Magician (37 page)

The prospect of this tiny child’s
being married to the Duke’s younger son confounded Pug for a
moment. It was not an uncommon practice for nobles to pledge their
children in marriage years before their coming of age. In ten years
she would be a woman, and the Prince would still be a young man, the
Earl of some minor keep in the Kingdom. Still, Pug found the prospect
fascinating.

“Do you think you would like
living with an earl?” Pug asked, realizing at once it was a
stupid question. The Princess confirmed the opinion with a glance
that would have done Father Tully credit.

She said, “Silly! How could I
possibly know that when I don’t even know who Mummy and Father
will have me marry?”

The child jumped up. “Well, I
must go back I’m not supposed to be here. If they find me out
of my rooms, I’ll be punished. I hope you have a nice journey
to Salador and Rillanon.”

“Thank you.”

With a sudden expression of worry, she
said, “You won’t tell anyone that I was here, will you?”

Pug gave her a conspiratorial smile
“No. Your secret’s safe.” With a look of relief,
she smiled and peeked both ways down the hallway. As she started to
leave, Pug said, “He’s a nice man.”

The Princess stopped. “Who?”

“The Prince He’s a nice
man. Given to brooding and moods, but on the whole a nice person.”

The Princess frowned for a moment as
she digested the information. Then, with a bright smile, she said,
“That’s good. I’d not want to marry a man who’s
not nice.” With a giggle she turned the corner and was gone.

Pug sat awhile longer, watching the
snow fall, musing over the fact of children being concerned about
matters of state, and over a child with big, serious green eyes.

That night the entire party was feted
by the Prince. The whole population of nobles at court and most of
the rich commoners of Krondor were attending the gala. Over four
hundred people sat to dine, and Pug found himself at a table with
strangers who, out of respect for the quality of his clothing and the
simple fact of his being there in the first place, politely ignored
him. The Duke and Prince Arutha were seated at the head table with
Prince Erland and his wife, Princess Alicia, along with Duke Dulanic,
Chancellor of the Principality and Knight-Marshal of Krondor. Owing
to Erland’s ill health, the business of running Krondor’s
military fell to Dulanic and the man he was deep in conversation
with, Lord Barry, Erland’s Lord-Admiral of the Krondonan fleet.
Other royal ministers were seated nearby, while the rest of the
guests were at smaller tables. Pug was seated at the one farthest
removed from the royal table.

Servants were bustling in and out of
the hall, carrying large platters of food and decanters of wine.
Jongleurs strolled the hall, singing the newest ballads and ditties.
Jugglers and acrobats performed between the tables, mostly ignored by
the dinner guests, but giving their best, for the Master of Ceremony
would not call them back again should he judge their efforts lacking.

The walls were covered with giant
banners and rich tapestries. The banners were of every major
household in the Kingdom, from the gold and brown of Crydee in the
far west, to the white and green of far Ran, in the east. Behind the
royal table hung the banner of the Kingdom, a golden lion rampant
holding a sword, with a crown above his head, upon a field of purple,
the ancient crest of the conDoin kings. Next to it hung Krondor’s
banner, an eagle flying above a mountain peak, silver upon the royal
purple. Only the Prince, and the King in Rillanon, could wear the
royal color. Borric and Arutha wore red mantles over their tunics,
signifying they were princes of the realm, related to the royal
family. It was the first time Pug had ever seen the two wearing the
formal marks of their station.

Everywhere were sights and sounds of
gaiety, but even from across the room Pug could tell that the talk at
the Prince’s table was subdued. Borric and Erland spent most of
the dinner with their heads close together, speaking privately.

Pug was startled by a touch on his
shoulder and turned to see a doll-like face peering through the large
curtains not two feet behind him. Princess Anita put her finger to
her lips and beckoned for him to step through. Pug saw the others at
the table were looking at the great and near-great in the room and
would scarcely notice the departure of a nameless boy. He rose and
moved through the curtain, finding himself in a small servants’
alcove. Before him was another curtain, leading to the kitchen, Pug
supposed, through which peeked the tiny fugitive from bed Pug moved
to where Anita waited, discovering it was, indeed, a long connecting
corridor between the kitchen and the great hall. A lengthy table
covered with dishware and goblets ran along the wall.

Pug said, “What are you doing
here?”

“Shush!” she said in a loud
whisper. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

Pug smiled at the child. “I don’t
think you have to worry about being heard, there’s too much
noise for that.”

“I came to see the Prince. Which
one is he?”

Pug motioned for her to step into the
small alcove, then drew aside the curtain a little. Pointing at the
head table, he said, “He’s two removed from your father,
in the black-and-silver tunic and red mantle.”

The child stretched up on tiptoe and
said, “I can’t see.”

Pug held the girl up for a moment. She
smiled at him. “I am in your debt.”

“Not at all,” Pug intoned
with mock gravity. They both giggled.

The Princess started as a voice spoke
close to the curtain. “I must fly!” She darted through
the alcove, passed through the second curtain, and disappeared from
sight heading toward the kitchen and her getaway.

The curtain into the banquet hall
parted, and a startled servant stared at Pug. Uncertain what to say,
the servingman nodded. The boy by rights shouldn’t be there,
but by his dress he was certainly someone.

Pug looked about and, without much
conviction, finally said, “I was looking for the way to my
room. I must be going the wrong way.”

“The guest wing is through the
first door on the left in the dining hall, young sir. Ah . . . this
way lies the kitchen. Would you care to have me show you the way?”
The servant obviously didn’t care to do so, and Pug was equally
lacking any desire for a guide. “No, thank you, I can find it,”
he said.

Pug rejoined his table, unnoticed by
the other guests. The balance of the meal passed without incident,
except for an occasional strange glance by a servingman.

Pug passed the time after dinner
talking with the son of a merchant. The two young men found each
other in the crowded room where the Prince’s after-dinner
reception was being held. They spent a fitful hour being polite to
one another, before the boy’s father came and took him in tow.
Pug stood around being ignored by the Prince’s other dinner
guests for a while, then decided he could slip back to his own
quarters without affronting anyone—he wouldn’t be missed.
Besides he hadn’t seen the Prince, Lord Borric, or Kulgan since
they left the dinner table. Most of the reception seemed under the
supervision of a score of household officials and Princess Alicia, a
charming woman who had spoken politely with Pug for a moment as he
passed through the reception line. Pug found Kulgan waiting for him
in his room when he returned.

Kulgan said, without preamble, “We
leave at first light, Pug. Prince Erland is sending us on to Rillanon
to see the King.”

Pug said, “Why is the Prince
sending us?” His tone was cross, for he was deeply homesick.

Before Kulgan could answer, the door
flew open and Prince Arutha came storming in Pug was surprised by
Arutha’s expression of unconfined anger.

“Kulgan! There you are,”
Arutha said, slamming the door. “Do you know what our royal
cousin is doing about the Tsurani invasion?”

Before Kulgan could speak, the Prince
supplied the answer. “Nothing! He won’t lift a finger to
send aid to Crydee until Father has seen the King. That will take
another two months at least.”

Kulgan raised his hand. Instead of an
adviser to the Duke, Arutha saw one of his boyhood instructors.
Kulgan, like Tully, could still command both sons of the Duke when
the need arose. “Quietly, Arutha.”

Arutha shook his head as he pulled over
a chair. “I am sorry, Kulgan I should have mastered my temper.”
He noticed Pug’s confusion. “I apologize to you also,
Pug. There is much involved here that you don’t know of Perhaps
. . .” He looked questioningly at Kulgan.

Kulgan took out his pipe. “You
might as well tell him, he’s going along for the journey. He’ll
find out soon enough.”

Arutha drummed his fingers on the arm
of the chair for a moment, then sitting forward, said, “My
father and Erland have been conferring for days on the best way to
meet these outworlders should they come. The Prince even agrees it is
likely they will come.” He paused. “But he will do
nothing to call the Armies of the West together until he has been
given permission by the King.”

“I don’t understand,”
said Pug. “Aren’t the Armies of the West the Prince’s
to command as he sees fit?”

“No longer,” said Arutha
with a near-grimace. “The King sent word, less than a year ago,
that the armies may not be mustered without his permission.”
Arutha sat back in his chair as Kulgan blew a cloud of smoke. “It
is in violation of tradition. Never have the Armies of the West had
another commander than the Prince of Krondor, as the Armies of the
East are the King’s.”

Pug was still unclear about the
significance of all this. Kulgan said, “The Prince is the
King’s Lord-Marshal in the West, the only man besides the King
who may command Duke Borric and the other Knight-Generals. Should he
call, every Duke from Malac’s Cross to Crydee would respond,
with their garrisons and levies. King Rodric, for his own reasons,
has decided that none may gather the armies without his authority.”

Arutha said, “Father would come
to the Prince’s call, regardless, as would the other Dukes.”

Kulgan nodded. “That may be what
the King fears, for the Armies of the West have long been more the
Prince’s armies than the King’s. If your father called,
most would gather, for they revere him nearly as much as they revere
Erland. And if the King should say not . . .” He let the
sentence slip away.

Arutha nodded. “Strife within the
Kingdom.”

Kulgan looked at his pipe. “Even
to civil war, perhaps.”

Pug was troubled by the discussion. He
was a keep boy, in spite of his newly acquired title. “Even if
it is in defense of the Kingdom?”

Kulgan shook his head slowly. “Even
then. For some men, kings also, there is as much importance in the
manner in which things are done as the doing.” Kulgan paused.
“Duke Borric will not speak of it, but there has long been
trouble between himself and certain eastern dukes, especially his
cousin, Guy du Bas-Tyra. This trouble between the Prince and the King
will only add to the strain between West and East.”

Pug sat back. He knew that this was
somehow more important than what he was understanding, but there were
blank places in his picturings of the way things were. How could the
King resent the Prince’s summoning the armies in defense of the
Kingdom? It didn’t make sense to him, in spite of Kulgan’s
explanation. And what sort of trouble in the East was Duke Borric
unwilling to speak of?

The magician stood. “We have an
early day tomorrow, so we had best get some sleep. It will be a long
ride to Salador, then another long passage by ship to Rillanon. By
the time we reach the King, the first thaw will have come to Crydee.”

Prince Erland bade the party a good
journey as they sat upon their horses in the courtyard of the palace.
He looked pale and deeply troubled as he wished them well.

The little Princess stood at an
upstairs window and waved at Pug with a tiny handkerchief. Pug was
reminded of another Princess and wondered if Anita would grow to be
like Carline or be more even-tempered.

They rode out of the courtyard, where
an escort of Royal Krondonan Lancers stood ready to accompany them to
Salador. It would be a three weeks’ ride over the mountains and
past the marshes of Darkmoor, past Malac’s Cross—the
dividing point between the western and eastern realms—and on to
Salador. There they would take ship, and after another two weeks they
would reach Rillanon.

The lancers were shrouded in heavy
cloaks of grey, but the purple-and-silver tabards of Krondor’s
Prince could be seen underneath, and their shields bore the device of
the royal Krondorian household. The Duke was being honored by an
escort of the Prince’s own household guard, rather than a
detachment from the city garrison.

As they left the city, the snow began
to fall once more, and Pug wondered if he would ever see spring in
Crydee again. He sat quietly on his horse as it plodded along the
road east, trying to sort out the impressions of the last few weeks,
then gave up, resigning himself to whatever was to happen.

The ride to Salador took four weeks
instead of three, for there had been a storm of unusual intensity in
the mountains west of Darkmoor. They had been forced to take lodging
at an inn outside the village that took its name from the marshes. It
had been a small inn, and they had all been forced to crowd together
regardless of rank for several days. The food had been simple and the
ale indifferent, and by the time the storm passed, they were all glad
to leave Darkmoor behind.

Another day had been lost when they
chanced upon a village being troubled by bandits. The sight of
approaching cavalry had driven the brigands away, but the Duke had
ordered a sweep of the area to insure that they didn’t return
as soon as the soldiers rode off. The villagers had opened their
doors to the Duke’s party, welcoming them and offering their
best food and warmest beds. Poor offerings by the Duke’s
standards, yet he received their hospitality with graciousness, for
he knew it was all they had. Pug enjoyed the simple food and company,
the closest yet to home since he had left Crydee.