Krondor the Betrayal (18 page)

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But the Riverpullers are out of line, and there’s no other way to see it.’’

James put his warrants back in his tunic, and said, ‘‘I expect they’d have something different to say on that matter. But that’s no concern of mine. I need to see the Earl.’’

Waylander was about to say something when a clatter of hooves from behind caused James to look. A company of riders was approaching at a leisurely pace up the road, a banner at the head of their column announcing the presence of the Royal Lancers.

Their leader approached, held up his hand for the halt, and said, ‘‘What’s this then? Clear the way, you men.’’

James nodded, Waylander gave the order, and the men started pulling aside the grain sacks and crates.

James walked to stand before the officer, and after a moment, the officer said, ‘‘What are you looking at, man?’’

James grinned. ‘‘Walter of Gyldenholt? So Baldwin sent you south, finally?’’

The former Captain from the garrison at Highcastle said,

‘‘Do I know you?’’

James laughed. ‘‘We met at Highcastle. I’m James, Squire of the Prince’s Court.’’

‘‘Ah, yes,’’ said the old Captain. ‘‘Now I recall you.’’

James couldn’t help but grin. When he had first met the Captain, he had been one of the victims of Guy du Bas-Tyra’s fall from grace, an officer in service to Guy’s most loyal ally, the result of which had been years of hard service with the Border Barons. Glancing at Walter’s girth, he said, ‘‘Peace-time’s been good, it seems.’’

‘‘What brings you here, Squire?’’ asked the Captain, ignoring the friendly barb.

‘‘The Prince has us running some errands for him. You’re the company Guy sent here to restore order?’’

‘‘We are,’’ said Walter. ‘‘Would have been here a few days ago, but we ran into a spot of trouble to the south. Band of lads in black objected to our coming this way. Caused us a merry chase, but we managed to kill a few before the rest got away.’’

James looked at Owyn and Gorath. ‘‘These are things we had better not speak of in the open, Captain. I have to talk to the Earl. I imagine you do as well.’’

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‘‘Indeed,’’ said the Captain, motioning for his men to move forward through the barricade now open before them. ‘‘Ride in with us, Squire. We’ll keep the ruffians off your back.’’ He smiled at James.

James laughed and mounted his horse, motioning for his companions to join the end of the column. There were fifty lancers in the company, enough to prevent serious trouble and keep both sides of the dispute from doing anything rash, or at least James hoped so.

Waylander said, ‘‘We were only holding this bridge until the lancers arrived, Squire. Tell the Earl my men and I are heading home to Sloop.’’

James acknowledged the man’s request, and they rode across the bridge.

Romney was a major trading center in the East. The city was big enough to be considered huge by western standards, but here in the eastern half of the Kingdom it was a modest-sized place, about half the size of Krondor. With fifty lancers at hand, the Earl could re-form his constables and restore order as long as neither side in the dispute opted for open warfare.

The tension in the city was almost palpable. As the lancers rode in, curious onlookers glanced out of windows or cleared the streets, letting the soldiers pass.

Gorath said, ‘‘There is a lot of fear in the air.’’

‘‘People worry when riots break out,’’ said James. ‘‘Even if you’re not taking sides, the violence can sweep you up and carry you into harm’s way. Many a man has died trying to explain he wasn’t taking sides in a guild riot.’’

They rounded a corner and found themselves entering the city’s square, dominated by a large fountain. James was struck by something odd. ‘‘There aren’t any hawkers or vendors about.’’

Owyn nodded. ‘‘I’ve been here before, on my way up to see my uncle in Cavell Keep, and there are always merchants in the main square.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘Perhaps they were fearful of being swept up in that violence you spoke of.’’

James nodded. A large inn occupied the north side of the square, a black sheep against a green meadow painted on the 122

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sign hanging over the door. ‘‘We’ll headquarter here,’’ announced Walter of Gyldenholt.

The lancers dismounted and whatever James might have thought of the truculent former Captain from Highcastle, his squad was the model of efficiency. The Captain waved over a passerby and said, ‘‘Do you know where the Earl of Romney is?’’

The man said, ‘‘He’s taken up residence in that house there, sir.’’ He pointed across the square.

Handing the reins of his horse to an orderly, Walter dismounted, and said, ‘‘Squire James, let’s go call upon His Lordship.’’

James dismounted, and said to Owyn, ‘‘Find us a room, but in a different inn. We’ll be able to snoop about a bit easier if we’re not keeping company with fifty Royal Lancers.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘I know just the place. I stayed here with my father once.’’ He pointed. ‘‘Down that street is another bridge, crossing the River Cheam, and just on the other side is an inn marked by a green-cat sign. We’ll wait for you there.’’

James turned and followed Walter, who marched purpose-fully to the door of the house. He had barely knocked when the door opened, and a servant said, ‘‘Enter, sirs.’’

The man wore a castle tabard, with the Earl’s coat of arms on it, a stylized river with a fish jumping from it and over a star. The servant led them to a small parlor at the rear of the house.

Earl Richard was a youthful man, but one who looked more the part of a merchant or tradesman than a noble, despite wearing armor and a sword. James had grown up amidst nobles who were fighting men as well as rulers, and these eastern nobles who wore swords for decoration took some getting used to. The Earl’s voice was surprisingly deep and forceful.

‘‘Welcome, gentlemen. My Lord Bas-Tyra answered my request.’’

James let Walter speak first. ‘‘We came straightaway, sir.’’

‘‘How many men did you bring?’’

‘‘A full company of fifty Royal Lancers.’’

The Earl appeared worried. ‘‘I hope that’s enough. I would really prefer to settle this dispute without resorting to force.’’

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Walter glanced at James and shrugged. The Earl noticed the exchange, and said, ‘‘And you are?’’

‘‘James, Squire to Prince Arutha,’’ he said, producing his travel warrants and demands for assistance. The second document seemed to produce increased distress in the Earl. ‘‘What sort of assistance?’’

‘‘At this point, information, m’lord. We have heard rumors of increased activity in the area by the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, as well as the possibility of a return by the Nighthawks.’’

‘‘Possibility?’’ asked the Earl, his color rising. ‘‘Doesn’t anyone read the reports I forward to the Crown? Of course there’s a
possibility
! They’ve killed two members of the Ironmongers’

Guild for the Riverpullers, and killed two members of the Riverpullers, as well; they’ll kill for whoever pays them. I hear Baron Cavell is hiding out in Cavell Village because they’re stalking him! He lives in a small residence with his household guards in every room.’’

Something about Cavell rang familiar in James’s memory, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

James said, ‘‘Well, then, m’lord, my companions and I will be around for a few days, asking questions. We’d prefer it if no one else knew our visit was official. If anyone asks, we are here to convey the Prince’s greetings while en route to somewhere else.’’ He glanced at Walter. ‘‘I’ll be staying over at the Green Cat Inn, to lend credence to that, Captain.’’

Walter of Gyldenholt shrugged as if it were of no importance to him. He said, ‘‘My lord, we’ll be at your disposal. I’ll need to speak with your chief constable in the morning and establish a patrol. As soon as the folks around here see a few of my lads riding around, things will calm down.’’

James and the Captain excused themselves from the Earl’s presence. Outside the door, Walter said, ‘‘Well, Squire, we’ll have things in hand around here soon enough.’’

Again feeling the tension in the air, James said, ‘‘I hope you do, Captain. I most sincerely hope you do.’’

They parted company, and James found his horse, mounted, and rode across the city in the direction Owyn had indicated.

As he rode, he studied the city.

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of three rivers. The River Rom coursed down from the Teeth of the World, near Northwarden, the oldest of the Border Baronies. At Romney the River Cheam branched off to the southeast, while the Rom continued to run southwesterly, turning southeast again as it neared the coast. James paused at the bridge he faced, which arched over the River Cheam. Something was eating at him, a memory he couldn’t quite place, and he knew that it was somehow important. He waited to see if anything bubbled to the surface of his mind, then decided it would come in its own good time.

James moved across the bridge and found this side of the city even more tense than the other. Citizens moved quickly, eyes darting around as if expecting attack from any quarter, and nowhere could any of the usual street hawkers be seen.

He reached the Green Cat Inn and rode around to the back of the stabling yard, where he found Gorath and Owyn waiting for him. ‘‘Why aren’t you inside, eating?’’ asked James as he dismounted.

A terrified-looking stableboy said, ‘‘Sir, my master is unwilling to serve your . . . friend.’’ He indicated Gorath.

Muttering, ‘‘I wouldn’t quite call him a friend,’’ James tossed his reins to the boy and marched in the rear door of the inn.

Owyn and Gorath hesitated a moment, then followed.

Inside, James saw a large man, advancing in years, but still broad of shoulders with imposing muscle under a broad girth, turn to see who entered from the stable yard. He pointed a beefy finger at Gorath, and said, ‘‘You! I told you I’ll have none of your kind in my inn!’’

James hurried to put himself between the innkeeper and Gorath. ‘‘And just what kind would that be?’’ he asked.

The man looked down at James, appraising him and coming to a halt. The young man was quite a bit smaller, but something in his manner made the barman stop. ‘‘Dark elves! Fifteen years I served on the border, and I’ve killed enough of his kind to know them. They killed enough of my comrades, as well. And who the hell are you to ask?’’

James said, ‘‘I’m Seigneur James, Squire to Prince Arutha of Krondor. He’s my companion, and we’re on a mission for the Crown.’’

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‘‘And I’m the Queen of Banapis,’’ said the innkeeper in return.

James grinned as he reached into his tunic and produced his warrants. ‘‘Well, Majesty of Love and Beauty, read these, or else I’ll have to go fetch Earl Richard to vouch for me, and let’s see how much he likes being dragged over here given the temper of the city right now.’’

The old man could read, but slowly, with his lips moving.

James didn’t offer to help him out. After a moment, he handed back the documents. ‘‘Damn, you are some sort of Prince’s officer, aren’t you?’’

James shrugged. ‘‘If I were in the army, I’d be a Knight-Lieutenant, if that makes it easier for an old soldier like you to grasp. Now, I want a room big enough for the three of us, ale, and food.’’

The man threw a black look at Gorath and turned his back on James. ‘‘Come this way . . . sir.’’ He led them to the bar and went behind it. He produced a large iron key, and said,

‘‘Top of the stairs, all the way back on the right.’’ James took the key, when a light entered the man’s eyes. ‘‘Six golden sovereigns a night.’’

‘‘Six!’’ said James. ‘‘You thief!’’

‘‘It’s two per person. Take it or leave it.’’

Knowing full well that the fifty lancers would eat up a lot of rooms at local inns, James said, ‘‘We’ll take it.’’

‘‘In advance.’’

James counted out twelve coins, and said, ‘‘Two nights. If we stay longer, we’ll pay the day after tomorrow.’’

The man swept up the coins. ‘‘And that doesn’t include the cost of food or ale,’’ he said.

‘‘I was sure of that,’’ said James. To Owyn and Gorath he said, ‘‘Let’s fetch our kits, then we’ll eat.’’

They got their travel bags off their horses, ensured the stableboy knew what he was doing, and went upstairs. As James had expected, it was the least desirable room in the inn, being at the back over the stable. He decided not to make an issue of it.

Downstairs they endured slow service, even though there wasn’t much of a crowd. James was deciding at what point he 126

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would have to take the old soldier who ran the place down a peg when the food finally arrived. To James’s delight, it was well prepared and of good quality.

As they ate, they discussed the situation. James shared the little information he had with them, and Owyn said, ‘‘So the Nighthawks are working for the Riverpullers or the Ironmongers?’’

‘‘Neither,’’ suggested Gorath. ‘‘Confusion and discord are Delekhan’s allies here in the Kingdom.’’

‘‘I believe Gorath is correct. I don’t know if the Nighthawks are in league with this Crawler, Delekhan, or both, or if we’ve just wandered into a conflict that has nothing to do with our mission, but either way it’s to Delekhan’s benefit. Which means we must help to end it.’’

‘‘How?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘Find out how this thing started and see if we can figure out a way to get the two sides talking to one another. If the Earl can mediate the conflict, perhaps we can return this city to something close to order. Those lancers can only hold down the lid on this simmering pot so long; sooner or later someone’s going to pull a sword or break a head, and a full-scale city riot will be under way.’’ He lowered his voice even more.

‘‘And if most of the city’s constabulary is on one side or the other, even those fifty lancers won’t be able to stop it.’’

Owyn nodded. ‘‘What do you want us to do?’’

Pointing to Gorath, he said, ‘‘First light tomorrow, I’d like you up snooping outside the city. You know what to look for.’’