Shards of a Broken Crown (15 page)

“Because
we have nowhere else to go.”

Jimmy looked at
the man and said, “If there was a way back to your home . . .
?”

“There is
nothing there.” He glanced toward the east. “There is my
future, one way or another.” Then he looked toward the west.
“Out there is a land ravaged by over twenty years of war. No
city of size remains. Those few that do are small backwaters, barely
more prosperous in their glory than Krondor is now in her ashes. They
are city-states of tiny men with no sense of the future. One day is
much like the next.”

He turned toward
Jimmy and studied him a long time. “I’m fifty-two years
old next Midsummer’s Day, lad. I’ve been a soldier since
I was sixteen years of age. For thirty-six years I’ve been
fighting.” He glanced at the city as the sun began to lower in
the west. “That’s a damn long time to be dealing in blood
and slaughter.” He leaned on the parapet as if tired. “For
the last twenty I’ve served demons or black gods, I don’t
know which, but I know that the Army of the Emerald Queen was made up
of men beguiled by dark forces, lured by promises of wealth, power,
and immortality.” His voice lowered. “Or propelled by
fear.” He looked down, as if reluctant to look Jimmy in the
eyes. “I was ambitious when I was young. I was anxious to make
a name for myself. I formed my own company when I was eighteen. I was
commanding a thousand men by twenty.

“At first
I was glad to serve the Emerald Queen. Her army was the greatest my
land had known. With conquest came booty, gold, women, more
recruits.” He closed his eyes as if remembering. “But
after a while the years slip by and you find the string of women hold
no interest, and there’s only so much gold you can carry with
you. Besides, there’s nothing to do with it but hire more men.”

He looked at
Jimmy and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, to the north. “My
old friend Noradan is up there, at my back. If I know Fadawah, I am
to be left here to be ground to a fine dust by the returning army of
the Prince of Krondor. I am to slow him down and bleed him, while
Noradan builds up a barrier across the highway to the north of here,
to stand at Sarth.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if somehow
able to see to that distant town. “That’s a hell of a
defensive position, that abandoned abbey. Once he’s dug in, it
will take your Prince all year to dig him out.”

Looking again at
Jimmy, he said, “Meanwhile, Fadawah is going to take your city
of LaMut. He won’t go on to Yabon this year, being content to
throw up a position south of that city and starve it for a year. He
has the means to keep reinforcements and supplies from reaching the
city while he repulses your forces from the south.”

Jimmy said, “Why
are you telling me this?”

“Spy or
not, I want you to carry a message for me to the Prince. I believe
he’s still in Darkmoor, but have no doubt he has forces no more
than a day’s ride to the east. I’ll arrange an escort to
a likely point and turn you loose.”

“Why not
just send a message?”

“Because I
think you are a spy and I think you’re likely to be believed.
If I send one of my own men, or a captive who wasn’t known to
the Prince or his men, I think it might take too long to convince him
of my intent. And time is a commodity neither of us has.”

Jimmy said,
“You’re General Duko.”

The man nodded.
“And I’ve been sent out by one of my oldest comrades to
die. Fadawah and I have served in various campaigns together since we
were hardly old enough to shave. But he fears me, and that’s my
death warrant.”

“What do
you want me to say to Prince Patrick?”

“I have an
offer for him.”

“What’s
the offer?”

“I wish to
negotiate a settlement of our differences.”

“You’re
willing to surrender?”

“Nothing
that simple, I’m afraid.” The General smiled a half-smile
that Jimmy found both reassuring and unsettling. “Patrick would
likely throw me and my men into a camp and get around to shipping us
back to Novindus when he found the means, and that could be years
down the road.”

“You’re
turning coat?”

“Not
quite. Surrender or take his gold for service, either way I end up a
man looking for a boat back to a land that has no place for me. No,
Jimmy, I need a different solution. I need a future, for me and my
men.”

“What do
you wish me to tell the Prince’s men?”

“Tell them
that I have handpicked the men with me here in Krondor. Tell them
those I had reservations about were left behind with Noradan. I can
vouch for my men.” He looked into Jimmy’s eyes a moment.
“Tell your Prince of Krondor I will swear fealty to the crown,
in exchange for land and titles. Grant me estates and income, and I
will lead the army north to visit with my old friends Noradan and
Fadawah.”

Jimmy was silent
for a moment. He was both astonished at the suggestion and amazed at
the logic behind it. He shook his head. “I don’t know
what he will say.”

“If we
knew what he would say, we wouldn’t have to send you, now,
would we?” Jimmy shook his head.

“Come, get
something to eat, and leave at first light.” He led Jimmy down
the stairs.

Jimmy watched
the man’s back and considered what he wanted. In a single
breath he had set a price: forgive the assault on the Western Realm,
and more, grant the man a patent of nobility, name him Earl or Baron
of some lands in the West, and give him the power to rule over those
lands. Jimmy shook his head. Would Patrick do it, or would his temper
doom men on both sides of the wall to more useless bloodshed?

Dash sipped at
the watery soup and said, “So then what?”

“We stayed
in that basement a week or more. Hard to judge being in the gloom all
that time.” The old man motioned to put aside his bowl, held in
a badly deformed hand, and the young woman moved to take it before it
fell to the floor. “Thank you, Trina,” he said.

His voice was as
scarred as his face, but after getting used to the sound of it, Dash
understood him well enough.

The three men
who had come with Dash were still missing, and only Dash, the old
man, and the woman thief sat around the simple wooden table.

“What
should I call you?” asked Dash.

“Your
grandfather insisted on calling me Lysle. It was a name I hadn’t
used in more score of years than I can count, but it serves. I’ve
had so many in my life I barely know which one is truly mine.”

“Lysle,
you were telling me about Grandfather and Grandmother.”

“James set
fire to the oil he rigged in the sewers. We knew it would be a close
thing and it was. I was in the escape tunnel ahead of them, and when
the explosion came I shot from the mouth of the tunnel like a cork
from a bottle of sparkling wine. I was badly burned, as you see, and
had half my bones broken, but I’m a tough nut.”

The woman named
Trina spoke. “And we found a healing priest who worked on him.”

“Damn near
killed the man, making him do his healings over me, my merry band of
cutthroats did. But they saved me before the poor brother of Killian
passed out from exhaustion. He squeezed a few years more of life for
me, while I set matters in Krondor right.”

“Grandfather
and Grandmother?”

The old man
shook his head. “James and Gamina were last in the tunnel,
behind me. They never had a chance, boy.”

Dash had known
his grandfather and grandmother were dead; his great-grandfather Pug
had said so, but upon finding the Upright Man alive, a faint hope had
been rekindled in Dash. Now it was extinguished again, and the pain
was again felt.

Lysle said, “If
it is any comfort, I know they died quickly, and together.”

Dash nodded.
“Grandmother would never have wanted to live without
Grandfather.”

“I never
knew my brother well, Dash. We had met once as young men, and then
again a few years ago.” The old man laughed, a dry chuckle. “He
put me out of business, actually, and damn near got me killed by some
of the more ambitious men in the Mockers.

“But those
few days I spent with him and your grandmother, they were my chance
to hear the stories. I’m sure you heard most of them. Prince
Arutha and the journey to Moraline, the fall of Armengar, where he
got the idea for that nasty fire trap that got himself killed. I
heard how he had journeyed to Kesh, during that matter with the
Crawler, and when Lord Nirome had tried to depose the Empress. He
told me of his rise in power and the time he spent ruling in
Rillanon.

“I had
thought myself something of a man of some accomplishments. When my
father had died, one of his most trusted lieutenants had seized
control of the Mockers, naming himself the Virtuous Man. I in turn
deposed him and called myself the Sagacious Man. And I returned to
the name Upright Man to signal an agreement I had with your
grandfather and create the false impression I had deposed myself with
the members of the Mockers.

“But my
accomplishments pale next to those of Jimmy the Hand. The thief who
ruled in turn the two mightiest cities in the Kingdom. He who was the
most powerful noble in the nation. What a man he was.”

Dash nodded.
“When you put it that way, I see what you mean. To me he was
Grandfather, and he had lots of wonderful stories. I sometimes forgot
they were true.”

The Upright Man
said, “Now, the question is, what to do with you?”

“Me?”

“You’re
here spying for your father. That’s not a problem, in and of
itself, but the fact is you’ve seen me, talked to me, and
letting you go is a problem.”

“Would it
make a difference if I swore to say nothing about you to anyone?”

The old man
laughed his dry chuckle again. “Hardly. You’re who you
are, boy, and things might remain on the square between us for a
while, but eventually, when things return to something like before
around here, the day will come when some Mocker will create a problem
that will call a little too much attention to us. It happens from
time to time. And then you’ll find yourself wondering just
where your loyalties lie, to your Prince or your old Uncle Lysle.
Considering our deep family bond, I have no doubt you’d turn me
in the first chance you get.”

Dash stood up.
“Grandfather taught me better.” He glanced at the girl,
and then at his great-uncle. “Besides, the Mockers I’ve
seen don’t exactly look a menace to the sovereignty of the
nation at the moment, and then there’s the small matter that we
don’t presently control Krondor.”

“That’s
a matter of some weight, true. And it gives me pause about ordering
your death. You don’t presently pose a threat. What do you
think you can manage for us if we help you get free and back to your
father?”

Dash said, “I
can’t promise anything. I don’t have the authority. But I
suspect with a little conversation, I can get Father to authorize a
general pardon for any of your people who help us retake the city.”

“A little
fighting for an amnesty?”

“Something
like that. Having a few of you inside the walls at key locations at
the right time could save a lot of lives under the walls.”

“Well, let
me think on this, and then I’ll tell you what I’ll do
tomorrow. Get some rest and don’t try to escape.”

“What of
my friends?”

“They’re
being cared for. I don’t know how important they are to you,
but I’m counting on them having a little call on your
loyalties, so I can keep you in line.”

Dash nodded and
the old man hobbled to the door. “Trina will keep you company
for the night.” Dash tried to look pleased, but the woman’s
dark glare made it clear amusing byplay would be lost on her.

After the door
closed, Dash sat down on a pile of straw in the corner, obviously his
bed for the night. A long moment of silence passed as Trina sat on
the chair by the table watching him. Looking at his guard, he said,
“Well, then. Do we tell one another our life stories?”

Taking out her
dagger, the woman began to clean her fingernails with the point. She
put her feet up on the table and said, “No, Puppy. We do not.”

Sighing, Dash
lay down and closed his eyes.

Nakor frowned.

He scanned the
room of the warehouse in Darkmoor he was currently using as a base of
operations, and said, “This will not do.”

Sho Pi, his
first disciple, said, “What, master?”

Since becoming
self-appointed head of the Church of Arch-Indar, Nakor had ceased
objecting to being referred to as “master” by the young
former monk of Dala. Nakor pointed to the wagon that was being
unloaded outside his new “church,” and said, “We
ordered twice that.”

“I know,”
shouted the driver of the second wagon as it pulled up. “Hello,
Nakor.”

“Hello,
Roo!” shouted the former gambler turned high priest. “Where
is the rest of our grain?”

“This is
all there is, my friend,” said Rupert Avery, once the richest
man in the history of the Western Realm, now the proud owner of three
wagons, three teams of horses, and an amazing debt owed him by a
near-bankrupt Kingdom. “Most of what I can buy goes to the
Prince, to feed the soldiers.”

“But I
have gold,” said Nakor.

“For which
I am eternally grateful, for without your patronage, I would be
unable to buy even the meanest grain out there. My credit is
overextended in the East, I am forced to sell my holdings there to
pay off my debts, and the money that’s owed me is coming from a
presently nonexistent Western Realm.”

“You seem
unusually happy for a man in such dire straits,” observed
Nakor.

“Karli is
going to have another baby.”

Nakor laughed.
“I thought you were put off by children.”

Roo smiled, his
narrow face showing an almost boyish aspect as he nodded. “Once
I was, but when we fled Krondor and reached Darkmoor, well, that time
cooped up with them almost every day, I came to learn a great deal
about my children.” His smile faded and he said, “About
myself, as well.”