Shards of a Broken Crown (10 page)

With many
breaches in the walls, the peace was kept by patrols riding among
those gathered outside the walls: a mix of Kingdom deserters,
displaced farmers, workers, and mercenaries looking for employment.
Among the invaders and Kingdom soldiers no small number of Keshians,
Quegans, and fighters from the Free Cities of Natal were in evidence.

Dash had made
the mistake of attempting to sneak into Krondor. If a man could enjoy
freedom outside the walls, inside the walls only those who had served
in General Duko’s army were freemen. He had managed to stay out
of sight for a day, but had run into a patrol and while being chased
had ducked into a seemingly empty building which in reality had
housed a half-dozen armed soldiers who were off-watch. They held him
until the patrol caught up and, without even asking his reasons for
being in the city, had beaten, robbed, then incarcerated him.

That had been
three days before. Dash was letting his bruised and aching body
recover; he had no doubt that given half a chance he could escape,
and this time he wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking the city
was deserted. It wasn’t. In fact, it was turning into something
far more lively than he would have thought from Jimmy’s report.

He had spent two
days working on restoring a fortification on the north wall. He had
tried to overhear the guards’ gossip, but the fact was he could
barely understand them. His brother had the gift for language. Dash
could speak passable Keshian and Roldem, after having both languages
drilled into him as a boy in the King’s court in Rillanon.

But he had
barely been exposed to the Quegan, Natalese, and Yabonese dialects
which, although descended from Keshian, were almost other languages
to his ear. And this common tongue of Novindus was even more removed
from Kesh than those.

Still, he was
able to judge that something odd was happening or about to happen.
The soldiers on patrol and those inside the city seemed as concerned
about what was taking place to the north as they were concerned about
what might be coming from the east.

“Time to
go,” said a voice next to Dash.

Dash nodded to
the man as he stood. The man was named Gustaf Tinker, though his last
name suggested a grandfather’s trade, for he had been a
mercenary soldier from the Vale of Dreams. Dash had found out the
first night that most of the prisoners were hapless locals,
townspeople, fishermen, and farmers from nearby. Gustaf was something
of an oddity, as the Kingdom soldiers had been segregated from the
other prisoners. They didn’t get worked, but they weren’t
executed either. Dash had no idea what General Duko thought he might
do with them; use them for hostages, perhaps. But as a result of the
segregation, Gustaf and perhaps one or two others among the fifty or
so men herded nightly into a room designed for a half dozen might
prove useful allies when Dash made his break for freedom.

Another of the
men, Talwin, was almost certainly a thief, but Dash had avoided too
much conversation with him. Once into the sewers of the city, a local
thief might prove a useful guide, but as long as they shared a cell
together, Talwin would just as likely turn Dash in to the guards as a
Kingdom spy as not for an extra ration.

The door opened
and the men gratefully left the cramped room and shuffled out into
the hallway. They were housed in a half-burned tannery in the North
Quarter of the city. Most of the rank-smelling
businesses—slaughterhouses, dyers, fish mongers, among
others—were clustered here, so the area provided two benefits
to invaders: large relatively undamaged buildings, and a close
proximity to an area of the wall which badly needed repair. In the
East Quarter, Dash suspected the workers were being housed in
abandoned stables and sheds.

The guard
motioned and the first man in line moved out of the hall, into the
cold morning light. As Dash came out into the light, he blinked, and
was startled to discover the almost ever-present cloud cover had
moved inland. The day promised to be warm, which was a mixed
blessing. During the day he barely felt the cold, given the amount of
work he was required to do, but at least the next night might be more
forgiving.

He followed
along and waited until the boy who took care of food and water
appeared, and as anxious as his companions, he grabbed the single
slab of bread offered. It was a coarse and unappetizing meal; the
grain was so ill-ground that men had been known to break teeth on
husks or small pieces of gravel. The water ration had been cut with a
small amount of wine. Some men had come down with the belly flux a
day or two before Dash’s capture, and the invaders were certain
a little wine kept it from spreading.

All too quickly
the morning meal was over, and they were off to work. Dash joined
four other men attempting to move a large wall stone that had fallen
during the battle of Krondor. They were to get it over to a makeshift
crane, built by an invading engineer more adept at engines of war
than civil engineering. Yet Dash had seen the wooden contraption lift
larger stones several times in the last two days and he was certain
that it would continue to serve for a while.

Why was there so
much urgency in the rebuilding of Krondor? For Duko to deny the city
to Patrick made sense. For Duko to attempt to hold it for any length
of time made little sense. Dash smelled a mystery, and as much as he
wanted to escape, he also wanted to discover what exactly was taking
place around here before doing so.

A man grunted
and the stone was lifted; quickly a net was pulled under. Dash used
the moment gained while the other men tied off the net to the crane
to turn to Gustaf and ask, “You anxious to stick around?”

The soldier, a
quiet man of middle build, showed the slight smile which was his most
dramatic expression, and said, “Of course. There’s such
an opportunity for advancement.”

Dash said, “Yes.
Another dozen deaths and you’ll be first in line for bread and
water in the morning.”

“What do
you have in mind?” whispered Gustaf.

Noticing they
were being watched by Talwin, Dash said, “I’ll tell you
later.”

Gustaf nodded
and made no comment as the crew moved over to repeat their labors
with another large stone.

Dash flinched.

The wind had
turned cold again after the previous day’s springlike warmth
and he was still sporting many bruises, which seemed to sting more
when the cold hit them. Still, the exercise seemed to be keeping him
from getting stiff. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to
Gustaf again since he had mentioned the possibility of escape. Talwin
had taken to staying close by, a turn of events which worried Dash.
He could only guess at the man’s motives; either he was also
looking for escape and judged Dash and Gustaf likely allies in such a
break, or he was an informer. Dash decided he could spend another day
or two trying to discover which.

The guards
shouted for the midday break, and the boys with the bread and watered
wine hurried through the ranks, distributing their welcome fare. Dash
sat down right where he worked, on the next large rock to be returned
to the wall, while Gustaf sat with his back to the wall they were
repairing. Dash took a bite and said, “Either I’m getting
used to this or they’ve found a better baker.”

Gustaf said,
“You’re getting used to it. Remember the old saying,
‘Hunger is the best sauce.’ “

Dash studied the
warrior from the Vale of Dreams. At first it had seemed his entire
conversational repertoire consisted of head nods, grunts, and the
occasional “yes” or “no.” But since last
night he had opened up a little to Dash.

“How’d
you get caught here?”

“I
wasn’t,” said Gustaf, finishing his meager meal. He
sipped his watery wine and said, “I was a guard on a caravan .
. .” He glanced around. “It’s a long story. The
short of it is we were intercepted and captured by Duko’s men
and those of us who lived through the fight ended up here.”

“How long
has it been?”

“Too damn
long.” He frowned. “Must be a couple of months now. The
days blur. It was snowing when I got here.”

Dash nodded.
“Caravan?”

Gustaf shrugged.
“My employer wasn’t the only merchant to think he could
steal a profit by being the first one bringing goods into the city.
From what I’ve seen around here, this general isn’t
interested in trading much. He seems willing to let folks fend for
themselves on the other side of the wall, but in here it’s a
military camp.”

The order to
resume work was passed down the line and Dash said, “I get that
impression.”

Gustaf smiled.
“You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“Back to
work!” shouted a guard, and the four men nearest Dash and
Gustaf began moving the rock back into place in the wall.

Jimmy motioned
with a slight tilt of his head. Malar nodded that he understood and
signaled for the boy to come over. The urchin was filthy, covered
from head to toe in soot and grime. He smelled as if he had been
swimming in a cesspool, and Jimmy thought him a likely source of
information.

Malar spoke with
the boy for a few minutes, then gave him a coin, telling him to run
off. He returned to where Jimmy leaned against the wall in a pose of
indifference and said, “Young sir, the boy was, indeed, working
in the sewers. They pay him to crawl into the smaller culverts and
pipes, ridding them of burned wood, mud, and the like.”

Jimmy shook his
head slightly in irritation. “Damn. What are they doing down
there?”

In a low voice,
Malar said, “Apparently repairing the sewer, much as they seem
to be repairing everything above-ground on the other side of the wall
from all reports.”

“But why?”
asked Jimmy rhetorically. “The sewers are sufficient for his
army. With a little work, he can keep them flowing enough so his men
don’t fall ill.” Jimmy scratched an imaginary itch on the
side of his face. “But from what we’ve heard, he’s
trying to put them back to the state they were in before—”
He had been about to say before “Grandfather blew up the city,”
but changed it to “the city was taken.”

“Perhaps
this General Duko likes things orderly.”

Jimmy shook his
head in baffled silence. He had read every report that had reached
Darkmoor on the enemy before and after the Battle of Nightmare Ridge.

Duko was
probably their best field general, and third in importance after
Fadawah and Nordan. Jimmy couldn’t begin to guess what he was
up to. Had he been fortifying the city for an attack from the east or
south, that might have made some sense, though the defenses would
still be less than ideal when Patrick’s army arrived.

Had he continued
to rip Krondor apart, adding to the destruction—to deny it to
the Kingdom—would have made sense. But repairing the damage
done, as if he was going to occupy the city for a long time, that
made no sense.

“Unless .
. .” said Jimmy softy.

“Young
sir?” asked Malar.

“Never
mind.” He looked around. “It’s going to be dark in
the next hour. Come with me.”

He led Malar
through the busy streets in the tent city and toward an alley, really
just a passage between freestanding walls, all that was left of two
businesses. He ducked into the alley without waiting to see if he was
being watched, and heard Malar follow.

It would be easy
to become lost in Krondor, Jimmy knew from his last visit. With all
the destruction, landmarks didn’t exist. Yet the patterns were
the same, and if one constantly remembered where one was relative to
one of the few intact recognizable features in the city, it should be
possible to find one’s way. At least Jimmy hoped this was so.

He heard
movement before he saw it, and ducked back, almost knocking Malar
over. Someone walked along the abandoned street, coming closer. Jimmy
and Malar hunkered down, fading into the darkness between the walls.

Shortly, a pair
of armed men hurried by, upon what errand Jimmy could only guess.
Jimmy waited, to see if they returned or if others followed. When no
one else appeared after a few minutes, he moved across the road to a
burned-out inn.

Hunkering down
behind a section of still-standing wall, Jimmy whispered, “This
inn has a way into the sewers. If it’s not blocked, and if the
sewers are still intact, we can get inside the city. Most of the
sewer is cut off from out there to in there,” he said pointing
toward the city, “but there is an old collapsed wall of a
cistern that we can wiggle through.”

“Is that a
good idea, young sir?” asked Malar. “From what we’ve
heard it seems difficult to remain inside without being pressed into
a work gang. At least that seems the general opinion.”

“I don’t
plan on being seen,” said Jimmy. “You’re free to
make your own way from here on, if you choose.”

“Living by
my wits is an old habit of mine, young sir, but I suspect you and
your brother are my best opportunity to find something beyond that.”
He studied Jimmy for a moment, as if weighing risks against possible
rewards, then said, “You and your brother are two men of some
position, I suspect. If so, and if I serve you to a good ending, then
perhaps I may salvage something from what has so far been a horrible
turn of fate.” He fell silent for a moment again, then said,
“If you will have me in your service, I will go with you.”

Jimmy half
shrugged. “I guess that makes you my servant in fact, then.
Tell you what you must do. Should anything happen to me, return as
best you may to the East. Long before you reach the Kingdom Army you
will almost certainly be apprehended by Kingdom advanced scouts.
Probably Hadati hillmen or Krondorian Pathfinders. If it’s
Hadatis, see if there’s a man named Akee with them. If
Pathfinders, ask for Captain Subati. Have either of those men take
you to Owen Greylock or Eric von Darkmoor and tell them everything
you’ve seen so far. Without a name, you’ll be taken for a
Keshian deserter or looter or something, and it might be a long time
before anyone heard your story. And they must know what we’ve
seen.”