Shards of a Broken Crown (55 page)

He crept down
the ramp to a landing opening up on a large cellar, once previously
used to house large casks of ale and wine. The building above had
been an inn. On the far side of the room a score of men were lying
around on bedding on the floor, or sitting on barrels. Dash said to
his own men, “Spread out and don’t stop.”

He walked
purposefully toward the nearest man who looked in surprise at the men
approaching. Then he saw the red armband and started to stand up.
Dash shouted, “In the name of the Prince, surrender!”

The man lying on
the nearest pallet started to rise, but Dash lashed out with his
billy club and knocked the man senseless. The other constables
hurried forward, and one man who started to pull his sword was struck
unconscious by three constables. Others raised hands in surrender,
though one tried to run down a passage. One of the constables flung
his billy along the floor, sending it skipping over the stones to
strike the man in the back of the legs. He fell hard and before he
could rise two other constables were on him.

Dash had the
prisoners roped together with their hands tied behind them before
they could organize a resistance. One of the newly deputized
constables said, “That went easily enough, Sheriff.”

Dash said,
“Don’t get too comfortable. The rest of the night won’t
be this easy.”

At dawn Jimmy
rose to find a worried-looking Marcel Duval standing over his
sleeping roll. “Earl James,” said the Squire from
Bas-Tyra.

“What is
it?” asked Jimmy, getting up and trying to stretch at the same
time.

“Some of
the horses are footsore, sir, and I was wondering if we might take a
day to rest them.”

Jimmy blinked,
not sure he was entirely awake. “Rest them?”

“The pace
has been punishing, sir, and some of these animals are going to be
lame by the time we reach Krondor.”

Jimmy came wide
awake. “Squire,” said Jimmy in as calm a voice as he
could muster. “You may play at being a soldier all you wish
back at the court in Bas-Tyra. Here you are a soldier. Now, by the
time I get my horse saddled, you and your men had better be ready to
ride. Today, your gallant troop rides in the van.”

“Sir?”

“That is
all!” said Jimmy far too sharply. He closed his eyes a moment,
then counted slowly to ten. He took a deep breath, then shouted,
“Mount up!”

Everywhere men
scrambled to get their horses saddled. Part of what made Jimmy
irritable was that he knew the horses were being punished. Duval’s
pretty bunch wouldn’t be the only ones limping into Krondor,
but he knew that by pushing this company, he’d reach the city
in three more days. He just hoped that would be soon enough.

When the column
was ready, Jimmy looked back and did a mental calculation. Five
hundred cavalry and mounted infantry. The men were eating dried
rations in the saddle, and already a few could be seen showing signs
of illness. But sick or well, tired or rested, he was going to get
them all to Krondor. They could tip the balance if the city was still
intact when they got there. Fighting back hunger and fatigue, he
shouted, “Get something in your bellies while you can. In ten
minutes we pick up the pace.” Turning to the head of the line,
he shouted, “Squire Duval, lead the column at the walk!”

“Sir!”
came the reply, and Duval led his fifty lancers out in the van.

As the sun crept
above the horizon in the east and rose and yellow hues bathed the
landscape, Jimmy was forced to admit Duval’s company did cut a
dashing appearance.

The attack came
at dawn, before the sun had risen over the mountains, at the time
when men were the least ready to fight and the most likely to react
slowly. Erik was already awake and had eaten, seen to the
fortifications he had ordered constructed, and had called for the
camp to be made ready.

Richard stood at
the command tent, watching the advance in the grey of the morning,
and said, “They seek to roll over us.”

“As I
would in their place,” said Erik. He held his helmet under his
arm and pointed with his right hand. “If we hold the center, we
can win the day. If either flank falls, I can plug the flow, but if
the center falls, we must retreat.”

Leland stood
beside his father and said, “Then we will make certain the
center doesn’t fall.” He donned his own helmet and said,
“Father, may I join our men?”

His father said,
“Yes, my boy.” The lad ran off to where a groom held his
mount. Leland leaped into the saddle as his father said, “Tith-Onanka
guide your blade, and Ruthia smile on you.” The invocation of
the War God and Goddess of Luck was appropriate, thought Erik.

The invaders
marched in irregular rhythm, without drummers or the other
time-keepers Erik would have expected from Keshian or other Kingdom
units. He had fought alongside most of the men he now faced, and
while he had been a spy in their midst, he felt little kinship for
them. Still, he respected their individual bravery, and it was clear
that Fadawah had forged them into an army instead of the disorganized
bands of mounted infantry and foot soldiers they had been in
Novindus. Now he saw heavy infantry, companies of men with pikes
advancing, supported by men with shields and swords, bucklers and
axes. Behind sat men on horseback, cavalry units from the look of
them, half with spears, the others armed with sword and buckler. Erik
gave a silent prayer of thanks that horse archers had never been
common in Novindus.

A thought
occurred to Erik and he turned to a message runner. “Send word
to Akee and the Hadati, I want them moving into those trees to the
right of our position. Look for flanking bowmen trying to infiltrate
the woods.”

The messenger
ran off, and Erik turned to Richard. “Nothing to do now but
fight.” He put on his helm and walked to where a groom held his
horse. He mounted and rode quickly forward, inspecting the position
of the three diamonds. As he had known would be the case, Jadow had
the men positioned as well as could be, and they were his hardest
troops, with the Crimson Eagles holding the center diamond. Jadow
waved from the center of the middle diamond and Erik saluted him. As
an officer he could have delegated command to a sergeant and remained
with the horse units, but Erik knew that, at heart, Lieutenant Jadow
Shati from the Vale of Dreams would always be a sergeant.

“Tith-Onanka
strengthen your arm!” Erik shouted.

The men in the
diamond cheered their commander.

Then the
invaders broke formation and charged, and the battle was on.

Tomas watched as
Acaila meditated. Tathar and another elf sat with him at three points
of a triangle. Tomas had asked for their wisdom and Acaila had agreed
to use his mystic powers to provide guidance.

At the end of
the Riftwar Tomas had vowed to never leave Elvandar unprotected. Now
Tomas wondered if that oath would ultimately lead to the destruction
of the thing he had sworn to protect.

Tomas knew
ancient lore, lived through the memories of the being whose powers he
had inherited. Ashen-Shugar, last of the Valheru, had become for a
time one with Tomas, and much of his power resided still in the
former kitchen boy from Crydee. With but a few others, Tomas
understood the powers behind much of what had shaped his life.

In days past,
beyond numbering, Ashen-Shugar and his brethren had flown the skies
on the backs of dragons. They had hunted like the predators they
were, both creatures without intelligence, and creatures with. In
their arrogance they counted themselves among the mightiest beings in
creation and had no concept of their own delusions.

Tomas had over
the years come to understand that what he knew from Ashen-Shugar was
truth as Ashen-Shugar knew it. He knew how the ancient Valheru felt,
thought, and remembered, but because the Valheru believed it true
didn’t make it so.

Alone of his
kind, Ashen-Shugar avoided the influence of Drakin-Korin, who Tomas
now knew was a pawn of the Nameless One, the god whose name alone
invites destruction. The human in Tomas considered it ironic that the
Nameless One used Valheru vanity and their own certainty of their
omnipotence to destroy them eventually. The Valheru portion of
Tomas’s nature felt rage at the thought his race had been
nothing more than a tool, and one used and discarded when it was no
longer effective.

Tomas looked at
the three elves and knew it would be a while before Acaila had wisdom
to share. He left the contemplation glade and walked through
Elvandar. Across the way he noticed Subai and Pahaman of Natal
talking. Rangers rarely talked to anyone besides other Rangers and
occasionally the elves, so Tomas knew that in Subai, Pahaman had
found one he considered kin.

The laughter of
children pulled Tomas like a lodestone. He found a dozen little ones
playing a game of tag. Tomas saw his son, Calis, sitting next to the
woman from across the sea, Ellia. They sat close, her hand in his,
and Tomas felt a warmth toward his son. He knew that he would never
father another child, for it was a special magic that gave life to
his son. He had played his part in destroying the great threat to all
life on Midkemia, the Lifestone, and now his fate was his own. But
Calis would never father children, so Tomas’s line ended with
his son. Yet at play were two elven children, Tilac and Chapac, who
seemed family. Yet even the names of the boys, alien on the ears of
those born in Elvandar, reminded Tomas that there would never be a
place in the world where he entirely belonged. He smiled at Calis.
Like his son, he had forged a place for himself, and was content with
it.

Calis waved at
his father and said, “Join us.”

Ellia smiled at
Tomas, but it was a smile tempered with uncertainty. Rid of
Ashen-Shugar’s Valheru mind during the Riftwar and cleansed of
many of the lingering effects of that meld of human and Valheru by
the Lifestone, Tomas nevertheless bore the Valheru stamp upon him. To
any of the edhel—the elven races—there would almost be an
instinctive response, a subservience that bordered on fear. Tomas
knelt next to his son. “There is much to be thankful for.”

Calis said,
“Yes.” He glanced at the woman at his side and she
smiled. Tomas was almost certain eventually they would wed. The boys’
father had died during the war in Novindus that had led to the
invasion of the Kingdom. With a very low birthrate and a high
percentage of marriage by those who underwent the “recognition,”
the instinctive knowledge of who their mates were, there was little
hope for a widow to find a second husband. As Calis had lived most of
his life among humans and was half-human himself, there was no mate
for him among his mother’s people. Tomas felt that fate had
chosen to deal kindly with his son by bringing this woman and her
sons to Elvandar.

Tomas said,
“There is much to concern us with the news Subai brings.”

Calis looked
down. “I know. I feel as if it might be wise for me to return
to the Kingdom and to again serve.”

Tomas put his
hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’ve done your
share. I think it’s time for me to return to the Kingdom.”

Calis looked at
his father. “But you said—”

“I know,
but if this threat is what you and I both know it could be, then if
we do not deal with it now, down near Ylith, we will deal with it
someday, only we will be fighting here.”

Ellia said,
“This is the same madness that destroyed my village across the
sea.” Her accent was odd by elven standards, but she was
mastering the tongue of her ancestors. “They are evil beyond
measure. They are black of soul and have no hearts.” She
glanced at her sons playing. “Only a miracle sent Miranda to
save us. They had killed all the other children in the village.”

Tomas said, “I’m
waiting for Acaila’s wisdom on this, but I think I must fly to
Sorcerer’s Island and take council with Pug, as well.”

Calis said,
“With the demon destroyed, I thought it but an issue between
men.”

Tomas shook his
head. “If I understand a tenth of what I have been told, it
will never be merely an issue between men. There will always be far
greater powers behind those men, and at each turn those powers must
be balanced.” Tomas stood up. “I will see you at supper?”
Calis said, “I dine with Ellia and the boys.” Tomas
smiled. “I will tell your mother.” He wandered through
Elvandar, home for most of his life, and as he did every day, he
marveled that he was allowed to live here. If there was a more
beautiful place in creation to live, he couldn’t imagine it.
This was part of his reason for vowing to never leave, to always be
here to protect it, for he couldn’t imagine the world without
Elvandar.

He continued and
found himself returning eventually to the contemplation glade. Acaila
had roused himself from his meditation and was walking toward Tomas.
His expression was clouded with worry. Tomas was surprised, as the
ancient leader of the Eldar rarely revealed his thoughts this
casually.

Tomas asked,
“You’ve seen something?” To Tathar and the other
elf, Acaila said, “Thank you for your guidance.” He took
Tomas by the elbow and said, “Walk with me, my friend.”

He led Tomas
through a quiet part of the woods, away from the kitchens and shops,
near the edge of the inner circle of Elvandar. When he was certain
they were alone, Acaila said, “Something dark still lingers in
Krondor.” He looked at Tomas. “Something wonderful, too.
I cannot explain it, but an old power for good verges upon returning.
Perhaps the universe is trying to put itself right.”

Acaila led the
Eldar, the ancient line of elves who had been closest to the Valheru.
Tomas had come to value his counsel. He had a perspective unique and
vast.

“But
whatever force for good there is, the evil unleashed by the demon
before it was destroyed is still stronger,”