from it. His black jacket was tailored to fit snugly, and James could see the 66

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massive shoulders were not padded, but merely reinforced his impression that Lord Radswil could easily hold his own in the rougher inns of the city. Black leggings and stockings finished the ensemble, all of the finest make. The sword at his side was a rapier, much like the one Arutha wore, often used and a serious weapon. The only difference was that Radswil’s had a silver-and-gold-decorated bellguard.

At his left hand walked a young girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing a dress to rival the Princess’s, though cut as daringly low as modesty permitted. James studied her face. She was pretty in a predatory way, with the eyes of a hunter. For a brief moment he gave thanks that Locklear was gone from the court. Since they were boys, James had joked that girls would get Locklear killed some day, and this one looked about as dangerous as any James had seen, despite her youth.

Then James felt eyes upon him and glanced across. At Radswil’s right hand walked two young men, about James’s own age from what he could tell. The one closest to the duke looked like a younger version of Radswil, heavy set, powerful of stature and full of confidence. The one farthest from the duke bore enough of a resemblance to be a younger brother, but he was leaner and his eyes had a menacing cast as he fixed them upon James. He was studying James as James had been studying the party, and intuitively James knew what that young man was doing; he was picking out potential enemies in court. James felt a chill run down his back as the duke bowed before Arutha.

Jerome, now acting the part of his office as assistant to the Master of Ceremonies, stepped forward and said, ‘‘Your Highnesses, may I present Radswil, Lord Steznichia, Duke of Olasko.’’

Arutha said, ‘‘Welcome to our court, my lord. Your arrival 67

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catches us somewhat unprepared. We thought you would arrive later in the week.’’

The duke bowed. ‘‘Apologies, Your Highness,’’ he said in a deep voice, his speech only slightly accented. ‘‘We caught favorable winds from Opardum and arrived in Salador a week before we were scheduled. Rather than linger, we pressed on.

I trust we have caused Your Highnesses no undue inconvenience?’’

Arutha shook his head. ‘‘Not at all. We just lack a fitting welcome, that is all.’’

The duke smiled and James felt no warmth from that expression. The man was polished and his education was obvious, but at heart there was that brawler James had recognized at once. ‘‘I’m sorry, Highness, I assumed the gala tonight was to welcome us.’’

Anita’s face froze for a moment, then the duke turned to her and said, ‘‘Highness, I jest. The matter is one of scant importance.

We call only out of courtesy to your office and your husband’s.

We are bound for the Keshian port of Durbin. From there we will venture into the Trollhome Mountains, where we understand the hunting is both plentiful and exotic. Any small gesture of hospitality on your part is a boon beyond our expectation.’’

James saw Jerome go slightly rigid. The fussy ex-squire was a stickler for protocol and the duke had managed to brush aside an apology from Arutha and return an insult, without making it obvious. This man obviously felt no timorousness being in the presence of a Prince.

Anita had been court bred and knew the intricacies of court manners. She knew that anything she said in response to the slight would only worsen her situation socially. She merely inclined her head and said, ‘‘I suspect the subtleties of the east are lost upon us here in the west. Would you present your companions?’’

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The duke bowed and turned to the younger of the two men. ‘‘Your Highness, may I present my nephew, His Highness, Vladic, son of my brother the Archduke, heir to the throne and Crown Prince of Olasko, Prince of the House of Roldem by blood.’’ On cue the young man stepped forward and bowed in greeting to the Prince and Princess of Krondor. Then the duke said, ‘‘And this is Kazamir, my son and heir to my house, also Prince of the House of Roldem by blood.’’ The other son bowed effortlessly, with exactly the proper deference for one of his rank before Prince Arutha. Smoothly, the duke turned and said, ‘‘And this is my daughter, Paulina, Princess of the House of Roldem by blood.’’

Arutha nodded greeting. ‘‘You are all welcome in Krondor.’’

He made a small gesture to Jerome, who hurried off to ready guest apartments for the duke and his entourage. James was again forced to concede that Jerome was good at what he did.

He had no doubt the rooms would be aired, with wine and other refreshments on hand, and a squad of pages ready to do the duke’s bidding.

Arutha said, ‘‘We are celebrating a safe return from troubles to the north. You are most welcome to remain for the gala.’’

The duke smiled. ‘‘My thanks. From the reports and gossip we heard along the way from Salador to Krondor, I suspect the troubles were not trivial. A gala is most appropriate to celebrate a Prince’s safe return.

‘‘I am tired from the journey, however, and will beg your forgiveness and retire. The children, perhaps, might enjoy some music and revelry after our long journey.’’

James realized this was not an option, but an instruction.

The two youngsters turned to their father and bowed, while the Crown Prince merely looked on for a moment, then inclined his 69

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head. Radswil bowed to the Prince and withdrew before Arutha had time to do more than wave agreement. Master de Lacy intercepted the duke and his retainers at the door and escorted them to the guest quarters.

Arutha turned to James and said, ‘‘Squire James, would you please see that our guests are refreshed?’’

James bowed and stepped down the dais and presented himself to the duke’s children with a courtly bow. Keenly aware the introduction of the three youngsters revealed the Olaskans’

formality in matters of rank, James said, ‘‘Prince Vladic, Princess, Prince, may I offer you refreshments?’’

Vladic studied James a moment, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, then he nodded.

With as deft a movement as James had seen, he found himself with the Princess Paulina’s arm through his, before he had even had the chance to offer his hand, a far more courteous gesture. The familiarity almost caught him off guard. ‘‘Tell me, squire,’’ said Paulina, as they moved toward the large table where refreshments were offered, ‘‘how do you come to serve the Prince, personally?’’

James was struck by two things at once. There was something about her, a scent, perhaps an exotic perfume, that caused his blood to race. He suddenly experienced a fierce desire. And that in turn caused what James had long called his ‘‘bump of trouble’’ to start bothering him. Paulina was a pretty enough girl—many would even say beautiful—and easily one of the most attractive at the gala, but James was long used to the wiles of women and she was not so extraordinarily attractive that he should find himself being so irresistibly drawn to her.