Into a Dark Realm. Raymond E. Feist
not be here.’
‘How does that sit with the Duke of Salador?’ asked Nakor.
‘He doesn’t know I’m here.’ Erik looked at Nakor. ‘You picked a hell of a time to give me this to worry about, old friend.’
Nakor shrugged. ‘We never get to pick our moments, do we?’
‘There have been times when I think that I might have been better off if Bobby de Longville and Calis had hanged me that cold, bitter morning, so long ago.’ His eyes looked off into the distance, as the sun disappeared behind the rocks there. He turned to Nakor. ‘Then there are times that I don’t. When this is over, I’ll know better what sort of time this is.’ The old man smiled. ‘Let’s go back and wait a while.’
He led Magnus and Nakor down a narrow path between high rockfaces, passing lines of soldiers quietly waiting to assault the keep on the rocks above. At the rear lackeys stood ready with the horses, and behind them waited wagons with supplies. Erik waved to his personal squire, who had stayed behind with the boys in the luggage.
The squire produced a pair of cups and filled them with wine from a skin. Nakor took one, eyebrow raised. ‘Serving wine before a battle?’
‘Why not?’ said the Duke, drinking deeply. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gauntlet. ‘As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, you send me off halfway across the Kingdom to dig out murderers.’
Nakor shrugged. ‘Someone has to do it, Erik.’
The old warrior shook his head. ‘I’ve lived a long life, Nakor, and one more interesting than most. I’d be a liar if I told you I would welcome death, but I would certainly be glad to be free of my burdens.’ He fixed Nakor with a narrow gaze. ‘I thought I was until you appeared that night.’
‘We need you,’ said the Isalani.
‘My King needs me,’ said Erik.
‘The world needs you,’ said Nakor, lowering his voice so that those nearby would not overhear. ‘You are the only man of rank in the Kingdom Pug still trusts.’
Erik nodded. ‘I understand why he chose to separate himself from the Crown.’ He took another drink of wine, and handed the empty cup to his squire. When the lad made to fill it again, Erik waved him away. ‘But did he have to embarrass the royal personage of the Prince of Krondor in doing so? Publicly? In front of the army of Great Kesh?’
‘Old business, Erik.’
‘I wish it were so,’ said Erik. He lowered his voice further. ‘You will know this if you don’t already. Prince Robert has been recalled.’
‘This is bad,’ said Nakor, nodding.
‘We’ve had three princes in Krondor since I gained rank, and I am only Duke because King Ryan took Lord James with him to Rillanon. My temporary position has lasted nine years, and if I live long enough, will probably last another nine.’
‘Why was Robert recalled?’
‘You have a better chance of uncovering the truth than me,’ said Erik. After a long moment of silence during which he watched the evening sky darken, the Duke said, ‘Politics. Robert was never a popular man with the Congress of Lords. Lord James is a western noble, which rankles with many of those who wished to be first among the King’s advisors; James is a shrewd man, almost as shrewd as his grandfather.’ He glanced at Nakor. ‘There was a name to conjure with, Lord James of Krondor.’
Nakor grinned. ‘Jimmy was a handful before he became a duke. I know.’ He glanced up at the soldiers who were now ready, waiting for his signal to begin the climb. ‘Still, we tend to remember the greatness and forget the flaws; and Jimmy made his share of mistakes. If Robert will not serve, then who?’
‘There are other cousins to the King more able …’ He looked at Nakor and his expression was sad. ‘It may come to civil war if the King’s not careful. He’s directly descended from King Borric, but he has no sons of his own, and there are many cousins, most of them with a valid claim to the throne if he does not produce an heir.’
Nakor shrugged. ‘I’ve lived a long time, Erik. I’ve seen kings come and go in different lands. The nation will survive.’
‘But at what price, old friend?’
‘Who is to be the new Prince of Krondor?’
‘That is the question, isn’t it?’ said the Duke, standing up and signalling to his men to make ready. The sky was sufficiently dark: it was time to begin the assault on the keep. ‘Prince Edward is well-liked, intelligent, a good soldier, and someone who could forge consensus in the Congress.’
‘So the King will name someone else,’ said Nakor with a chuckle as Erik started forward along the draw.
Erik said nothing, but gestured once and two men hurried out from behind rocks below the keep, both with loops of cord around their shoulders. They started to climb the rockface, using only their hands and feet.
Nakor watched closely as the two men disappeared into the gloom above. They moved silently like spiders crawling up a wall. Nakor knew how dangerous it was to make that ascent, but he also knew that it was the only way to get a rope down for the soldiers below.
Turning to Nakor, Erik said, ‘I’m thinking Prince Henry will get the nod, for he can be easily enough replaced if Queen Anne bears a boy. If Edward sits in Krondor for any length of time, the King may not be able to replace him with a son in … a … few years …’ His voice trailed off as he watched the men reach the lip of the pool.
Nakor said, ‘Odd place for a bolt-hole, over a hundred feet above ground, isn’t it?’
‘I imagine the Nighthawks did some work around here some years back. My men report tool marks on the rockface. There was probably a path down to the floor of the run that was demolished.’ He sighed. ‘It’s time. Where’s your man?’
Nakor nodded behind them. ‘Sleeping, under the wagon.’
‘Get him, then,’ said Erik von Darkmoor.
Nakor hurried back to the luggage wagon, where the two boys responsible for looking after the stores from the town waited. They spoke in hushed tones, understanding how dangerous this mission was; even so, they were only boys and the waiting was making them restless. Underneath the wagon lay a solitary figure, who roused quickly when Nakor kicked lightly at his boots.
Ralan Bek wiggled out from under the wagon, then unfolded himself to tower over Nakor. The youth was six inches over six feet in height, and he loomed over the diminutive gambler. Nakor knew he was possessed by some aspect of the God of Evil, a tiny ‘sliver’ as Nakor thought of it; an infinitesimal portion of the god himself, and that made Bek extraordinarily dangerous. The only advantage Nakor possessed was years of experience and what he thought of as his ‘tricks’.
‘Time?’
Nakor nodded. ‘They’ll be up there in a moment. You know what to do.’
Bek nodded. He reached down and picked up his hat, a hat he had claimed as a prize from a man he had killed before Nakor’s eyes, and he wore it like a badge of honour. The broad-brimmed black felt hat, with its single long eagle’s feather hanging down from the hatband, gave the youth an almost rakish air, but Nakor knew that beneath the young man’s convivial exterior seethed a potential for harm, as well as preternatural strength and speed.
Bek trotted over to the face of the cliff, and waited. A coil of line was dropped quietly from above, followed a moment later by another. Soldiers quickly tied heavier rope to the lines, and this was pulled up. When the first rope was made secure, Ralan Bek unbuckled his scabbard belt and tied it over one shoulder, so that his sword now rested on his back. With powerful ease he pulled himself up the rope, feet firmly on the rockface, as if he had been climbing this way all his life. Other soldiers followed, but Bek’s speed up the rope was unmatchable.
Erik watched him ascend into the darkness.