Shards of a Broken Crown (6 page)

“Where is
your master now?” asked James.

“Oh, dead
I fear,” said the thin man with a display of regret. “Fourteen
years was I his servant, and he a generous master. Now I am alone in
this cold place.”

James said,
“Well, why don’t you tell us this story.”

“And show
us how you planned on catching those fish,” said Dash.

“If I
might have some hair from your horses’ manes,” said the
ragged man. “Then it would be so much easier.”

“Horses?”
asked Dash.

“Two young
noblemen such as yourselves didn’t walk into this forsaken
wilderness, I am certain,” supplied Malar. “And I heard
one of them snorting a moment again.” He pointed. “That
way.”

Jimmy nodded.
“That’s fair.”

“What do
you need hair from their manes for?” asked Dash.

“Let me
show you.”

He walked toward
the place where Dash’s horse had been tied, and said, ‘
“The ice was almost broken when you startled me, young sir. If
you would but use the hilt of your sword to break it open, that would
be a great service.”

Jimmy nodded and
started back toward the icy pond.

Dash asked,
“Now, about how you came to be lost in this forsaken
wilderness.”

“As you
are no doubt aware,” began Malar, “there was much trouble
between Kesh and the Kingdom lately, with Shamata for a time being
deeded to the Empire.”

“So we had
heard,” said Dash.

“My
master, being of Kingdom allegiance, decided it wise to visit his
holdings in the North, first in Landreth, then Krondor.

“We were
traveling to Krondor when we encountered the invaders. We were
overtaken and my master and most of his other servants were put to
the sword. I and a few others managed to flee into the hills, south
of here.” He pointed southward with his chin, as he reached
Dash’s horse. Malar reached up and gripped a few hairs from the
horse’s mane, yanking expertly, and came away with several long
strands of hair. The horse moved at the unexpected pressure, snorting
displeasure. Dash reached out and took the reins from the tree branch
where they were tied, and Malar yanked out some more hairs. He
repeated the procedure twice more. “That is sufficient,”
he observed.

“So you’ve
been in these hills how long?”

“More than
three months, young sir,” said Malar, as he started deftly
weaving the hair into a braid. “It has been a bitter time. Some
of my companions died from hunger and cold, and two were captured by
a band of men—outlaws or invaders, I do not know which. I have
been alone for all of three weeks or so, I judge.” He sounded
apologetic as he said, “It is difficult to keep track of time.”

“You’ve
survived in these woods for three weeks with nothing but your bare
hands?” asked Dash.

Malar started
walking toward the pond, continuing to weave the horse hair. “Yes,
and a terrible thing it has been, sir.”

“How?”
asked Dash.

“As a boy
I was raised in the hills above Landreth, to the north of the Vale of
Dreams. Not as hostile a land as this, but still a place where the
unwary can perish easily. My father was a woodsman, who put food on
your table with bow and snare, as well as gold in his pouch from
guiding men through the hills.”

Dash laughed.
“He guided smugglers.”

“Perhaps,”
said Malar with a broad shrug. “In any event, while the winters
in the hills near my home are nowhere near as inhospitable as here,
still a man must have skills to survive.”

Malar moved
slowly as he approached the hole. He glanced skyward to see the angle
of the sun, then moved to face it. “Do not let your shadow
cross the hole,” he instructed.

Dash and Jimmy
followed behind. The man from the Vale of Dreams slowly knelt and
said, “Fish, I have been taught, see movement, so we must move
ever so slowly.”

Dash said, “This
I must see.”

Jimmy nodded.

Malar said, ‘
“The sun shines through the hole in the ice, and the fish swims
up to feel the warmth.”

Jimmy looked
over the man’s shoulder and saw a large brook trout lazily
circling the hole. Moving slowly, Malar inserted the noose of
horsehair into the water, behind the fish. The trout ceased moving
for a moment, but Malar resisted the urge to move quickly, instead
inching the snare toward the fish’s tail.

After another
long minute, the fish darted away, and Malar said, “Another
will come. They see the light and think insects may land upon the
surface.”

After a silent
five minutes, a trout appeared near the edge of the hole. Dash
couldn’t tell if it was the same fish or a different one. Malar
again started moving the noose slowly and got it around the fish’s
tail. With a jerk, he snared the trout and yanked it out of the hole,
landing it on the ice, where it flopped.

Dash couldn’t
see the man’s face behind the rags that covered it, but the
crinkles around his eyes showed Malar was smiling. “If one of
you young gentlemen would be so kind as to light a fire, I will catch
some more.”

Jimmy and Dash
exchanged glances, then Jimmy shrugged. Dash said, “I’ll
get some wood. You find a campsite.”

They hurried off
while the strange man from the Vale of Dreams sought out another fish
for supper.

For three days
they moved slowly toward Krondor. Several times they had heard
distant voices and the sound of men moving through the woodlands, but
they had avoided contact with anyone.

Jimmy and Dash
both found Malar an enigma. He had surprising skills for wilderness
survival, odd for one claiming to be the servant of a rich trader. On
the other hand, Jimmy had confided to his brother, the servant of a
rich smuggler might prove in need of such skills. Still, they were
pleased to have him along, for he had found several shortcuts through
the undergrowth, had identified edible plants that supplemented their
stores, and had proven a reliable night sentry. As they were walking
their horses, leading them more than half the time, his keeping up
had proven to be no difficulty. Jimmy judged they were less than a
week’s travel from Krondor.

At midday they
heard horses in the distance, from the north. Jimmy spoke at a low
conversational level. “Duko’s men moving along the
highway?”

Dash nodded.
“Probably. If we can hear them from here, we’ve headed
back toward the highway.” He turned to Malar. “Do you
know of any southern route to Krondor?”

“Only the
highway that loops around from Land’s End, young sir. But if we
are nearing the King’s Highway, within a few days we should
start encountering farms.”

Jimmy was silent
for a long moment, then said, “They’ll almost certainly
be burned out.”

“But,”
suggested Dash, “if they are, no one is likely to be living in
them, and we might slip into the city unnoticed.”

“No
farmers, you mean,” corrected Jimmy. “But they’d be
decent shelter for some very unpleasant men with a fondness for
weapons, I bet.”

Dash’s
brow furrowed, as if thinking he should have thought of that, but a
moment later, his grin returned and he said, “Well, then, we
will just blend in. You’ve told me often enough how unpleasant
I can be, and I am certainly fond of my weapons.”

Jimmy nodded.
“Two more hired swords will scarcely be noticed. And if we can
get close to the city, we’ll find a way inside. There are
enough holes in the walls, that’s for certain.”

Malar said,
“You’ve been to Krondor, then, young sir? Since the war,
I mean.”

Jimmy ignored
the question, saying, “We’ve heard of the damage.”

Dash agreed.
“More than a few people left Krondor and came east.”

“This I
know,” said Malar, falling silent.

They moved on
through the woods for the rest of the day and made a cold camp that
night. Huddled under their blankets, Jimmy and Dash stayed close
together while Malar took the first watch. They slept fitfully,
coming awake many times.

In the morning,
they resumed their journey.

The woods were
filled with the sounds of the thaw. In the distance the cracking of
ice rang through the suddenly warm air as ponds and lakes began to
lose their frozen skins. Large mounds of snow fell from trees in
sudden, wet attacks on the travelers, while everywhere water dripped
from branches. The footing beneath their feet alternated between
crusty patches of ice and thick mud which gripped at boots and
horses’ hooves. The constant noise was a backdrop against which
the occasional sounds of spring could be heard. The distant call of a
bird that had returned from the south early, seeking others of its
kind. The faint rustle in the distance of small creatures coming out
of their winter’s burrows stilled as they passed, only to
resume after a while.

When they paused
to rest, Jimmy tied his horse to a low tree branch and motioned for
Dash to do likewise. Dash did as he was bid, and said, “Keep an
eye out. We’re going to relieve ourselves.” He moved to
where Jimmy stood, making a show of urinating into the snow.

Dash did
likewise, whispering, “What is it?”

“Have you
formed an opinion of our chance companion?” asked the older
brother.

Dash shook his
head slightly, saying, “Not really. I’m certain he’s
more than he claims, but I have no idea what.”

“There’s
not a lot of fat on him,” said Jimmy, “but he doesn’t
move like a man weak from hunger.”

Dash said, “Do
you have a theory?”

Jimmy said, “No.
But if he’s not the servant of a rich trader, what’s he
doing up here?”

“Smuggler?”

“Maybe,”
answered Jimmy, doing up the front of his trousers. “Could be
anything we could imagine.”

Remembering what
their grandfather had cautioned them over the years about leaping to
conclusions, Dash said, “Then we’d best not imagine
anything.”

“Wait and
see,” agreed Jimmy.

They returned to
the horses, and Malar hurried off to relieve himself away from the
trail. When he was out of hearing range, they continued. Jimmy asked,
“Remember that abandoned farm a day’s walk this side of
where we met Malar?”

“The one
with half a thatch roof and the fallen-down cow shed?”

“That’s
the one. If we bolt, and get separated, meet there.”

Dash nodded.
Neither chose to discuss what to do should the other never appear.

Malar returned
and they started off. The servant from the Vale of Dreams had been as
closemouthed as the brothers. Part of the reason was the environment.
The nights were still and even in the day noise carried. They knew
they were approaching an area likely to be patrolled by the invaders;
they were leading their horses rather than riding them, as, even in
the woodlands, a rider presented a much higher profile in the
distance than a man on foot or a horse. Periodically they stopped to
listen.

Rains came later
that afternoon and they sought out what shelter they could, finding a
hut of some sort, burned out, but with just enough thatch to give
slight respite.

Sitting atop
their saddles, hastily removed to get them out of the weather, they
took stock.

“We’ve
got another day’s grain, then we’re done,” said
Dash, knowing his brother was just as aware of supplies as he.

Malar said,
“Shouldn’t there be winter grass under the snow, sirs?”

Jimmy nodded.
“Not much in it, but the horses will eat it.”

Dash said, “If
there are horsemen in Krondor, they’ll have fodder.”

Jimmy said, “The
difficulty will be in persuading them to share, brother.”

Dash grinned.
“What’s life without a challenge or two?”

The rain stopped
and they resumed their trek.

Later that
afternoon, Malar said, “Young sirs, I believe I hear
something.”

All conversation
ceased and the three stopped walking as they listened. The frigid
days of winter had given way to a promise of spring, but it was still
cold enough they could see their breath in the late afternoon air.
After a moment of silence, Dash was about to speak when a voice
echoed from ahead. It spoke a language neither brother recognized,
but they knew it was the Yabonese-like tongue of the invaders.

Glancing around
for a place to hide, Jimmy pointed and mouthed the word,
There
.

He indicated a
large stand of brush that surrounded an outcropping of rocks. Dash
wasn’t sure they could secret the horses behind it, but it was
the only thing nearby that offered shelter from whoever came their
way.

Malar hurried
around the upthrust rocks and pulled aside a low branch, allowing
Jimmy and Dash to lead their horses around to a relatively sheltered
hiding place. In the distance horses could be heard.

Dash’s
horse’s nostrils flared and her head came up. Jimmy said,
“What?”

“This
witchy mare is in heat,” whispered Dash as he tugged hard on
her bridle. “Pay attention to
me
!” he demanded.

Malar said, “You
ride a mare?”

“She’s
a good horse,” insisted Dash.

“Most of
the time!” agreed Jimmy, hissing his words. “But not
now!”

Dash tugged on
the horse’s bridle, trying to focus her attention on himself.
An experienced rider, Dash knew that if he could keep her attention,
she might not call out to the horses that were approaching.

Jimmy’s
gelding seemed relatively indifferent to the proceedings, though he
did look on with some interest as the mare’s excited state
built. Dash held tight to the mare’s bridle, rubbing her nose
and speaking close to her ear in a reassuring fashion.

The riders came
close and Dash judged there must be at least a dozen of them from the
clatter. Voices cut through the air and a man laughed. These were men
who patrolled a familiar area and expected nothing out of the
ordinary.