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

The young man was instantly awake, and said, ‘What?’

With tears running down his face, Suli whispered, ‘Oh, my magnificent lord. Have mercy. They know who you are and they are searching for you in force. They seek to kill you before others discover your identity.’

Borric blinked and gripped the boy by the shoulders. ‘Who knows about me?’

‘The Governor and another. I could not see who. This wing connects to where the Governor holds counsel with others. They speak of the slave with red hair who escaped this night, and they speak of the Prince of the Isles. You are both.’

Borric swore softly. ‘This changes nothing.’

‘It changes everything, gentle master,’ cried the boy. ‘They will not stop searching for you after a day, but will hunt you down for as long as they must. And they will kill me for what I know, too.’

Borric let go of the frightened boy and swallowed his own fear. ‘Then we’ll just have to be more clever than they are, won’t we?’

The question sounded hollow in his own ears, for if the truth were to be known, he had no idea what he would do next.

• CHAPTER EIGHT • (#ulink_f8cbcd22-5b23-5881-b8db-fb6e73d08788)

Escape (#ulink_f8cbcd22-5b23-5881-b8db-fb6e73d08788)

THE BOY SHOOK HIS head no.

‘Yes,’ repeated Borric.

Suli again shook his head. He had been almost speechless since returning to the attic. In a hoarse whisper, he said, ‘If I go back they shall kill me, my Prince.’

Borric leaned forward and firmly took the boy’s shoulders. He attempted to fill his voice with as much menace as possible while whispering. ‘And if you don’t, I will kill you!’ From the terror that shone from the boy’s eyes, he must have succeeded.

The debate was over the boy’s refusal to return to his listening post near the Governor’s chambers to discover more of what was said there. Borric had told him that the more information they possessed, the better their chances of survival. The theory seemed lost upon the terrified boy.

Discovering that the prisoner who escaped was a royal prince from a neighbouring kingdom was a shock, enough of a shock to push the boy to the brink of hysteria. Then by the time the boy had returned to the attic, it had sunk in that every power in the city of Durbin was being turned toward finding that Prince, with one thought in mind, to kill him! That had him teetering over the edge of hysteria. Then it hit him that whoever was found in the company of said Prince would be disposed of at the same time, to ensure his silence, and the boy found himself hanging out over the brink of hysteria, his feet churning in air as he clung with all his might to what remained of his wits. He sat silently crying, only his fear of discovery keeping him from wailing like a scalded cat.

Borric at last saw the child was beyond reason. Shaking his head in disgust, he said, ‘Very well. You remain here and I’ll go. Which way was it?’

The prospect of this large warrior knocking over statues and banging into furniture in the dark and making enough noise to wake the city hit the boy like cold water. It was an even more fearful choice than risking capture one more time. Shivering, the boy swallowed his fear and said, ‘No, my good master, I’ll go.’ He took a moment to collect himself, then said, ‘Stay quiet, and I will go listen to what is said.’

Once he had made the choice, the boy acted without hesitation, and moved back to the trapdoor. He levered it up and slipped through silently. Borric thought that despite everything, the boy showed a particular type of courage, doing what had to be done regardless of how frightened he was.

Time passed slowly for Borric and after what seemed an hour, he began to worry. What if the boy had been caught? What if instead of a round-faced little beggar coming through that trap, an armed warrior or assassin climbed into the attic?

Borric picked up the dull kitchen knife and held it tightly. It was scant comfort.

More minutes passed, and Borric was left alone with the sound of his own heartbeat. Someone wanted him dead. He had known that since the football match in Krondor. Someone named ‘Lord Fire.’ A silly name, but one designed to hide the identity of the author of that order to kill the son of the Prince of Krondor. The Governor of Durbin was part of the plot, as was a man in a black cloak. Probably a messenger from this Lord Fire. Borric’s head ached from stress, fatigue, hunger, and the after-effects of his journey across the desert. But he forced himself to concentrate. For the Governor of even a pest-hole city like Durbin to be involved in such a plot meant two things: the author of the plan to plunge the Empire into war with the Kingdom was placed highly enough to influence many people of rank, and the plot was far flung, as there were few places within the Empire farther away from the capital city as Durbin.

The trap opened and Borric tensed, bringing his knife to the ready. ‘Master!’ a familiar voice whispered. Suli had returned. Even in the dark, Borric could sense his excitement.

‘What?’

The boy hunkered down close to Borric, so he could whisper the news. ‘Much consternation in the city from your escape. The auction is closed tomorrow! This is an unprecedented thing. All wagons and pack trains from the city are to be searched. Any man with red hair is to be arrested at once, gagged so he may not speak, and brought to the palace for identification.’

‘They really want to ensure no one knows I’m here.’

Borric could almost sense the boy’s grin as he said, ‘Difficult, master. With so much alarm in the city, sooner or later someone will discover the cause. The Captains of the Coast have agreed to sweep the sea lanes between the reefs and Queg, from here to Krondor, to find the runaway slave. And every building in the city is to be investigated, the search is underway even as we speak! I do not understand this thing.’

Borric shrugged. ‘I don’t know either. How they could get so many people to agree to this sort of business without telling them what they were after …’ Borric moved toward a tiny gap in the support beam of the roof, where he could peek into the courtyard. ‘It’s another five, six hours to dawn. We might as well get some rest.’

‘Master!’ hissed the boy. ‘How can you rest? We must flee!’

Borric said softly, ‘Fleeing is what they expect. They are looking for a man who is fleeing. Alone. A red-haired man.’

‘Yes,’ agreed the boy.

‘So we wait here, steal a little food from the kitchen, and wait for the search to wind down. In a household as big as this, we should be able to pass unnoticed for a few days.’

Sitting back on his haunches, the boy let out a long sigh. It was clear Suli wasn’t pleased to hear this, but having nothing more intelligent to offer, he remained silent.

Borric awoke with a gulp of breath, his heart pounding in his chest. It was still dark. No, he corrected himself as he spied a bit of light entering through the crack at the roof line, it’s still dark in this attic.

He had been dreaming, of a time when he and his brother had been playing in the palace as children, using the so-called secret passages that were used by servants to move unseen between the different suites. The boys had split up and Borric had become lost. He had waited a long, lonely time before his Uncle Jimmy had come looking for him. Borric smiled as he remembered. Erland had been the more upset of the two.

Moving to peer through the tiny crack at the sliver of courtyard he could see, Borric had little doubt it was much the same now. ‘Erland must think me dead,’ he muttered to himself.

Then he realized he was alone. The boy, Suli, was gone!

Borric patted around in the dark for the knife and found it where he left it. Feeling only slightly better for the presence of the indifferent weapon, he wondered what the boy could be up to. Perhaps he figured to bargain his own life in exchange for knowledge of the whereabouts of a certain red-haired slave?

Borric felt close to panic. If the boy had indeed tried to bargain for his own safety, both were as good as dead. Forcing himself to calmness, he again peered through the little crack. It was nearly sunrise, and already the Governor’s household was busy, with servants hurrying between the outbuildings, the kitchen, and the main house. Still, there was nothing to suggest other than the normal morning’s activities. No armed men were in sight, no shouting voices could be heard.

Borric sat back and thought. The boy might not be terribly educated, but he was not stupid. No doubt he knew his own life was forfeit if anyone learned of his involvement with the escaped slave. He most likely was hiding in another part of town, or perhaps even on a ship heading out of the city, working as a common seaman.

Always a hearty eater, Borric felt his stomach knot. He had never truly been hungry before in his life, and he didn’t care for the feeling. He had been too miserable while travelling to Durbin to dwell much on his hunger; it was merely one among many afflictions. But now with his sunburn turned to a deep reddish tan and his strength almost returned in full, he was very aware of his empty stomach. He wondered if he could slip out into the early morning bustle, and decided against trying. Red-headed slaves over six feet tall were certainly not common in this city and he would probably be caught before he got within a hundred paces of the kitchen. As if fate conspired to torment him, a familiar odour came wafting in on the morning breeze. The kitchen cooked bacon and ham for the Governor’s household. Borric’s mouth began to water, and he sat for a miserable minute, thinking of breakfast cakes and honey, boiled eggs, fruit with cream, hot slabs of ham, steaming fresh bread, pots of coffee.

‘No good can come from this,’ he scolded himself, forcing himself back from the crack. Hunkering down in the dark, he attempted to discipline his mind away from the torment of hunger. All he need do was wait for night to fall and then he could steal into the kitchen and nick some food. Yes, that’s all he need do. Wait.

Borric discovered, that like hunger, waiting was not to his liking. He would lay back for a time, then cross over to the crack in the roof, peer through, and wonder how much time had passed. Once he even dozed for a while, and was disappointed to discover that – judging from the nearly unchanged shadow angles – only minutes had passed when he had hoped for hours. He returned to his place of resting, a section of attic where the floor seemed a little less uncomfortable than the rest of the floor, more likely due to his imagination than any real difference. He waited and he was hungry. No, he corrected himself. He was ravenous.

More time passed and again he dozed. Then to break the routine, he practised some stretching exercises a Hadati warrior had once taught him and Erland, designed to keep muscles loose and toned at times when there was no room for sword practice or the other rigors common to warcraft. He moved one way then another, balancing tension and relaxation. To his astonishment, he discovered that not only did the exercises take his mind off of his stomach, they made him feel better and calmer.

For the better part of four hours, Borric sat near the crack, observing the comings and goings of those in the Governor’s courtyard. Several times, soldiers running messages hurried through Borric’s field of vision. He considered: if he could stay hidden here long enough – assuming he could steal food and not get caught – in a few more days they would assume he had somehow slipped out of their grasp. At that time he might be able to sneak aboard an outbound ship.

Then what? He thought upon that prickly issue. It would do little good to return home, even if he should find a way. Father would only send fast riders south to Kesh with warnings to Erland to be cautious. No doubt he could be no more cautious than he already was. With Borric’s disappearance, Uncle Jimmy was sure to assume the worst and count Borric dead. It would take a gifted assassin to win past Earl James’s notice. As a boy, Jimmy had rightly been counted something of a legend in the city. When years younger than Borric’s present age, he was already a master thief and counted an adult by the Mockers. No mean feat that, Borric thought.

‘No,’ he whispered to himself. ‘I must get to Erland as quickly as possible. Too much time will be lost if I return home first.’ Then he wondered if perhaps he should attempt to reach Stardock. The magicians could do astonishing things and perhaps could provide him with a faster way yet to reach Kesh. But Jimmy had mentioned Pug was leaving the day after they departed, so he was already gone. And the two Keshian magicians he left in charge were not men who appeared to Borric as likely candidates for generous help. There was something decidedly off-putting about both of them. And they were Keshian. Who knows how far this Lord Fire’s plotting reaches? Borric considered.

Looking up from his musing, he realized that night was falling. The evening meal was being prepared in the kitchen and the smell of meat roasting over a spit was nearly enough to make him mad. In a few hours, he told himself. Just relax and let the time pass. It won’t be long. In just a few more hours, the servants will be in their own beds. Then it will be time to steal out and—

Abruptly the trap moved and Borric’s heart raced as he readied the knife to defend himself. The trap raised up and a slight figure pulled himself into the trap. Suli Abul said, ‘Master?’

Borric almost laughed from relief. ‘Here.’