Shadow of a Dark Queen (16 page)

The son said, “Father, what's it going to be like with a new Prince?”

“Don't know,” said the farmer. “Seems like Arutha was ruling there long as I can remember. Back to before I can remember. Fifty-three years on the throne of the West. Well, Nicholas is the son said to be the most like his father, so maybe things won't change much.” The wagon stopped rolling. “Get Davy out of his traces first and put him away. I want you to take Brownie outside and walk her so I can see if she's really lame on her left front or just acting lazy, like usual.”

The elder boy did as he was instructed while from the house the distant shouts of the younger boy and a girl could be heard, followed almost instantly by a scolding from their mother. The farmer dismounted from the wagon and removed some grain sacks from the back, loading them into a pile below the hayloft.

When the second horse was out of her traces, father and son left the barn, and Erik said, “We'd better clear out. If they need fodder for the animals, the boy will be up here in a few minutes.”

“It's still light out,” Roo complained.

“It's almost sundown. We'll just keep the barn between us and the house for a bit if anyone sees us we'll be two travelers walking across the field, heading for town.”

Roo said, “I hope you know what the hell you're talking about.”

Erik pushed open the door to the outside through which hay was hoisted into the loft, and looked down. “It's only a bit of a jump, but be careful not to twist your ankle. I don't want to have to carry you.”

“Right,” said Roo with thinly disguised concern. He looked down to the ground below and found the distance far greater than he had remembered. “Can't we climb back down the ladder and sneak out?”

“One door, remember? And they're exercising a horse right in front of it.”

The creak from out front told Erik and Roo the farmer was returning. “Lazy creature. Why should I feed you if you're pretending to be lame to get out of work?” asked the farmer with affection.

His son's voice carried to the loft as Erik lowered himself to hang from the edge, then let go. “I like the way that lameness moves from foreleg to back, then from right to left, depending on which way she's going.” His laughter showed his genuine amusement.

Roo repeated Erik's movements, hanging for what seemed the longest moment before he let go, expecting to slam hard into the ground and break both legs. Erik's powerful hands closed around his waist and slowed him just enough so that he landed lightly on his feet. Roo turned and whispered, “See, nothing to it.”

“Did you hear something out back?” came the voice of the son.

Erik motioned for silence and they hurried away from the barn.

Whatever curiosity the farmer's eldest son might have had, the requirements of caring for the animals must have displaced it, for no one came to investigate the sound. Erik and Roo hastened along, until
they were a quarter mile across the field, then slowed to a casual walk.

They plodded down the rolling hillside, approaching the outer buildings of the city as the sun went down. Erik looked at the foulburg as they neared it, and said, “Keep an eye out for guards.”

They reached a low row of huts and simple gardens, with no clear passage between the buildings. In the evening light they could see a few hundred yards to the north of them that another road entered the city. They made out movement along the road, but neither Roo nor Erik could tell if it was field hands returning to the city or soldiers on patrol using the thoroughfare.

Roo said, “Look,” and pointed to what was little more than a clear space between two houses, but through which they could reach the first north­south street in town without having to use the main roads. They stepped over a low fence, carefully avoiding the rows of vegetables planted there, and made their way to the back of the hut. Ducking low so as not to be seen through the single window, they skirted away from the rear door and moved between the buildings. Obviously in one of the poorer sections of town, this little alleyway was heavily littered with trash. They picked their way along, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Reaching the street, Roo peered out and pulled back, hugging the wall. “It's pretty empty.”

“Do you think we're beyond where the guards are?”

“I don't know. But at least we're in Krondor.”

Roo moved out into the street, then strolled along, as Erik caught up. They glanced right and left and
saw only a few locals, some of whom paused to study the two young men. Roo started to feel self-conscious about the attention and motioned for Erik to follow him into a small neighborhood tavern.

They entered a dingy, smoke-filled common room, populated by only two other men and a barkeep, who looked at them with suspicion. “Help you?” he asked with a tone that indicated help was far down his list of priorities.

Roo removed his travel bag and said, “Two ales.”

The man didn't move, continuing to stare at Roo. After a moment, Roo dug into his belt pouch and pulled out a pair of copper coins. The man took the money, inspected it, and then put it in his own belt pouch. He reached under the bar and produced two empty flagons, which he carried halfway down the bar to a large tap. He pulled it twice, filling each flagon with a frothy brew. Returning to where Roo and Erik waited, he put them down before the two young men. “Anything else?”

Erik said, “Anything to eat?”

The man indicated a kettle hanging before the fireplace on the other side of the room. “Stew's done. Two coppers a bowl, three if you want bread.”

The smell wasn't promising, but Erik and Roo were both hungry, having had nothing to eat all day. Erik said, “We'll take the stew and the bread.”

The man still didn't move, until Roo put more money on the bar. Then he went and filled two wooden bowls with stew and carried them back. He produced a couple of small loaves of bread and set them down on the dirty bar next to the bowls, then produced two almost clean wooden spoons and put them in the bowls before Erik or Roo could intercept them.

Roo was too hungry to notice, and seeing his friend not suffering from eating the stew, Erik tried his own bowl. It was nothing like his mother's, but it was hot and filling, and the bread was acceptable, if a little coarse.

As casually as he could, Roo said, “What's all the fuss about?”

“What fuss?” asked the barkeep.

“Outside, at the gate,” replied Roo.

“Didn't know there was a fuss.”

Erik said, “We just got to Krondor and didn't feel like waiting in that long line to eat.”

The barkeep was silent until Roo put money on the bar and signaled for two more ales, even though the first were only half-drunk. The barkeep produced another set of flagons and said, “Prince of Krondor died.”

“We heard that,” said Roo.

“Well, his son is being installed in the office tomorrow. His brothers are here.”

“The King's in Krondor?” said Erik, feigning surprise, even though he had heard that earlier.

“That's why there's so much security at the gates,” said the barkeep. “There's a pair of murderers they're looking for; did in some noble east of here, if you believe the story. Of course, everyone and his uncle's pet dog is in town for the festival. Funeral parade was today, which is why everyone took the day off to gawk at the King. Tomorrow they have this ceremony, then another parade, so those that couldn't see anything will get their chance. After that, the King will take his father back to Rillanon for burial in the family vault. And Prince Nicholas will come back as the new Prince of Krondor. Then we'll have
another festival, and everyone will drink too much and nothing will get done. Then all the visiting nobles will go home.”

“You don't sound very impressed,” said Erik.

The front door opened and two more rough-looking men entered, sitting down at the table occupied by the first two.

The barman shrugged. “Why should I? Old Prince, new Prince, the taxes are the same.”

Roo continued to sound matter-of-fact. “Well, now that we're getting some food in us, I guess we'll just have to go stand in line like everyone else.”

The barkeep said, “Not, I should think.”

Roo tried to look uninterested and said, “You know another way into Krondor?”

At this the barkeep's expression changed to one of surprise. “No, just that they close the gate in an hour and you won't be able to get in tonight.”

“They close the gate?”

“With the King in the city, of course,” answered the barman, now interested. “You have a problem?”

Erik was about to say nothing at all was the matter, but Roo quickly said, “We have to find a ship and be on it at first light tomorrow.”

“Plan on taking another, then,” said the barkeep. “For many of those waiting to get into the city will simply sleep before the gate, so even were you to leave now and take a place outside, you'll be hours getting through tomorrow. It will be like that every day until the King and his family leave next week.”

Narrowing his gaze, Roo said, “I don't suppose you know of another way into the inner city? Say, perhaps, one used by locals and not widely talked about?”

The barman glanced around the room as if fearing being overheard—highly unlikely, given that the other four men in the room were lost in their own conversation—and said, “I might. But it would cost you.”

“How much?”

“How much do you have?”

Before Erik could plead poverty, Roo said, “My friend and I can pay ten gold pieces.”

The barman looked surprised at the amount, but only said, “Let's see your gold.”

As Roo made to undo his backpack, Erik placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Ten gold pieces is all we have in the world. It's taken us months to scrounge it together. We were going to purchase passage with it.”

“You're young and strong. You can work your passage. There are ships leaving for Queg, the Free Cities, Kesh, every port you might wish to reach. They are always looking for deckhands.”

The barman nodded, and the sound of chairs being pushed away from the table caused Erik to turn. The two men who had just entered were already closing, billy clubs held high. Roo tried to duck under a blow and for his trouble caught the strike on his shoulder instead of his head. His knees went loose from the pain and he fell.

Erik tried to draw his sword, but the nearest man was upon him. Letting go of the hilt, Erik unloaded a backhand blow that sent the man flying into the one coming behind him.

The man who was clubbing Roo turned and shouted, “Get him!”

Erik was starting to draw his sword when a blow to the back of the head stunned him. He felt his legs go out from under him and his vision swam.

Two men grabbed him and hoisted him up, and before he could resist he was tied like a fatted calf. The barman came around, holding the lead-filled club he had struck Erik with from behind, and said, “The little one is probably worthless, but the big fellow will bring a good price as a galley slave, or maybe even as a fighter in the arena. Get them to the Quegan buyer before midnight. The envoy's escort galleys leave tomorrow on the evening tide, after the festivities at the palace.”

Erik tried to say something, and for his troubles caught another blow to the head. He slumped down, unconscious.

Erik's eyes opened. He sat up. His head throbbed and his vision went in and out of focus, as his stomach knotted. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, discovered that made his nausea worse, and opened them again. He found his hands were restrained by heavy iron bracelets and his legs by even heavier shackles. He looked around, expecting to be in the bottom of a ship bound for Queg. Instead he found himself in a cell.

A groan from close by caused him to turn around. Erik found Roo likewise shackled and trying to sit up. Erik gave him a hand and the smaller youngster tried to clear his head.

“Sort of a bad day for you two, wasn't it?” said a voice from behind them.

Erik turned to find a man leaning back against a window ledge, bars behind him, his body silhouetted against daylight, the small aperture being the sole source of light. He moved away from the window, coming to squat down before Erik. Erik could make
out his features in the dimly lit room. He was a broad-shouldered, bull-necked man of middle years, with dark receding hair, cut close, and deep blue eyes. There was something odd about his manner and expression, but Erik couldn't put his finger upon it. He needed a shave and was dressed in plain tunic and trousers. High boots, well cared for but old and worn, and a wide belt were his only other garments.

“Where are we? I . . .” He closed his eyes as his head swam a minute. “We were struck from behind.”

“Some of the locals trying to sell you to Quegan slavers,” said the man. His voice was slightly raspy and his manner of speech common. Erik wasn't sure, but there was something about his accent that reminded him of Nathan's, so he assumed the man was from the Far Coast.

The man smiled, but there was a hint of meanness behind the smile. “You were on your way to a less than pleasant ocean voyage. With the emissary from Queg in the city, along with several of his King's galleys, the Duke of Krondor thought there might be something like this going on.”

“You're not with them?”

“Ha! I'd as soon kiss a goblin as leave a Quegan slaver alive.” He glanced at Roo, who was regaining his wits. The man continued, “The Duke's men intercepted the slavers on their way to the docks. He was both surprised and pleased to discover that you two were among those heading out of the city. There's been quite a search on for you, my friends.”

“Then you know who we are?” said Erik with resignation. “Who are you?”

“You've heard of the man they call the Eagle of Krondor?”

Erik nodded. Who that man was and why he was called that wasn't widely known, but that he existed was common knowledge. “Is that you?”