A Crown Imperilled

‘Love is one of the reasons I must find Pug,’ said Miranda. ‘Just to see him …’ Her eyes welled up with tears and she wiped them away. ‘Damn, I know these aren’t my memories, but they feel like they are.’

Nakor said, ‘So many questions.’

‘You seem delighted about that,’ she said, regaining her composure.

‘Always. Learn a simple answer and, well, it’s over; but a really good question,’ he winked, ‘now, that’s worth something.’ Then his expression darkened. ‘We need to find out why Kalkin did this to us, changed us and gave us those memories.’

Miranda looked surprised. ‘I thought that was obvious.’

‘Few things really are.’

‘We need to warn Pug about the Dread.’

‘Pug is very smart. He should have figured that out by now. There is something else.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. But Pug will know of the Dread by now. He’s the smartest man I ever met.’

Miranda smiled slightly. ‘He used to say you were the smartest man he’d ever met.’

With an evil twinkle in his eye, Nakor said, ‘That’s why I know he’s the smartest man I ever met.’

Miranda was about to say something arch, when the small door set into the large city gate opened and a man wearing an old, ill-fitting tabard over simple work clothes appeared. ‘Who might you be, then?’ he asked.

Miranda said, ‘Two travellers trying to find a safe place to rest.’

The old man said, ‘This city is hardly that, or did you miss the blaze to the south? We’re at war.’

‘Which is why we wish to get inside,’ she said.

The old man looked tired and his expression revealed his unhappiness at being roused from his rest by the boy who had fetched him to the gate. If he wanted to know why this unlikely pair was on the road alone after dark, he put the question aside and said, ‘Well, you two don’t look like a Keshian assault brigade, so I guess there’s no harm letting you come in. There’s an inn a bit further down this boulevard, the Black Ram. Travellers are being housed there until we can sort out who’s who.’ He hiked his thumb at the boy who stood behind him at the door. ‘Teddy will see you there.’ He moved aside, motioning for them to enter.

They passed through the gate and followed the eager boy down the street. This portion of the city was shuttered and for the most part had been abandoned, though signs of a few determined souls lingered: a blacksmith’s furious hammering echoed from a nearby street, and one family had obviously kept their home; the windows were open to the warm afternoon air, despite the acrid smoke which gave a bitter tang to the air. A wagon rolled down towards the city’s southern wall in the distance, but otherwise most of this quarter of the city was still. The boy moved at a good pace and soon he indicated an inn on their right. They nodded their thanks and entered the great room.

As inns went, it was one of the biggest either Nakor or Miranda had seen, and they had seen quite a few. ‘I don’t remember this inn being so large,’ said Miranda as Nakor peered around the room for someone in charge.

‘When was the last time you stayed at an inn in Ylith?’ he asked, spying a serving woman bringing ale to a table in the back room.

She calculated. ‘About thirty to thirty-five years ago.’

‘Things change,’ he said with his usual grin and motioned for her to accompany him through the crowd. ‘Lots of travellers from the Free Cities, Krondor, and Queg must come through here on business in LaMut and Yabon. It was already pretty prosperous when we … left.’ He waved around the room. ‘Lots of business for an enterprising innkeeper.’

About thirty people cluttered the hall, occupying every seat and every table; they even stood along the walls, which were blessed with a series of waist-high shelves. At the rear of the room they found a servant who looked cheerful despite being nearly overwhelmed by the demand for her services. A plump woman of middle years, she turned and said, ‘I’ll be with you good folks in a moment.’ Then she returned her attention to the four young men she had just served. ‘That’s a silver for four,’ she said.

‘Why don’t you wait until we’re done?’ asked one of the young men sitting at the tiny corner table. He was obviously a labourer of some kind, a stonemason’s apprentice, given his large arms and shoulders and the covering of stone dust on the apron he wore over his heavy woollen shirt. His three companions were likewise scruffy and ill-kempt; none of them appeared to have shaved in a week.

The woman laughed. ‘As crowded as it is, I might not get back here until an hour after you left.’

‘Where would we go?’ He waved towards the door. ‘We step outside and one of those watchmen will fetch us back.’

Trying to keep the tone light, the woman laughed again. ‘Those silly boys?’ Her expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry, lads, but I have my instructions. Pay as you go.’

Miranda could smell trouble coming and glanced around the room. The bartender looked burly enough to handle two, even three of these boys, but he was on the other side of the room. She glanced at Nakor, who nodded. The room was packed with people who were tired, bored, irritable and drunk. It was ripe for a brawl or a full-on riot.

Miranda gently pushed the serving woman aside, leaned over and said, ‘Pay up, that’s a good fellow.’

‘I am not your good fellow, woman,’ said the young man with a defiant sneer. ‘I’m a mason from Natal trying to get home after a long job away. I’m a man whose ship was heading south before we reached this miserable city.’ His voice rose. ‘I’m a man who has been shut up in this inn since then, with no way to get home, and I’m in no mood to argue with whores!’ He took a drunken backhanded swing at the serving woman who nimbly stepped aside.

Her eyes widened and she shouted, ‘Whores!’

The man was half out of his seat when Miranda reached out, put her hand on his shoulder, and shoved him back into his seat so hard he cried out in pain, the pop of his shoulder joint loud enough to be heard. She continued to squeeze and the effect was instant: his eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but was unable to make a sound save a slight whimper. Colour drained from his face and tears started streaming down his cheeks.

She released him and turned to the serving woman. ‘You all right?’

The dumbfounded woman could only nod, and the mason’s three companions backed their chairs against the walls in a futile attempt to put more space between themselves and this insane, but obviously powerful, woman.

Miranda stared at them. ‘Where do you idiots sleep?’

One of the gasping man’s companions said in a terrified whisper, ‘Basement.’

Miranda simply said, ‘Go!’

All four men struggled quickly to get out of their seats, two of them helping the injured man away. Nakor laughed as they vanished into the crowd. ‘Well, now we can sit down,’ he said.

As they did so, the serving woman said, ‘Thank you.’ She blinked for a moment like a barn owl caught in lantern-light, then her happy expression returned. ‘What can I get you?’

‘What have you to eat?’ asked Miranda as the famished Nakor nodded enthusiastically.

‘I’ve some mutton on the spit that’s edible. We’ve almost been eaten bare by this lot. It’s lovely to make coin, but when there’s nothing to buy …’

Miranda beckoned her closer, then spoke softly. ‘There’s a wagon train from LaMut parked outside the city walls waiting for someone to let them in. Good, fresh food, flour, butter, everything you need. You might want to tell your employer and have him send someone down there to make a deal before the other innkeepers in town find out.’

The woman brightened and said, ‘Thank you, I’ll tell him straight away!’ Then she leaned over. ‘Got some stew about to finish, and there are a few hot loaves of bread left.’ She gestured over her shoulder. ‘My dad is trying to keep ’em drunk enough to be happy, but not so drunk we can’t keep them in line. Those four from the Free Cities have been complaining all day and most of yesterday, like no one else here is suffering.’ Her smile returned. ‘Drink?’

‘Two of whatever you think is best,’ said Nakor.

‘Two dwarven ales it is, then,’ she said. ‘Back in a moment.’

As the serving woman vanished into the crowd a tall figure made his way through the press until he stood before their table. He was blond with pointed ears and broad shoulders and was clad in a dark brown leather tunic, trousers, and boots. He held a long bow which he now placed butt end on the floor in front of them. Smiling quizzically, he said, ‘You always did know how to make an entrance.’

Both Miranda and Nakor glanced up and then broke into broad smiles. Miranda said, ‘Calis!’

The son of the Elf Queen and Warleader Tomas of Elvandar leaned forward slightly and said in a lower voice. ‘Aren’t you two supposed to be dead?’

Nakor laughed, and Miranda motioned for Calis to sit. The blond half-elf, half-human, part-Valheru had been a close friend of both Nakor and Miranda, and for a time much more than friends with her. Nakor had sailed with Calis on a voyage to Novindus in the early stages of the Serpent War, the invasion of the Kingdom by the demon possessing the body of the Emerald Queen. In an odd twist of fate, the Emerald Queen had once been married to Nakor and later became Miranda’s mother.

Calis sat down and Miranda leaned over to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek; then Nakor shook his hand.

The serving woman returned with two flagons of ale. ‘Sir?’ she asked Calis who shook his head.

When she had departed, Calis said, ‘A story, then?’

Miranda reached out and put her hand on his. ‘I am not who I appear to be.’ She felt a strong sense of affection for this being, and remembered that Miranda and Calis had been lovers for a time before she had met Pug.

She could feel his fingers tense ever so slightly under her hand, and pressed down lightly in a gesture of reassurance. ‘It is not deceit, nor trickery, but a strange twist of fate which brings us here.’ She glanced at Nakor who nodded.

‘If you are not two of my oldest and dearest friends, returned to me, then … ?’

‘It’s a long story and hard to believe,’ said Nakor. Grinning, he added, ‘Then again our little band of desperate men saw some things terrible and wondrous to behold on our travels, didn’t we?’

Calis nodded. He gave Miranda a pointed look. She returned a sad smile and said, ‘I remember everything.’ She gave his hand another slight squeeze. ‘But those memories are not mine.’

Calis said nothing.

Nakor asked, ‘When was the last time you saw Pug?’

‘A year or so ago. He came to visit my mother and Tomas.’ He looked at Miranda. ‘He was still saddened by your loss, as well as Caleb and Marie.’

Miranda couldn’t help but gasp, and tears gathered in her eyes. ‘Caleb? Marie?’ She tightened her grip on his hand; a lesser being would have endured broken fingers. Caleb had been Miranda’s youngest child and Marie, his wife.

Calis softly said, ‘In the attack that took you.’

Miranda looked away for a second, then finally she composed herself and asked, ‘The boys?’

Calis squeezed her hand in return and said, ‘Tad, Zane, and Jommy are well. There were other losses when the demons attacked your island, students and two of Pug’s teachers, but given the severity …’

‘I remember.’ She said nothing for a long moment, and then lowered her eyes. ‘I will tell you everything, but not now.’ A sad sound, barely a whisper of a breath, was followed by silence.

Nakor said, ‘Not that I’m unhappy to see you, old friend, but what coincidence brings you here on the very day we arrive?’

‘Not such a coincidence, I’m on an errand for my mother. I carry word to young Lord Martin that those sent to us from Crydee to care for are safe in Elvandar.’

Composing herself, Miranda asked, ‘Why come this way? Why not take the straighter course south across the River Boundary to Crydee?’

‘Because Martin is not in Crydee, he’s here in Ylith.’

‘They have kept you waiting here?’ She indicated the inn with a quick wave of her hand.

‘They haven’t,’ said Calis. ‘I saw Martin yesterday and paused here on my way north.’

Miranda said, ‘Because you had never spent a night in an overcrowded ale house with too many strangers who haven’t bathed in weeks?’

Calis grinned and Nakor laughed. The Prince of Elvandar said, ‘Whatever you may be now, some things about you are exactly as I remember them.’ He looked across the room to the far corner. Where the bar ended, a small additional room had once been added; there was a step leading down to a pair of tables that had been placed together for a large group. All of the chairs had been moved to allow a band of workers to sit together, save one. A figure wearing a dark cloak sat in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, surveying the room. He was staring directly at Calis.

‘Ah,’ said Miranda taking in the figure’s hair and ears. ‘One of yours?’

‘Hardly,’ said Nakor. ‘So, you were curious about that dark elf and decided to linger?’

Calis nodded. ‘I was curious to see what a moredhel was doing in Ylith.’

‘And no doubt he’s curious to know what a prince of Elvandar is doing in Ylith,’ said Nakor.

Miranda glanced at the figure half-hidden in shadows and said, ‘How did you know he was moredhel?’

‘It’s in our nature to recognize our own kind, and those who are not. He travels as an ocedhel, one of the elves from across the sea, but his disguise is flawed.’

Nakor peered at the figure for a bit and sat back. ‘I can see nothing.’ He squinted, then shook his head. ‘Under the table?’

Calis nodded. ‘The boots.’

Nakor laughed. ‘Trust a moredhel to be unwilling to sacrifice his boots.’ Then the little man’s expression turned serious. ‘Or his sword, I expect. Though I wager you’ll have to kill him to get a good look at it.’

‘How do you know so much of dark elves?’ Miranda asked Nakor.

‘I travel,’ was his answer.

Again Miranda was struck by the absurdity of their two sets of memories. Belog had never travelled further than the distance from the archivists’ quarters to Dahun’s palace and back, until he had left the city and encountered Child. Nakor had travelled to every distant part of Midkemia and worlds beyond.

‘He does look like a traveller from across the sea, like Calis’s wife,’ granted Nakor. Miranda had rescued Ellia and her sons during the war of the Emerald Queen, across the sea in Novindus and had taken them to Elvandar, where they had met Calis.

Calis said, ‘His tunic, trousers, and cloak are simple enough, and he wears no armour, but that’s a bad bow: it’s cracked and has been re-glued and banded with leather, so he’s no archer. And he wears fine boots of a craft common to the Dark Brotherhood.’ He used the human name for the moredhel. ‘Those are unmistakable, and from what I can see, well made. He’s important, perhaps even a clan chieftain.’

‘Well, that does raise the question of what he’s doing here,’ said Miranda.

‘Renegade?’ asked Nakor of Calis.

Calis shrugged. ‘Rare, but not unheard of, although they rarely venture this far south; there are too many places between here and the northland for a moredhel to die alone. The few who are expelled from their clans are usually found in the east, among humans who traffic in weapons, drugs, and slaves.’

‘A spy, then?’ said Miranda, obviously intrigued by the speculation.

‘If he is, he’s a bad one,’ said Nakor, standing up. ‘Well, the best thing to do is ask him.’

Before either Calis or Miranda could utter another word, Nakor had worked his way through the crowd to stand before the dark-haired elf in the corner. With as friendly an expression as the demon-in-human form could manage, he said, ‘Excuse me, but my friends and I were wondering what you are doing here?’

Dark eyes regarded Nakor for a long moment, before the dark elf spoke, not in the King’s tongue but in heavily accented Common Tongue, the trading language of Triagia. ‘Go away, little man.’

Nakor’s grin broadened even more. ‘We could have some fun. I could tell this crowd exactly what you are. Many are from the north and have no love for your people; and then we can see how long you survive. Or, you could simply answer my question.’

Lowering his voice so those at the next table couldn’t overhear, Arkan of the Ardanien said, ‘Or, I could simply ignore you until you go away!’

Nakor kept grinning. ‘I can be very persistent and patient.’

‘And annoying, apparently.’ Arkan stared Nakor in the eyes, then suddenly stood up and pressed past the little man. With no apology, the moredhel chieftain pushed his way through the crowd eliciting complaints and muttered threats.

Reaching Calis and Miranda, he spoke in a language only Miranda and Nakor could understand. It was High Elven, the common ancestor language of all branches of the elves. ‘Had you wished to know my reason for being here, Prince of Elvandar, you could have simply asked, rather than send over that annoying little human.’

Miranda tried not to chuckle.

Calis said, ‘You know me?’

‘By reputation,’ said Arkan. ‘You are eledhel, but you are not. There’s something about you that is … human.’ He said the last as if it was an insult. ‘There is only one being like that: the son of the Queen of Elvandar.’

Calis raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head, as if what he had heard was of little importance. ‘It is true, I was curious.’

‘Which is why you followed me into the inn when you were obviously about to depart this pest hole of a city.’

‘So, are you going to tell us why you’re here or do I send for the city watch and begin some carnage?’ asked Calis.

Arkan studied the Prince of Elvandar. Like others north of the Teeth of the World, he had heard of the bastard son of Aglaranna and that abomination in the garb of the Valheru. Yet Calis wasn’t anything like he had imagined him to be. Save for his ears, which were less pronounced, more human-like, and the faint sense of power that emanated from him, he seemed surprisingly ordinary. His plain garb was that of a hunter or traveller, his bow was superbly made, but otherwise of simple design, and he wore no jewellery or badges, no bracelets or hair ornaments. With his traditional grey armour and black cloak he could have passed for a member of one of the moredhels’ southern bands.

Finally Arkan said, ‘While I would happily kill everyone in this room, given the opportunity,’ he fixed his eyes on Calis, ‘and finish with you, Prince of the Light Elves, I am forbidden from such sport. I am pledged to a quest.’

‘Now, this is getting interesting,’ said Nakor. ‘What sort of quest?’

‘I’m to find a man, a human. That is all I know.’ Arkan briefly told them of his mission and saw that, while the humans were ignorant of Liallan, Calis was not. Finally he said, ‘It is simple. I am to find this human no matter what the cost.’

‘And then what?’ said Miranda having already formed an opinion on who Arkan was seeking. ‘Kill him?’

Arkan smiled and for the first time Miranda, Calis, and Nakor saw a genuine expression of humour in the demeanour of a moredhel. ‘Actually, quite the contrary. I am to protect him with my life if needs be.’

‘Now that was unexpected,’ said Nakor with glee. ‘I do so love surprises!’

‘I think you’d better sit down with us,’ said Miranda. ‘I think we have a great deal to talk about.’

Arkan hesitated, finding the situation as absurd as Nakor, but he nodded once and sat in the empty chair, while the others retook theirs.

Arkan retold his story briefly and when he was finished, he said, ‘And that is why I am here in this pest hole of a city.’

Nakor grinned. ‘If you think this is a pest hole, you should visit Durbin!’

Miranda put her hand on Nakor’s and said, ‘Enough.’

Calis said, ‘You said you are of the Ardanien. You knew Gorath?’

Arkan looked surprised for the first time. ‘He was my father.’

Calis nodded. ‘I see the resemblance. I met him when I was young. You had a remarkable father, Arkan. He was the first moredhel I had ever spoken with and he bore a terrible burden.’

‘He is counted a traitor by most of our people.’ He glanced at the three faces confronting him and felt reluctant to discuss family history, but he was surprised to discover that Calis had met his father. ‘I know there are rumours and some, like Liallan, think him a saviour, but the truth of those days is shrouded by lies and rumour.’

‘Perhaps Pug can shed some light on that time?’ said Calis.

‘Pug?’

Nakor said, ‘The man in black, in your aunt’s vision, is almost certainly Pug or perhaps his son Magnus. Both are given to wearing black, and both are great sorcerers who struggle to protect this world. If the vision of dragon riders is more than mere metaphor, they would be the Valheru’s most powerful opposition.’ He glanced at Miranda.

She looked deeply troubled. ‘We know things,’ she said to Arkan. ‘Some of which are best discussed after we find Pug. We seem fated to travel together. If we can contrive some way to get past this invading army and navy blocking our way!’ She sat back in her chair with an audible sigh and said, ‘If there was some way I could contact Pug, reach out with my mind and tell him …’ Tell him what? she wondered silently. That his dead wife’s memories had been attached to a demon queen, who under any other circumstances would happily rip off his head and devour his brain; but who would now like nothing more than for him to hold her? Tears threatened, and she willed herself away from that emotional trap.

‘Pug,’ she said softly. ‘I wonder what he’s doing this minute?’

• CHAPTER FOUR •

Isle of Snakes

PUG SIGNALLED.

Sandreena and Amirantha moved out from behind the large rock where they had been waiting. She was clad in the traditional armour of her order, the Shield of the Weak, and he had forgone his usual finery to don a more appropriate outfit: heavy woollen trousers, a dark green flannel shirt, and stout black boots. His attire made the staff he carried look almost gaudy. It had been created that way for theatrical effect, to help gull potential victims into his confidence scheme – summoning relatively harmless demons then banishing them for reward – but was a powerful magic artefact in its own right.

They were tired and dirty from their journey down to the region where Jim Dasher had encountered what he thought was a Pantathian Serpent priest, and it had proved far more problematic than anticipated.

Reaching a safe house in the Keshian city of Teléman had been simple enough, since Pug’s orb had taken them there. But that was as far south as the Conclave had established any permanent stations. Like almost everyone monitoring Kesh, the Conclave had considered the nations of the Keshian Confederacy barely worth consideration. They were universally regarded to be nothing more than an annoyance to the Empire on her southern boundary, and not an area noteworthy enough to warrant the Conclave’s continuing surveillance. The Conclave resources had limits, and Kesh was a vast land. Most of their intelligence gathering had been focused on the City of Kesh, heart of the Empire, and key population centres along the borders with the Kingdom, as well as major sea ports. None of Pug’s agents had travelled below the Girdle of Kesh, as the two ranges of mountains that divided the Empire from the Confederacy were called. Which made it the perfect place to organize the major undertaking of subverting the Empire’s rulers and launching a wholesale invasion of the Kingdom.

And it made it impossible to reach by the magical means at Pug’s disposal.

So, more mundane means of transport had been required. Pug had the ability to transport himself magically to any place in his line of sight, and to the places he knew well, but he was limited in how far he could transport himself and two others repeatedly. Still, the occasional sorcerous jaunt was handy for bypassing certain obstacles and to avoid roving bands of raiders, bandits, and what passed for the local militia, but most of their journey had been made by horseback, small boat, and foot.