Shards of a Broken Crown (25 page)

Once the three
were outside of the hall, Dash observed, “We’re going to
have to start turning away nobles if they continue to show up.”

Arutha said,
“More are coming. The court here in Darkmoor is to be as
visible and noisy as we can make it. We will find rooms for as many
who arrive as possible, first here, then in the nearby city. The rest
will be quartered outside the wall, in pavilions and campaign tents.
There is to be a month of public celebration.”

Jimmy’s
mouth opened in disbelief. “This can’t be true?”

“It is,”
said Arutha.

Jimmy said, “But
we have to finalize our deal with Duko—”

“That’s
been accomplished. We sent him terms and he replied this morning.”

“What
arrangement has been agreed to?” asked Dash.

Arutha motioned
that they should walk. He headed out toward the central courtyard of
the castle. The halls were thronged with pages, servants, and guards,
attending the needs of a score of visiting nobles. “Within a
month’s time, our former enemy will become Duke of the Southern
Marches.”

“Lord
Sutherland!” exclaimed Jimmy. “That’s incredible.”

“Patrick
would rather not give him anything, and the King would prefer to name
him Baron of Land’s End or something equally . . . local. I
persuaded them both otherwise.”

“Why,
Father?” asked Dash.

“Because
Duko has, to all effects, a personal army of close to twenty-five
thousand men. He may dream of something more noble than his previous
calling as a sword-for-hire, but most of his soldiers have no
allegiance to the Kingdom. I convinced the King that he might be the
only hope for us to keep those men under control and make them Kesh’s
problem rather than our own.”

Dash got a
calculating expression. “If he’s a Duke. . . This means
he answers to the Prince, and not to you.”

“I have my
hands full. And if Patrick has direct control over Duko, he may come
to trust him.”

Jimmy smiled.
“Yet you will be advising the Prince on all matters pertaining
to the Southern Marches.”

Arutha nodded.
“And it keeps other political issues in balance.”

Jimmy and Dash
both knew that meant Duko would be permitted to appoint his own
captains to key locations along the southern borders, probably
gaining titles for them. There were presently more offices than
nobles to fill them due to the high mortality rate of the recent war
in the West. Eastern nobles would already be pestering the King for
some of those titles—more to the point, the taxes their lands
brought. None of those, however, would be willing to venture to the
West to directly rule them. Absentee rulership was not an alien
concept in the Kingdom, but it was frowned upon in the West. There
were too many problems —Queg, Kesh, the Brotherhood of the Dark
Path, among others—to leave the administration of a Barony, let
alone an Earldom or Duchy, to a bailiff or seneschal. A few key
offices would be given to western nobles’ second or third sons,
so that Duko wouldn’t be able to build a structure beneath him
of only personal retainers.

Jimmy said, “Let
me change the subject.” He indicated the young women dotting
the room. “Is there anything we should know. . .”

“About
what?” queried Arutha.

Dash said, “Has
Patrick made a decision on who is going to be the next Princess of
Krondor?”

Arutha glanced
around, seeing if anyone was listening. “Our two most recent
queens were from Roldem. Borric, and Lyam before him, were anxious to
fix alliances in the East.” He put his hands on his son’s
shoulders. “You have the blood of Roldem in you. You know your
mother’s people. They are vain and proud of their heritage and
think of themselves as a people apart. This is why we have seen so
little of your mother.” There was a bitter note in Arutha’s
voice neither son had heard before.

They both knew
their parents’ marriage had been arranged by their grandfather,
Duke James, and had been as advantageous to the Kingdom as the two
marriages of the last two kings to Roldem’s royal daughters.
Dash and Jimmy’s parents had always been able to maintain a
pose of wedded happiness in public, though the boys both knew the
marriage was far from ideal. Only now were they learning just how
strained the relationship between their parents truly was.

Dash said, “So
it must be a Kingdom bride?”

Arutha nodded.
“The King has said so, to me, in private. And it must be an
eastern noble’s daughter. Preferably one from a Duke with a
great deal of influence in the Congress of Lords.”

“Brian
Silden,” said Jimmy.

“Borric
has determined to let his son have the privilege of liking the woman
who is to bear Isle’s future King. So there are five likely
candidates for the position of Princess.”

Jimmy said,
“Have you any inkling of who Patrick will ask to wed?”

Arutha regarded
his son closely, and said, “Francine will be our next queen.
All that remains is the timing. Patrick and she have been friends
since childhood. He genuinely enjoys her company. There have been far
worse foundations for state marriages in our time.”

Jimmy looked
stricken.

Dash said, “Are
you all right?”

Jimmy glanced
from his father to his brother. “I just didn’t. . .
realize.”

Arutha said,
“What? Are you in love with her?”

Jimmy looked at
his father and said, “I’ll never know.” Without
another word he turned and walked away.

Arutha looked at
Dash, who said, “Let him have some time to himself.”

“I didn’t
realize,” said Arutha.

“He didn’t
either,” said Dash. “That’s the problem.”

“What is?”

“Taking
things for granted.” Looking at his father, he said, “Did
Grandfather ever ask you if you wanted to serve the crown, Father?”

Arutha looked as
if this question was equally perplexing as what he had just
witnessed. After a pause, he said, “No, of course not.”

“Why ‘of
course not’?”

“Because I
was just a boy. I began, much as you did, running errands for him,
then I was given work with the Royal Pages, then the Squires.”

“But when
you became a man, did he ask if you might wish to do something else?”

Arutha looked at
Dash and said, “No. He never did.”

“Did you
ever consider you might have had a happier life if he had?”

Arutha was
silent a moment, then said, “That may be the oddest question
I’ve ever heard, son.”

Dash shrugged.
“I’m full of very odd questions these days.”

“Why did
you ask that?”

“Because
I’m not certain I wish to continue in service to the crown.”

“What?”
said Arutha. His tone was a mix of surprise and disbelief. “What
would you do?”

Dash shrugged.
“I don’t know. Perhaps return to Mister Avery’s
employ. He is a very wealthy man.”

Arutha laughed.
“On paper. The King may make good on repaying him by the time
his grandchildren are running Avery and Jacoby.”

Dash smiled. “If
I know Roo, he’ll find a way to amass another fortune before
that.”

Arutha put his
hand on Dash’s shoulder and said, “If you wish to be
released from service to the crown, I can manage that. But please
wait until after we get Fadawah out of Ylith. We have few enough
competent men to serve.”

“I’ll
agree to that.” Lowering his voice, Dash asked, “What
comes next?”

“Publicly,
a very large engagement party next week. During which Patrick
secretly goes to Ravensburg, where he’ll meet Duko, who will
kneel before him and swear fealty. Then the newly appointed Duke of
the Southern Marches will return to the city and a hopefully quiet
movement of soldiers will be underway. Those mercenaries who’ve
been kept outside the walls will be allowed in. Many will be hired to
man the garrison as others leave to find work along the Keshian
border. By the time Patrick’s wedding is over and he returns to
Krondor, the city will be firmly in our hands, without having alerted
Fadawah too far in advance that he’s lost his southern
command.”

Dash’s
expression turned suspicious. “Where in all of this is the Duke
of Krondor? Why aren’t you leading Patrick into his palace in
triumph?”

“I’m
needed elsewhere a while longer. There are things to be done only I
can see through to the end.”

Dash said,
“Forgive me if I say that sounds decidedly odd.”

“Odd or
not, it’s true. Now go find your brother and see if he really
is in distress. If so, go get him drunk and find a tavern wench to
take his mind off of Francine.”

Dash said, “I’ll
try,” and went off in search of his brother.

Arutha watched
his younger son depart and stood lost in thought for a moment, then
he turned and headed back to the banquet hall. There was still much
that had to be arranged before any of the plans he had set in motion
could continue on to fruition.

Erik von
Darkmoor and Rupert Avery sat at a table in the Charging Boar, one of
Darkmoor’s better taverns, when Jimmy and Dash entered. Jimmy
looked drunk already, and Erik stood and signaled across die crowded
common room. “Over here!”

Dash saw him and
led a somewhat off-balance Jimmy over to the table. “Join us!”
said Roo cheerfully.

A plump barmaid
came by, and Erik indicated a round of ale for the four of them. Dash
said, “No, thanks. He’s had enough.”

Erik looked
surprised, but said nothing as he waved away the barmaid.

“What
brings you out of the palace, young nobles?” asked Roo.

“We needed
a change of air,” said Jimmy, his voice edged in bitterness.

Roo glanced at
Erik, and Erik said, “Something sounds amiss.”

Dash leaned
over, and in conspiratorial tones said, “A woman.”

Erik laughed,
and when Jimmy’s expression darkened, put up his hands in
supplication. “I make no jest, young Jimmy. It’s just. .
. unexpected.”

Roo nodded. “We
would have wagered neither of you would ever be seeking solace in an
ale jack because of a woman.”

Jimmy said,
“It’s not that simple.”

“It never
is,” agreed Roo.

Both brothers
knew of Roo’s involvement with Sylvia Esterbrook, the daughter
of a Keshian agent who had played Roo like a flute, causing him to
cheat on his wife, compromise his own business, and the welfare of
the Kingdom. He had been, by all reports, a model husband since then,
but they understood his lessons had been hard-learned.

“So who’s
the girl?” asked Erik.

“The Duke
of Silden’s daughter,” replied Dash.

“Ah,”
said Erik, as if he understood. “She’s not interested, or
. . . otherwise engaged?”

Dash looked
around the room, “The latter, but it’s not widely known.”

Erik apparently
understood the context of the remark. He stood up. “I’ve
got to return to the castle.” He turned toward Roo and said,
“Give my best to Karli. And the children.”

“And my
affections to Kitty,” returned Roo.

After he had
left, Roo said, “I should be getting along, too. I’ve got
a lot to do in the morning. I’ve got a shipment of wagons
bringing grain for Nakor’s temple due in at first light.”

Jimmy said, “I
haven’t seen Nakor since Pug stormed out of Patrick’s
court. Where is he?”

“He’s
smart enough to know when to get out of sight,” answered Roo.
“He’s been down at his temple the last couple of days.”

Roo nodded. “I
have on more than one occasion felt like sleeping anywhere but at
home. I understand. If you need, come by the house. We have room if
you don’t mind sleeping under a wagon.” He laughed.
“Well, young lords, good night.”

The barmaid came
by again and said, “Would you like something before we close
for the night, young sirs?”

Dash said,
“Thank you, but no. We’ll be on our way.”

Jimmy said, “I’m
not going back to the palace.”

“Fine,”
said Dash. “But at least let’s walk some, so you can pass
out in a more agreeable place.”

Jimmy’s
expression brightened. “I know! Let’s go see Nakor!”

For lack of any
better suggestion, Dash agreed. The two brothers left the tavern, and
Dash kept one hand on Jimmy’s arm, half-guiding,
half-supporting as he stumbled along.

Jimmy groaned.
His head pounded and his eyes felt as if they were glued shut. His
mouth tasted as if someone had tossed in table scraps a week earlier
and left them to ripen.

“Would you
like some water?”

Jimmy forced his
eyes open and instantly wished he hadn’t, as the pounding in
his head increased in intensity. Hovering over him was a woman’s
face, and as his eyes focused, he saw the rest of her swim into
shape. He lifted his head and got his right arm under himself and
reached out with his left hand.

She placed a
water cup in it and he drank. Suddenly he knew it was a bad idea: his
heart began to thunder and his skin flushed, and perspiration began
to bead on his brow. He knew he was experiencing the worst hangover
of his life, and eventually the water would be necessary, so he
forced himself to drain the cup. “Thanks,” he said in a
hoarse whisper, handing the cup back.

“Your
brother’s in there,” she said, pointing to the office
Nakor used as his personal quarters when staying at the temple.

“Do I know
you?” croaked Jimmy.

“I don’t
think so,” said the young woman, with a faint smile. “I
know you, however. You’re the Duke—the old Duke’s
grandson, aren’t you?”

Jimmy nodded.
“James, son of Duke Arutha, and yes, Lord James was my
grandfather. They call me Jimmy.”

“You can
call me Aleta.” She studied his face. “A woman?”

He nodded. “I
guess.”

Glancing him
over, she observed, “Well, you’re not much to look at
now, but I’ve seen you in a couple of the taverns I’ve
worked, and when you’re not drunk or hung over, you’re
not a bad-looking fellow. I don’t expect you hear ‘no’
very often.”