The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon

The child stretched up on tiptoe and said, ‘I can’t see.’

Pug held the girl up for a moment. She smiled at him. ‘I am in your debt.’

‘Not at all,’ Pug intoned with mock gravity. They both giggled.

The Princess started as a voice spoke close to the curtain. ‘I must fly!’ She darted through the alcove, passed through the second curtain, and disappeared from sight heading toward the kitchen and her getaway.

The curtain into the banquet hall parted, and a startled servant stared at Pug. Uncertain what to say, the servingman nodded. The boy by rights shouldn’t be there, but by his dress he was certainly someone.

Pug looked about and, without much conviction, finally said, ‘I was looking for the way to my room. I must be going the wrong way.’

‘The guest wing is through the first door on the left in the dining hall, young sir. Ah . . . this way lies the kitchen. Would you care to have me show you the way?’ The servant obviously didn’t care to do so, and Pug was equally lacking any desire for a guide. ‘No, thank you, I can find it,’ he said.

Pug rejoined his table, unnoticed by the other guests. The balance of the meal passed without incident, except for an occasional strange glance by a servingman.

Pug passed the time after dinner talking with the son of a merchant. The two young men found each other in the crowded room where the Prince’s after-dinner reception was being held. They spent a fitful hour being polite to one another, before the boy’s father came and took him in tow. Pug stood around being ignored by the Prince’s other dinner guests for a while, then decided he could slip back to his own quarters without affronting anyone – he wouldn’t be missed. Besides he hadn’t seen the Prince, Lord Borric, or Kulgan since they left the dinner table. Most of the reception seemed under the supervision of a score of household officials and Princess Alicia, a charming woman who had spoken politely with Pug for a moment as he passed through the reception line.

Pug found Kulgan waiting for him in his room when he returned. Kulgan said, without preamble, ‘We leave at first light, Pug. Prince Erland is sending us on to Rillanon to see the King.’

Pug said, ‘Why is the Prince sending us?’ His tone was cross, for he was deeply homesick.

Before Kulgan could answer, the door flew open and Prince Arutha came storming in. Pug was surprised by Arutha’s expression of unconfined anger.

‘Kulgan! There you are,’ Arutha said, slamming the door. ‘Do you know what our royal cousin is doing about the Tsurani invasion?’

Before Kulgan could speak, the Prince supplied the answer. ‘Nothing! He won’t lift a finger to send aid to Crydee until Father has seen the King. That will take another two months at least.’

Kulgan raised his hand. Instead of an adviser to the Duke, Arutha saw one of his boyhood instructors. Kulgan, like Tully, could still command both sons of the Duke when the need arose. ‘Quietly, Arutha.’

Arutha shook his head as he pulled over a chair. ‘I am sorry, Kulgan. I should have mastered my temper.’ He noticed Pug’s confusion. ‘I apologize to you also, Pug. There is much involved here that you don’t know of. Perhaps . . .’ He looked questioningly at Kulgan.

Kulgan took out his pipe. ‘You might as well tell him, he’s going along for the journey. He’ll find out soon enough.’

Arutha drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair for a moment, then sitting forward, said, ‘My father and Erland have been conferring for days on the best way to meet these outworlders should they come. The Prince even agrees it is likely they will come.’ He paused. ‘But he will do nothing to call the Armies of the West together until he has been given permission by the King.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Pug. ‘Aren’t the Armies of the West the Prince’s to command as he sees fit?’

‘No longer,’ said Arutha with a near-grimace. ‘The King sent word, less than a year ago, that the armies may not be mustered without his permission.’ Arutha sat back in his chair as Kulgan blew a cloud of smoke. ‘It is in violation of tradition. Never have the Armies of the West had another commander than the Prince of Krondor, as the Armies of the East are the King’s.’

Pug was still unclear about the significance of all this. Kulgan said, ‘The Prince is the King’s Lord-Marshal in the West, the only man besides the King who may command Duke Borric and the other Knight-Generals. Should he call, every Duke from Malac’s Cross to Crydee would respond, with their garrisons and levies. King Rodric, for his own reasons, has decided that none may gather the armies without his authority.’

Arutha said, ‘Father would come to the Prince’s call, regardless, as would the other Dukes.’

Kulgan nodded. ‘That may be what the King fears, for the Armies of the West have long been more the Prince’s armies than the King’s. If your father called, most would gather, for they revere him nearly as much as they revere Erland. And if the King should say not . . .’ He let the sentence slip away.

Arutha nodded. ‘Strife within the Kingdom.’

Kulgan looked at his pipe. ‘Even to civil war, perhaps.’

Pug was troubled by the discussion. He was a keep boy, in spite of his newly acquired title. ‘Even if it is in defense of the Kingdom?’

Kulgan shook his head slowly. ‘Even then. For some men, kings also, there is as much importance in the manner in which things are done as the doing.’ Kulgan paused. ‘Duke Borric will not speak of it, but there has long been trouble between himself and certain eastern dukes, especially his cousin, Guy du Bas-Tyra. This trouble between the Prince and the King will only add to the strain between West and East.’

Pug sat back. He knew that this was somehow more important than what he was understanding, but there were blank places in his picturings of the way things were. How could the King resent the Prince’s summoning the armies in defense of the Kingdom? It didn’t make sense to him, in spite of Kulgan’s explanation. And what sort of trouble in the East was Duke Borric unwilling to speak of?

The magician stood. ‘We have an early day tomorrow, so we had best get some sleep. It will be a long ride to Salador, then another long passage by ship to Rillanon. By the time we reach the King, the first thaw will have come to Crydee.’

Prince Erland bade the party a good journey as they sat upon their horses in the courtyard of the palace. He looked pale and deeply troubled as he wished them well.

The little Princess stood at an upstairs window and waved at Pug with a tiny handkerchief. Pug was reminded of another Princess and wondered if Anita would grow to be like Carline or be more even-tempered.

They rode out of the courtyard, where an escort of Royal Krondorian Lancers stood ready to accompany them to Salador. It would be a three weeks’ ride over the mountains and past the marshes of Darkmoor, past Malac’s Cross – the dividing point between the western and eastern realms – and on to Salador. There they would take ship, and after another two weeks they would reach Rillanon.

The lancers were shrouded in heavy cloaks of grey, but the purple-and-silver tabards of Krondor’s Prince could be seen underneath, and their shields bore the device of the royal Krondorian household. The Duke was being honored by an escort of the Prince’s own household guard, rather than a detachment from the city garrison.

As they left the city, the snow began to fall once more, and Pug wondered if he would ever see spring in Crydee again. He sat quietly on his horse as it plodded along the road east, trying to sort out the impressions of the last few weeks, then gave up, resigning himself to whatever was to happen.

The ride to Salador took four weeks instead of three, for there had been a storm of unusual intensity in the mountains west of Darkmoor. They had been forced to take lodging at an inn outside the village that took its name from the marshes. It had been a small inn, and they had all been forced to crowd together regardless of rank for several days. The food had been simple and the ale indifferent, and by the time the storm passed, they were all glad to leave Darkmoor behind.

Another day had been lost when they chanced upon a village being troubled by bandits. The sight of approaching cavalry had driven the brigands away, but the Duke had ordered a sweep of the area to insure that they didn’t return as soon as the soldiers rode off. The villagers had opened their doors to the Duke’s party, welcoming them and offering their best food and warmest beds. Poor offerings by the Duke’s standards, yet he received their hospitality with graciousness, for he knew it was all they had. Pug enjoyed the simple food and company, the closest yet to home since he had left Crydee.

When they were a half day’s ride short of Salador, they encountered a patrol of city guards. The guard captain rode forward. Pulling up his horse, he shouted, ‘What business brings the Prince’s guard to the lands of Salador?’ There was little love lost between the two cities, and the Krondorians rode without a heraldic banner. His tone left no doubt that he regarded their presence as an infringement upon his territory.

Duke Borric threw back his cloak, revealing his tabard. ‘Carry word to your master that Borric, Duke of Crydee, approaches the city and would avail himself of Lord Kerus’s hospitality.’

The guard captain was taken aback. He stammered, ‘My apologies, Your Grace. I had no idea . . . there was no banner . . .’

Arutha said dryly, ‘We mislaid it in a forest sometime back.’

The captain looked confused. ‘My lord?’

Borric said, ‘Never mind, Captain. Just send word to your master.’

The captain saluted. ‘At once, Your Grace.’ He wheeled his horse and signaled for a rider to come forward. He gave him instructions, and the soldier spurred his horse toward the city and soon galloped out of sight.

The captain returned to the Duke. ‘If Your Grace will permit, my men are at your disposal.’

The Duke looked at the travel-weary Krondorians, all of whom seemed to be enjoying the captain’s discomfort. ‘I think thirty men-at-arms are sufficient, Captain. The Salador city guard is renowned for keeping the environs near the city free of brigands.’

The captain, not realizing he was being made sport of, seemed to puff up at this. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

The Duke said, ‘You and your men may continue your patrol.’

The captain saluted again and returned to his men. He shouted the order to move out, and the guard column moved past the Duke’s party. As they passed, the captain ordered a salute, and lances were dipped toward the Duke. Borric returned the salute with a lazy wave of his hand, then when the guards had passed, said, ‘Enough of this foolishness, let us to Salador.’

Arutha laughed and said, ‘Father, we have need of men like that in the West.’

Borric turned and said, ‘Oh? How so?’