Shadow of a Dark Queen (26 page)

“But if we somehow get through it all and get back to Krondor . . .”

Nicholas said, “Your sentences will be reviewed and you will be paroled or pardoned, depending upon whatever recommendation Lord James makes to me.”

“And that will depend on what recommendation is made by those who lead you,” said James. “So if you have any hope in you that someday you might again be free, do as you are told.”

The Prince nodded and de Loungville said, “Turn around!”

The prisoners did as they were commanded, and they were marched out of the hall. Instead of being returned to the prison block, they were taken to a small courtyard where a wagon waited. It was a shallow-bed affair with a buckboard, two drivers, and two benches in back where the men could sit three to a side, with a guard at the rear. A company of horse soldiers moved in to flank the wagon, and de Loungville shouted, “Get in that wagon!”

The men did as commanded, and soldiers quickly chained each prisoner's right ankle to an iron ring under the small seat. De Loungville mounted a horse
brought to him by a groom and gave the order for the company to move out. The gates to the courtyard were opened, and as the wagon rolled through, Erik could see they were leaving by a gate that led to a small road. At the far end of the road they could see a private dock, which must be for the palace. They turned away from the dock and moved toward the city itself.

They reached a second gate, and guards swung this wide, letting the procession leave the palace grounds. The hooves of the horses beat a loud clang as iron struck paving stone, and the horses snorted to be outside and moving. Erik looked around. It was barely past noon. So much had passed since that first glimpse of sky at dawn.

The sun had burned off whatever morning fog and low clouds had gripped the city, and now a glorious fall day was upon them. Warm sunlight caressed his face as cool ocean breezes carried the sound of gulls and the tang of salt.

He remembered the stab of pain he had felt when he had thought he would not see the day, and the terror and panic that had gripped him as rough hands had placed him upon the gallows returned. Erik felt a choking sensation in his own chest, and suddenly, without any ability to control it, he began to weep.

Roo looked over and nodded, and tears began to run down his face, too, but no man in the wagon said anything, soldier or prisoner. After a few minutes, Erik got himself under control and he sat back, feeling the breeze cool him, and vowing to never again be that afraid.

E
rik groaned.

He struggled to carry the bag of rocks up the hill, his feet slipping on the treacherous mound of stone. The hill was formed by the rocks being hauled by the six prisoners up its unstable side.

Reaching the top, Erik paused, took a deep breath as sweat poured down his face, and swung the heavy bag off his shoulder. He upended it and rocks went cascading down the side of the mound, causing those behind to curse as they were forced to dodge the stones. He knew the guards would allow him a moment to catch his breath before he negotiated his way down the dangerous stone mound to continue this pointless task.

He let his vision sweep the vista below. The mound of rocks rose up in the midst of a military camp. He had never seen a soldiers' compound, but he guessed this was unlike any other such installation in the world. A huge square, it was surrounded by wooden walls upon which sentries patrolled, as much to ensure no one approached from outside as to keep prisoners inside. A good three hundred yards of
woodlands had been cleared around all sides, providing that no one could get close enough to the camp to witness what occurred inside.

In the midst of the camp were three large buildings, also fashioned from logs. Ten large tents, each designed for six men, were arrayed along the north wall of the compound. A familiar sound carried through the morning air, and Erik looked toward the southern wall, where stood an armory, leather shop, and cook shed.

“Von Darkmoor!” shouted a guard, and Erik realized he had lapsed into daydream. The next warning would be followed by a fowling blunt, an arrow with a hard ball of lead covered with leather that could break a man's arm if it struck there. Usually it just knocked the hapless target from the peak of the hill, followed by a rough ride down the rocky slope. That would be followed in turn by an equally rocky berating from Robert de Loungville.

The sergeant stood a short distance away, watching as the men moved slowly up the rock pile, trying not to dislodge stones onto the men behind. He spoke softly to the corporal, whose name was Foster. They pointed at various men as they struggled to get the rocks up the hill.

Roo moved toward Erik and he puffed mightily as he said, “Only two or three more trips, I figure.”

The scrawny boy from Darkmoor had never been one for labor, Erik knew, but over the last week he had managed to keep up with the others. Part of it, Erik knew, was the food. None of them had ever eaten that well in their lives. And while they were roused from sleep at dawn, they turned in early enough so they were sufficiently rested.

Erik had felt his old strength return, and if anything he was even more fit than before. He and Biggo loaded up more than the others, because they could carry more, but every man pulled his share of rocks up that slope.

Erik made one more transit from the small mounds dumped by the wagon to the growing hill. When he got to the bottom, he saw Robert de Loungville wave him, to stand near by. When all six prisoners were finished, standing in ragged line, de Loungville came up to them.

“Tired?” he asked, his face set in a friendly smile.

The men muttered they were and he nodded in understanding. “I bet,” he said. “Could be you're as tired as you've ever been in your life?”

The men muttered agreement. He rocked back and forth a little on his feet, then shouted, “And what do you do when your enemy hits you when you're tired?”

Suddenly Erik was slammed into from behind, his assailant taking him down. A man in black moved away as Erik rolled over on his back, out of breath and heart pounding.

The others were likewise on the ground, save Sho Pi, who danced nimbly away as a black-clad man lay facedown in the dirt.

De Loungville said, “Here, now? How did you manage that?”

Sho Pi said, “By never for a moment assuming I'm safe, Sergeant.”

De Loungville raised his brows and, with eyes wide with respect, nodded. “That is an attitude I can appreciate.” He moved with almost a saunter as he approached Sho Pi. “You would do well,” he said to
the others, “to follow this man's example.” Without warning he leveled a flying kick at Sho Pi's knees, which the Isalani deftly avoided.

Suddenly the Isalani was a blur of motion as he sidestepped the smaller but solid man. He kicked out with his right leg, and tattooed de Loungville with a series of kicks to the face and chest, then he swept with his leg, coming full circle, and took de Loungville's feet out from under him.

The men who were still on the ground laughed at the sight of their tormentor humbled, but that laughter turned to silence as two guards ran up pointing crossbows at Sho Pi, forcing him away from de Loungville.

Robert de Loungville sat up, shaking his head, and then jumped to his feet. “Did you think that was funny?”

None of the men spoke.

“I said, ‘Did you think that was funny?' ”

The men shouted, “No, Sergeant!”

De Loungville turned and said, “I'll show you something funny.” His voice rose to the near shriek the men had become used to over the last week. “That pile of rocks is in the wrong place!”

Erik bit back a groan as he knew what was coming next. “You will take that pile apart and move it over there.” De Loungville pointed to a place where the wagon, now empty, stood. “Then when I've decided exactly where I want the rocks, I'll have you move them again. Is that clear?”

Without thought Erik shouted, “Yes, sir!”

“Now get started.”

Erik didn't look to see what the others were doing. He stood, shouldered his sack, and started to
the pile of rocks. He reached the edge and bent over to pick up rocks, but de Loungville's voice cut the air. “From the top down, von Darkmoor! I want it moved from the top down!”

Erik winced, and without comment started the dangerous climb to the top of the rock pile. Halfway up the slope, Erik heard Billy Goodwin say, “I'd like one good shot at that bastard.”

From even farther down the slope, Erik heard Biggo say, “With your luck you'd probably kick him in the heart and break your foot.” Erik couldn't help but laugh, and suddenly he realized it was the first laugh he had experienced since Stefan had died. Suddenly his foot slipped and he half fell, slamming both knees into the rocks. As he winced in pain and regained his feet, he cursed the day he had first seen this camp, a week earlier.

Five miles to the east of Krondor, the wagon he had ridden in had turned south, leaving the heavily traveled road from Krondor to Darkmoor. But it wasn't the main road southeast that headed toward the Vale of Dreams and the border with Kesh. Rather, they had followed an old wagon trail to what looked to Erik to have once been a farming village near a small lake, surrounded on three sides by sheltering hills. The Crown had obviously taken over this area, for several guard posts had been erected along the way and three times they had been forced to stop while Robert de Loungville had shown proper passes. Erik had been curious, for with all the guards riding with them, and the tabards of the Prince's own Household Guard, the guards along the way had still appeared cautious.

The other thing that had piqued Erik's interest had been how veteran those soldiers guarding the
way to this camp had appeared. All the men had been older; not one smooth cheek in the crew, and many had borne scars. And most wore differing tabards, some the black with the golden eagle of Bas-Tyra, others the golden gull on brown of Crydee.

A guard sergeant at the gate had greeted de Loungville by name, many calling him Bobby, but still looked over his pass. Once inside the compound, Erik and the others had their first glimpse of the camp. A dozen men, all wearing black tunics and trousers, had been practicing with bows in a corner of the compound as the wagon had rolled through the gate, and as the large doors were swung shut, Erik caught sight of a dozen more practicing their horsemanship. He had gawked as the wagon had ground to a halt and the prisoners had been unchained.

The men had been forced to run from the wagon to stand in front of the main building for over an hour, toward what end Erik had never understood.

As he had waited, he had reveled in the simple fact of still being alive. His experience on the gallows had left him alternating between black depression and giddy elation. He had entered the compound in good spirits, which hadn't worn off as he had waited before the nameless building.

De Loungville had gone inside for over an hour and had returned with a man who appeared to be some sort of chirurgeon, who had examined all the prisoners and had made several comments on their condition Erik hadn't understood. For the first time in his life he had some sense of how horses felt when he examined them for fitness.

The prisoners had been run through some strange drills and asked to march around. This had brought
rude comments and mocking observations from those men in black who were standing around while the prisoners drilled.

At the end of the day, they had been ordered to the second large building, the mess. Fully half the tables were unoccupied after the men in black were seated. Young boys in the livery of squires of the Prince's court in Krondor raced between the tables heaping abundance beyond Erik's dreams on them. Breads, hot and slathered with butter, pitchers of cow's milk, cooled by ice brought down by riders from the nearby mountains. Meats—chicken, beef, and pork—surrounded by vegetables of every description were set down next to platters of cheese and fruit.

Erik was suddenly hungry beyond belief and ate.

He lay almost comatose in a tent next to Roo that night.

The next morning, training had begun, and they had been ordered to build the mountain. Robert de Loungville had ordered them to pick up seemingly endless piles of rocks and move them half the distance across the compound to build this hill.

His reverie was broken by Sho Pi saying, “I apologize.”

Erik reached the peak and, as he knelt and started filling the bag with rocks, said, “For what?”

“My temper got the best of me. Had I let him knock me down, we would not have to do this over.”

Erik finished loading up his sack. “Oh, I think he'd have found a reason. You just provided a convenient excuse.”

Moving carefully down the hill as Sho Pi took his place at the summit, Erik said, “It was worth it to see him dumped on his prat.”

“I trust you feel that way tomorrow, friend Erik.”

Despite aching shoulders and legs and black-and-blue marks all over his body from the constantly rolling rocks, Erik knew he would.

“Get out of there, you dogs!”

Erik and Roo were out of their bedding and on their feet before they were fully awake. Corporal Foster looked at the six men. Billy Goodwin, Biggo, and Luis were on one side of the large tent, while Erik and Roo were on the other with Sho Pi. All six stood at what they had come to learn was the approved stance, what the soldiers called “at attention,” head back, eyes forward, hands to either side of them, palms in, feet at an angle together at the heels, each man before the foot of his wood and straw bed.

If this morning was like the others, they would be working for an hour or so before the morning meal, when they would be required to sit in silence at a table removed from the forty or so men who occupied the compound. They had been forbidden to speak to the other men, and those black-clad soldiers had shown no inclination to speak to the prisoners.