The Complete Krondor’s Sons 2-Book Collection: Prince of the Blood, The King’s Buccaneer

Whispering so that no one would overhear, Borric said, ‘We must flee before the morning tally.’

The boy nodded, but said, ‘I don’t understand.’ For seven days, he had been hiding behind the assembled slaves, ducking not to be included in the head count. Perhaps he had been seen once or twice, but the guards would not bother to recheck the number if they had one too many heads, simply assuming they had miscounted. If there had been too few, they would have recounted.

‘I need as much confusion in their search for us as possible. But I want most of the guards back at the auction the day following. You see?’

The boy made no pretence of understanding. ‘No, master.’

Borric had spent the last week profitably picking the boy’s brain for every piece of information he could about the city and what lay in the area surrounding the Slavers Guild. ‘Over that fence is the street to the harbour,’ Borric said, and Suli nodded to show he was correct. ‘Within minutes, dozens of guards will be racing down that street to find us before we can steal away on a boat for Queg or elsewhere, right?’

The boy nodded. It was the logical assumption. ‘No one in his right mind would risk the desert, right?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Then we’re going to head toward the desert.’

‘Master! We will die!’

Borric said, ‘I didn’t say we’d go into the desert, just we’d head that way and find a place to hide.’

‘But where, master? There are only the houses of the rich and powerful between here and the desert, and the soldiers’ barracks at the Governor’s house.’

Borric grinned.

The boy’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, gods preserve us, master, you can’t mean …’

Borric said, ‘Of course. The one place they’ll never look for two runaway slaves.’

‘Oh, kind master. You must be joking to torment your poor servant.’

‘Don’t look so crestfallen, Suli,’ said Borric, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. ‘You gave me the idea.’

‘I, master? I said nothing about delivering ourselves up to the Governor.’

‘No, but if you hadn’t been trying to hide from the slavers in the slave pen, I’d have never thought of this.’

Borric slipped the manacles and motioned for the boy to stand. The guards at the far end of the pen were playing a game of knucklebones and the one delegated to keep watch was dozing. Borric pointed upward and the boy nodded. He stripped his robe, leaving himself unclothed save for his breechcloth, and Borric made a cup with his hands. The boy took one step and Borric half-lifted, half-threw him up into the overhanging beams of the roof supports. The boy moved agilely along the beams to the farthest corner from the gambling guards, near where the single guard dozed.

Hesitation and any sort of noise would undo them, so Borric found himself holding his breath while the little beggar scampered to the corner of the pen. There Borric quickly climbed a few feet of fence, and reached up to grip the robe the boy had tied around the beam. Hauling himself over the fence with two pulls, he swung down to where the sleeping guard lay. Suli Abul climbed down to hang almost directly over the sleeping guard.

In a coordinated movement, the boy lifted the guard’s metal helm from his head as Borric swung the manacles. The iron struck the guard on the side of the head with a dull crack, and the man slumped down.

Not waiting to see if they were observed – if one of the other guards noticed they might as well give up now – Borric leaped and grabbed the hanging robe.

Pulling himself up beside the boy, he paused a second to gulp his breath back into his lungs, then motioned. Suli set off in a crouched-over, silent walk, along the beam that ran the length of the roof. Borric followed, though his bulk forced him to move on hands and knees, crawling behind the slight boy.

Over the gambling guards they moved, then into the gloom. At the far end of the compound, they dropped to the top of the last pen, then leaped to the outside wall. Half-falling, half-jumping, they hit the ground and were off in the night, running as if the entire garrison of Durbin was on their heels, heading straight for the home of the city’s Governor.

Borric’s plan had worked as he had thought it would. In the busy house of the Governor of Durbin, there was much confusion and many people moving. A nameless pair of slaves crossing the courtyard to the kitchen elicited no comment.

Within ten minutes, the alarm had been raised, and many of the city’s watchmen were in the streets, crying that a slave had escaped. By then, Borric and Suli had found a nice attic in the guest wing of the house, vacant and, from the amount of dust on the floor, unused for years.

Suli whispered, ‘You are certainly a magician, my lord. If not of the sort they thought, of a different kind. No one will think to search the Governor’s home.’

Borric nodded. He held up his finger to indicate silence, then lay back as if to sleep.

The excited boy could hardly believe his eyes when the young man fell into a fitful doze. Suli was too tense and excited – and afraid – to try to sleep. He glanced through the small roof window they had used to enter the attic, one which gave them a clear view of part of the Governor’s courtyard and some of the other wing of the house.

After watching the occasional comings and goings of the household, the beggar turned to inspect the rest of the attic. He could stand easily enough, though Borric would have to stoop. He walked carefully upon the beams of the room, lest any who might happen to be beneath the attic hear movement.

At the far end of the attic, he found a trapdoor. Putting his ear against it, the boy heard nothing. He waited a long time, or at least what he felt was a long time, before prying the door up slightly. The room below was empty and dark. The boy moved the trap carefully, attempting not to cause dust to fall in the room below, and stuck his head through the trap.

He almost cried out as he turned to see a face inches from his own. Then his night vision adjusted and he saw he was nose to nose with a statue, the sort imported from Queg, life-size and carved from marble or some other stone.

The boy put his hand upon the stone head and lowered himself into the room. He glanced around and was satisfied the room was being used for storage. In a corner, under some bolts of cloth, he found a dull kitchen knife. A poor weapon was better than none, he thought, and he stuck the knife in his robe.

Moving as quietly as possible, the boy inspected the only door in the room. He tested it and found it unlocked. Opening it slowly, he peered through a tiny crack, into an empty, dark hall.

He moved cautiously into the hall and slowly walked to where the hall met with another, also dark, After listening, Suli was certain no one was using this wing of the Governor’s large home. He scurried along, checking in rooms randomly, and found that all were deserted. Many were empty, and a few had furnishings covered with canvas tarps.

Scratching his arm, the boy glanced around. Nothing suggested itself to him as likely plunder, so he determined to return to the attic, to see if he could get some rest.

Then, at the far end of the hall he was leaving, he noticed a faint line of light. At the same instant, the silence was broken by the distant sound of an angry voice.

Caution and curiosity fought. Curiosity won. The boy stole down the hall, to find a door through which muffled voices could be heard. Putting his ear to the wood, the boy heard a man shouting. ‘… Fools! If we had known ahead of time, we could have been prepared.’

A second, calmer voice answered. ‘It was chance. No one knew what that idiot Reese meant when he brought word from Lafe that a princely caravan with few guards was ripe for the taking.’

‘Not “princely”,’ said the first voice, anger barely contained. ‘“Princes’ caravan.” That’s what he meant.’

‘And the prisoner who escaped tonight was the Prince?’

‘Borric. Or the Goddess of Luck is having more sport with us than I care to imagine. He was the only red-headed slave we took.’

The calmer voice said, ‘Lord Fire will be displeased that he lives. With Borric thought dead, our master’s mission is completed, but should a living prince of the Isles make his way home …’

The angry voice said, ‘Then you must ensure that he does not, and for good measure, that his brother dies, as well.’

Suli attempted to peek through the crack of the door and saw nothing, then he looked through the keyhole. He could only see a man’s back and part of a man’s hand resting upon a desk. Then the man at the desk leaned forward, and Suli recognized the face of the Governor of Durbin. His was the angry voice. ‘No one outside this room can know the escaped slave is Prince Borric. He must not be allowed to identify himself to anyone. Circulate the rumour he killed a guard while escaping, and order that the slave be killed the instant he is caught.’

The man with the calm voice moved, blocking Suli’s view. The beggar stood back, fearing the door was about to be opened, but the voice said, ‘The slavers will not like a kill-on-sight order. They will want a public execution, preferably death by exposure in the cage, to warn others against attempting to escape.’

The Governor said, ‘I will placate the guild. But the fugitive must not be allowed to speak. Should any discover we had a hand in this—’ He left the thought unfinished. ‘I want Lafe and Reese silenced, as well.’

Suli moved away from the door. Borric, he thought to himself. Then his new master was … Prince Borric, of the House of conDoin, son of the Prince of Krondor!

Never before had the boy known fear as he knew this minute. This was a game of dragons and tigers and he had stumbled into the middle of it. Tears ran down his face as he hurried to the attic, barely keeping his wits about him enough to close the door silently when he passed through into the storage room.

Using the Quegan statue, he boosted himself back into the attic and carefully put the trap back. He then scampered to where the dozing Prince lay. Softly, he whispered in his ear, ‘Borric?’