Shards of a Broken Crown (62 page)

“Just this
side of Salador,” said Dash quietly.

Patrick shouted,
“My nation’s borders! I am standing on the wall of the
capital city of the Western Realm!”

“These
lands are Ancient Kesh, and are being reclaimed.”

Dash whispered,
“I know we’re buying time, but why bother?”

Patrick gulped
for air and nodded. Then, with his last strong breath, shouted, “Then
come you on and do your worst! We reject your claim and scorn your
master.”

The herald said,
“Act not in haste, fair Prince. My master is kind. He shall
make his offer three times. At sundown tonight we return to hear your
second answer. Should you say again nay, we shall come one last time,
at dawn tomorrow. And that shall be the last of it.” The herald
turned and spurred his mount forward.

Dash turned to
see Patrick barely conscious, still being held up by the soldier.
“Bravely done, fair Prince,” Dash said without sarcasm.
To the soldier he said, “Take him back to his quarters and see
he rests.”

Turning to
Mackey, Dash said, “Get the men down from the wall and fed.
Keep a few to watch, but the Keshians will probably be as good as
their word and not attack us until dawn tomorrow.” He sat down
and suddenly felt bone-tired. “At least now we know when their
spies inside the city will attack.” Looking at the old
sergeant, he said, “They’ll try to open the gate
tonight.”

The dragon sped
through the sky while in the east the sun rose above the hills. The
mystic energy along the coast was a map for them to follow. Tomas’s
arts, the lingering heritage of the Valheru, allowed them all to ride
upon Ryana’s back without falling.

“You
know,” said Nakor, speaking loudly to overcome the wind noise
as he sat behind Miranda at the base of the dragon’s neck, “as
much as being an engine of death, this display is set to lure us to
some sort of confrontation.”

Pug, who sat
directly behind Tomas, said, “I expect as much.”

“There,”
said Tomas, pointing down and to the left.

Below them
stretched the coastline, a southwest-facing shoreline from Quester’s
View to Ylith. The harbor of Ylith showed a frenzy of ships, most of
them hauling anchor and sailing out of the port.

Nakor said,
“Those ships’ captains didn’t like what they saw
last night and are catching the morning tide out.”

“Ryana,”
said Tomas, “down there.”

He indicated the
eastern gate of the city, outside of which a great building had been
erected, and it was that building that was the source of the energy
which had flowed down the coast, fueling the evil magic that had
animated the corpses.

As the dragon
landed, armed men ran in all directions, uncertain of what to do.
“Let me go first,” said Tomas.

Pug said, “Let’s
not shed any blood until we have to.”

Miranda said,
“We will have to.”

Pug said, “But
until then. . .” He gestured toward the ground just before
Ryana touched down. They all could see a ripple, as if water had been
troubled by a stone, causing the earth to undulate. A deep rumbling
could be heard and dust shot into the air following the course of the
quickly expanding circle. As they touched down, the circle was now
large enough to easily encompass the dragon. The soil below their
feet was motionless.

But where the
expanding circle’s wave struck, it was as if an earthquake
raged, for each advancing soldier who stepped upon the ripple was
thrown down to the ground, then mercilessly tossed into the air
several times.

Many turned and
fled, leaving only the bravest of the invaders to confront the dragon
and her riders.

Then Ryana
bellowed and their ears rang, and she shot a blast of fire into the
heavens, and the rest of the soldiers fled. No sane man would face a
great golden dragon.

As the four of
them dismounted, Miranda said, “Thank you. That should buy us
some time.”

Ryana said, “You
are welcome.” To Tomas she said, “When the danger has
passed, I shall leave, but until it has, call me should you need me.
I will be nearby.” The dragon launched herself into the sky,
and with a powerful beat of her wings was gone, speeding to the
north.

Tomas walked
purposefully toward the building. Pug, Miranda, and Nakor followed.

With the
departure of the dragon, some of the bolder warriors near the city
gate ran to intercept the four. Tomas unstrapped his shield from
across his back in a movement so fluid and natural it looked
impossible to Pug. No mortal man could have duplicated the feat. His
sword was out before the first warrior had closed.

The man was big
and carried a large sword in two hands. He ran at Tomas shouting an
inarticulate battle cry, but Tomas continued to advance at his normal
pace. The man struck a powerful blow downward and Tomas moved his
shield slightly, causing the blade to skid off the surface. The man
saw sparks explode from the contact, but no mark sullied the surface
of the shield. Tomas swung lightly, as if flicking a fly from his
shoulder, and the man died before he hit the ground.

Two men behind
him hesitated. One then shouted and charged while the other showed
fear, and turned and ran. The one who charged died like the man
before, and Tomas again looked as if he were disposing of annoying
pests, not battle-hardened warriors.

Tomas reached
the building, a thing of black stones and wooden facades. It
squatted, a terrible black sore on the landscape; there was nothing
about it pleasing to the eye or harmonious in any fashion. It reeked
of evil.

Tomas walked to
the large black wooden doors and paused. He drew back his right fist
and struck the rightmost door. The door exploded inward, as if there
had been no hinges.

As they walked
in, Nakor looked at the shattered iron hinges and said, “Impressive.”

Miranda said,
“Remind me never to get him mad.”

“He’s
not mad,” said Nakor. “Just determined. If he was mad,
he’d pull the walls down.”

The building was
a giant square, with two rows of seats set hard against the walls.
There were two doors: the one through which they had entered and
another opposite.

In the center of
the room a square pit yawned at them, and from deep within a red glow
could be seen. Above it hung a metal platform.

“Gods!”
said Miranda. “What a stench.”

“Look,”
said Nakor, indicating the floor.

Before each
seat, on the floor, lay a body. They were warriors, men with scars
upon their cheeks, and each was openmouthed, their eyes wide, as if
they had died screaming in horror.

Nakor hurried
over to the pit and looked in. He stepped back. “Something is
down there.”

Pug looked up at
the platform and said, “That appears to be a way down.”

Indicating the
dried blood and gore on it, Miranda said, “And now the way up.”

Tomas said,
“Whatever caused that necromancy last night is down there.”

Nakor said, “No,
it is a tool, like all those dead fools.”

“Where is
Fadawah?” asked Miranda.

“In the
city, I think,” said Nakor. “Probably in the Baron’s
citadel.”

A strange
keening sound echoed from deep within the pit. The hairs on Pug’s
neck stood up. “We can’t leave this here.”

Nakor said, “We
can always come back.”

Miranda said,
“Good. Let’s leave this place.”

She walked to
the closed door, opposite the one through which they had entered, and
threw it wide.

As soon as she
did, they saw the soldiers arrayed on the other side, their shields
in a wall, their bows poised, and cavalry behind them.

In the moment it
took for the scene to register, they heard the order given and the
bowmen fired.

Dash swore.
“We’ve got twelve, eighteen hours to ferret out the rest
of the infiltrators or risk a breach.”

Thomas Calhern,
a squire in Duke Rufio’s court, had recovered enough from the
poison to serve; Dash had named him an acting Captain. “What
matter?” he asked. “Gods, man, you saw the army outside
the gate.”

Dash said,
“Never been in a battle before?”

“No,”
said the young man, about the same age as Dash.

“If the
walls are intact, those outside must bring ten men against the wall
for every one we have on top of it. We should be able to hold them
for a few days, perhaps a week, and if my brother is as clever as I
know him to be, a force from Port Vykor should arrive within days.

“But if
some band of Keshian thugs gets a portal opened, and the Keshians get
inside the walls, this battle is over before it starts.”

They were
sitting in the Prince’s conference room, and Dash turned to
Mackey. “Send a message to the lads at New Market Jail: I want
the constables sniffing around the streets.”

“That
takes care of the streets,” said Mackey. “But what about
below them?”

Dash said, “I’ll
take care of that part.”

Dash slipped
through a door and a dagger was suddenly at his throat. “Put
that away,” he hissed.

“Sheriff
Puppy,” said a happy-sounding Trina. “I would have been
very upset had I killed you.”

“Not as
much as I,” said Dash. “How is he?”

She nodded
toward the corner. A score of thieves were huddled in a far corner of
the cellar. Dash smelled coffee and food. “Raided the kitchen,
have we?”

Trina said,
“It’s a coffeehouse. We were hungry. There was food up
there. What did you think?”

Dash shook his
head. “I don’t know what I’m thinking these days.”

Trina walked
with him over to where the old man lay upon a low bed, one that had
been used as a stretcher to bear him to Barret’s. She
whispered, “He’s not doing well.”

Dash knelt
beside the old man, who looked at him but didn’t say anything.
The old man held up his hand and Dash took it. “Uncle,”
he said softly.

The old man
gently squeezed, then let go. His one eye closed.

She leaned over,
and after a moment said, “He’s sleeping again. Sometimes
he speaks, other times he can’t.”

Dash stood up
and they went to a relatively uncrowded corner of the basement,
between stacks of crates. “How much time?” asked Dash.

“A few
days, maybe less. When he was recovering from his burns the priest
said only a great wish or the gift of a God would save him. He’s
known this day was coming since then.”

Dash looked at
this odd woman who had come to captivate his attention. “How
many of you are left?”

She started to
make a quip, then said, “I don’t know. There are maybe
another two hundred scattered through the city. Why?”

“Pass the
word; we can use every sword we can find. The Keshians will sell you
all into slavery, you know that.”

“If they
can find us,” said Trina.

“If they
take the city and hold it more than a week, they’ll find you.”

“Maybe.”

“Well,
anyone who shows up with a sword and fights, I’ll see they’re
pardoned for their crimes.”

“Guaranteed?”
she asked.

“You have
my word on it.”

“I’ll
pass the word,” she said.

“I’ve
got more pressing matters now. The Keshians have given us until dawn
tomorrow to surrender, else they’ll attack. We assume that
means they’re going to try to open one of the gates between now
and then.”

“And you
want us to watch the gates and let you know?”

“Something
like that.” He stepped closer to her, looking deep into her
eyes. “You’ve got to slow them down.”

She laughed.
“You mean defend the gates until you get there.”

He smiled.
“Something like that,” he repeated.

“I can’t
ask my brothers and sisters to do that. We’re not warriors.
Sure, we have some bashers among the Mockers, but most of us don’t
know which end of a sword is which.”

“Then you
better learn,” said Dash.

“I can’t
ask them.”

“No, but
you can order them,” said Dash slowly.

She said
nothing.

Dash said, “I
know the old man has been unable to run things for a while. I’ll
bet my inheritance you’re the current Day master.”

She remained
silent.

“I won’t
ask anything from you without fair trade.”

“What do
you propose?”

“Hold the
gate, whichever they attack. Defend it until I can get a flying
company there, and I will pardon everyone.”

“A general
amnesty?”

“The same
deal I made originally with the old man.”

“Not
enough.”

“What more
do you want?” asked Dash.

She pointed
around the room. “Do you know how we came to be, the Mockers of
Krondor?”

Dash said, “I’ve
heard stories since I was a boy from my grandfather about the
Mockers.”

“But did
he ever tell you how the guild came to be?”

“No,”
Dash admitted.

“The first
leader of the guild was called the Square Man. He was a fence who
settled disputes between different gangs in the city. We were killing
ourselves more than the citizens. We were stealing from one another
as much as from the citizens. And we were getting hung for it.

“The
Square Man fixed that. He started making truces between gangs and
getting things organized.

“He made a
place for us called Mother’s and he paid bribes and bought some
of us out of jail and off the gallows.

“The
Upright Man took over before your grandfather was born. He
consolidated the Square Man’s power and made the guild the
place it was when Jimmy the Hand was running roofs.

“A few of
us enjoy the dodgy path, Dash. Some of us like breaking heads and
there’s no excuse for us. But most of us just got dealt a bad
hand. Most of us have nowhere else to go.”

Dash looked
around the cellar. Men and women of all ages gathered there, and Dash
remembered the stories his grandfather had told him of the beggar
gangs, the urchins running the streets, the girls working the
taverns, and the rest of them.