Prince of the Blood (36 page)

“We have a brother Rasta, who is a drunkard,” answered Borric, silently praying the boy remembered the impromptu dialogue he had engaged in just before they encountered Salaya in Durbin.

A moment later the soldier returned and said, “The boy says they have an older brother named Rasta who is a drunkard.”

Borric could have kissed the boy but held his smile in check. The Captain said, “There is something about you two I don’t like.” He glanced over to where Janos Sabér
waited. “You and the rest of your men can go, but I’m taking these two into custody.” He then looked at Ghuda and said, “Bring this one along, too.”

Ghuda said, “Wonderful,” as guards disarmed him and bound his wrists. Borric and Suli were likewise bound, after all weapons were taken from them, and soon the three captives were being led along on lead ropes, trotting after the horses as best they could.

The town of Jeeloge had a constable’s office, which in turn had a poor excuse for a cell, used mostly to hold troublesome farmers and herdsmen when arrested for brawling. Now it was the Imperial Captain and his company who used it, to the acute discomfort of the local constable. A retired soldier, with grey in his beard and a belly that hung over his belt, he was just the sort to keep rowdy farm boys in line, but unlikely to be up to any serious fighting. He had quickly agreed to the Captain’s demand that he absent himself from the premises.

Borric had overheard him instructing his sergeant to send a post dispatch rider as quickly as possible to the city of Kesh, a request asking what to do with the three prisoners. Borric only made out part of the conversation, but it was obvious the orders came from one high up in the army, and certain precautions were being taken to prevent any undue attention being turned to this massive search. One thing about Kesh, Borric thought, it was a nation of so many people doing so many things, that this sort of operation could continue for a long while with perhaps only one citizen in a hundred even hearing about it. The day had gone and now the night was dragging out. An hour earlier, Suli had fallen asleep, any hope for an evening meal vanished with the constable. The Imperial Guard seemed to have little concern over something as trivial as the prisoners’ hunger.

“Hello!” came the cheery voice from the window. Suli awoke with a jump.

They all looked up and saw a grinning face at the small window above in the cell they were occupying. “Nakor!” Borric whispered.

Motioning Ghuda to give him a leg up, Borric pulled himself up by the bars of the window, standing upon Ghuda’s shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might want another orange,” said the grinning little man. “Jail food is never very good.”

Borric could only nod dumbly as the little man handed an orange through the bars. Borric tossed it to Suli who hungrily took a bite and spit the peel out.

“We’ll have to take your word for that,” said the Prince. “They haven’t bothered to feed us.”

Then suddenly Borric said, “How did you get up here?” The window was a good eight feet up in the wall, and the little man didn’t seem to be hanging by the bars.

“Never mind that. Do you want to get out?”

Ghuda, who was beginning to wobble a bit under Borric’s weight, said, “There’s one of the all-time stupid questions asked by mortal man in the last thousand years. Of course we want out!”

Grinning widely, the Isalani said, “Then stand over in that corner and cover your eyes.”

Borric jumped down from Ghuda’s shoulders. Moving to the corner, they covered their eyes. There was a silent moment when nothing happened, then suddenly a shock hit Borric, as if a large hand slammed him against the wall and a loud boom deafened him. He winced at it, then opened his eyes. The wall was now breached. The constable’s jail was full of fine dust and the reek of sulfur. Several guards stood holding on to whatever gave them support, while others lay upon the floor, obviously blinded by whatever had opened the wall.

Nakor stood next to four horses, all with saddles bearing the Imperial Army’s crest. “They won’t need these, I’m certain,” he said, handing over the reins to Borric.

Suli stood fearfully, saying, “Master, I don’t know how to ride.”

Ghuda picked up the boy and lifted him into the saddle of the nearest animal. “Then you’d better learn quickly. If you start to fall, just grab the horse’s mane and don’t!”

Borric was in the saddle and said, “They’ll be after us in a moment. Let’s—”

“No,” said Nakor. “I cut all their saddle girths and bridles.” Seemingly from nowhere he produced a wicked-looking knife, as if to illustrate the point. “But it still might be wise to move along, lest those alerted by the sound come investigate.”

To that no one had any argument, and they rode out, Suli barely able to hang on for his life. A little way down the road, Borric dismounted and fixed Suli’s stirrup leathers for him. Suli’s horse, sensing an inexperienced rider, was full of nasty tricks, so Borric could only hope the boy would survive any falls that were certain to come as they hurried away.

As they left the now-awake town of Jeeloge, Borric said to Nakor, “What was that?”

“Oh, a little magic trick I learned along the way,” said the grinning man.

Ghuda made a sign of protection, and said, “Are you a magician?”

Nakor laughed. “Of course. Don’t you know that all Isalani are capable of magic feat?”

Borric said, “Is that how you were able to get to the window? You floated up using magic?”

Nakor’s laughter increased. “No, Madman. I stood on the back of the horse.”

Feeling relief and exhilaration at this escape, Borric
put heels to his horse, and the animal broke into a canter. A moment later, the others could be heard behind him, until a yell and unpleasant thud told them Suli had been tossed.

Turning around to see if the boy was seriously hurt, Borric said, “This may be the slowest escape in history.”

E
RLAND STOOD SILENTLY
.

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t accept the scope of what he saw: the site of the first day’s ceremonies for the Empress’s Seventy-fifth Jubilee. For centuries Kesh’s finest engineers had refurbished, expanded, added to it, until it stood out as the single most impressive feat of construction Erland had witnessed. It was a gigantic amphitheater carved into the side of the plateau upon which the upper city—the Imperial palace—rested. It was built by the skill of artisans, the sweat of builders, and the blood of slaves, vast enough to comfortably seat fifty thousand people—more than the populations of Rillanon and Krondor combined.

Erland motioned his companions to walk with him, for it was still almost an hour before his own part in the formal drama of court was to commence. Kafi Abu Harez, his ever-present guide, was at his elbow to answer questions.

Finally Erland said, “Kafi, how long did it take to build this?”

“Centuries, Highness,” answered the desert man. He pointed to a place in the distance, near the base of the gigantic wedge that had been cut from the plateau. “There,
near the edge of the lower city, in ages past, an Emperor of Kesh, Sujinrani Kanafi—called the Benevolent—decided that the prohibition against those who were not of true blood remaining upon the plateau at night prevented his citizens from observing some necessary Imperial functions, most notably those ceremonies to affirm Sujinrani’s benevolence, as well as public executions of traitors. He felt the object lesson was lost on many who would benefit from observing it firsthand.

“So he decreed that all that was of this plateau, including the lowest part of it, was, in effect, part of the upper city. He then had a small amphitheater created down there, about a dozen feet higher than it is today.” With a small sweep of his hand, Kafi illustrated his next remark. “A wedge of rock was then carved out, so that a court could be held in view of those not permitted to ascend to the upper city.”

“And it’s been enlarged several times since,” said Locklear.

“Yes,” said Kafi. “The entrance alone has been enlarged on five occasions. The Imperial box has been repositioned three times.” He pointed to the large area overhung by a giant canopy of fine silk, at the middle point of the large stone crescent upon which Erland and his party walked. Kafi halted the Prince with a gentle touch to the arm and pointed to the Empress’s private viewing area. “There She Who Is Kesh, blessings be ever upon her, will oversee the festival. Her throne of gold sits upon a small dais, around which her family and servants, and those of royal blood will rest in comfort. Only those of the highest nobility within the Empire are permitted in that area. To enter without Imperial writ is to die, for Her Majesty’s Izmali guards will stand at every entrance.”

Pointing out a row of boxes, each slightly lower than the one preceding as they moved away from the Imperial
box, he said, “Those closest to Her Majesty are the highest born in the Empire, and make up the Gallery of Lords and Masters.” He indicated the entire level they walked upon.

Erland said, “Five, six thousand people could stand upon this level alone, Kafi.”

The desert man nodded. “Perhaps more. This level reaches down and embraces the floor below, like arms surrounding a body. At the distant end we will be a full hundred feet below the Empress’s throne. Come, let me show you more.”

The desert man, wearing robes of the darkest blue and starkest white for the formal ceremonies, led them to a railing looking down upon another level. As they walked, nobles who would precede Erland’s party in being presented to the Empress hurried past, a few taking a moment to offer the Prince of the Kingdom of the Isles a slight bow. Erland noted the half dozen tunnels that opened onto the broad walkway behind the boxes. “All of these can’t originate in the palace alone, can they?”

Kafi nodded. “Ah, but they do.”

Erland said, “I would think the safety of the Empress would supersede the convenience of those nobles needing to come down here once or twice a year. Those tunnels are an invitation to any invader seeking to enter the palace.”

Kafi shrugged. “It is academic, my young friend. For you must understand, that for an invader to threaten the tunnels, they must hold to the lower city, and should any invader hold the lower city, the Empire is already lost. For if they hold the lower city, the might of Kesh is already dust. This is the heart of the Empire, and a hundred thousand Keshian soldiers would lie dead before an invader came within sight of the city. Do you see?”

Erland considered this, then nodded. “I guess you’re right. Being a nation born upon an island, in a sea sailed by a dozen other nations … we look at things differently.”

“I understand,” said Kafi. He pointed to the area between the down-sweeping boxes and the floor of the amphitheater. The stone had been cut in descending, con-centric crescents, so that a grandstand had been chiseled from the rock of the plateau. A dozen stairways from the floor upward to the level just below the boxes were already filled to capacity with colorfully dressed citizens. “There is where the lesser nobles, masters of guilds, and influential merchants of the city will sit, upon cushions or the bare stone, all around. The center is kept clear for those being presented to the Empress.”

Kafi said, “You and your party will enter there, Highness, after the nobles of Kesh and before the commoners, as Ambassadors of all nations will. The Empress has favored you by placing your delegation before all others, an admission that the Kingdom of the Isles stands second only to the Empire of Great Kesh in majesty upon Midkemia.”

Erland cast James a wry look at the offhanded compliment, but only said, “We thank Her Majesty for the courtesy.”

If Kafi shared the sarcasm, he kept that fact well hidden. Moving on as if nothing impolitic had been said, he continued, “The common people of Kesh are permitted to view the festivities from across the entrance, atop roofs, and many other vantage points.”

Erland looked out over the lower city, where thousands of commoners were held back by a line of soldiers. Beyond the street that crossed before the amphitheater people crowded upon the rooftops of buildings and into every window providing a vantage point. Erland found the sheer number of people in one place breathtaking.

Gamina, who had been silently walking beside her husband, said, “I doubt they can see much.”

Kafi shook his head. “Perhaps, but then, before the rule of Sujinrani Kanafi, they saw nothing of court ceremony.”

“My lord Abu Harez,” said Locklear, “before we continue, could you and I discuss the speech my Prince has prepared for this day, so that we might not inadvertently give offense?”

Kafi saw the transparent request for his absence, but given there was no reason not to agree, he let Locklear lead him away, leaving James, Gamina, and Erland relatively alone. Several Keshian servants hovered nearby, taking care of the many details of preparation. A few of them were agents of the Imperial Court, no doubt, thought Erland as he regarded James. “What?”

James turned and leaned upon the marble railing of the gallery, as if looking out over the vast amphitheater. “Gamina?” he said softly.