Rise of a Merchant Prince (3 page)

“I am not going to have you trailing around behind me, boy!” insisted the bandy-legged Nakor, yelling over his shoulder. “I haven't been to a city in nearly twenty years that wasn't being burned to the ground or overrun by soldiers or otherwise unpleasant in some fashion, and I intend to enjoy myself awhile. Then I'm going back to Sorcerer's Isle.”

Sho Pi, a head taller than Nakor, and in possession of a full head of dark hair, otherwise looked like a much younger version of the wiry little man. He said, “Whatever you say, Master.”

“Don't call me master,” insisted Nakor, putting
his own travel bag over his shoulder. Moving to the rail, he said, “Erik, Roo! Where are you going?”

“To get a drink, a whore, and new clothing, in that order,” said Roo.

“Then I'm going home to see my mother and friends,” said Erik.

“What about you?” asked Roo.

“I'm going with you,” Nakor said, hoisting his bag, “until the ‘going home' part. Then I shall hire a boat to take me to Sorcerer's Isle.” He looked straight down the gangway, ignoring the younger countryman, a step behind.

Erik glanced at Sho Pi and said, “We've got to go below and get our kits. Then we'll join you on the dock.”

Roo was a step ahead of his friend as they hurried below, bade farewell to the sailors who had become friends, and found Jadow Shati, another of their company of “desperate men,” just finishing gathering up his few possessions.

“What are you going to do?” asked Roo as he quickly grabbed his small kit.

“A drink, I'm thinking.”

“Join us,” said Erik.

“I think I will, as soon as I tell Mr. Robert de Loungville, the little swine, that I'm taking up his offer of becoming his corporal.”

Erik blinked. “Corporal? He offered me the position.”

Before the two men could begin arguing, Roo said, “From what he said, he's going to need more than one.”

The two large men exchanged glances, then both laughed. Jadow's face settled into a grin, teeth dramatically
white against his ebony skin, an expression so happy that it always made Roo smile in response. Like the other desperate men, Jadow had been a killer and lifelong criminal, but in the brotherhood of Calis's company he had found men for whom he was willing to die and who would die for him.

Roo hated to admit it, as one who flattered himself for being completely selfish, but he loved the survivors of that company almost as much as he loved Erik. Rough men all, dangerous by any standards, they had passed through a bloody trial together, and each knew he could depend on the others.

Roo thought about those lost on the journey: Biggo, the large, laughing thug with a strange streak of piety running through him: Jerome Handy, a giant of a man with a violent temper who could tell a tale like an actor and make shadow play on the wall that came alive; Billy Goodwin, an otherwise gentle youth with a violent temper, who had been cut down in a pointless accident before ever understanding anything of life; and Luis de Savona, the Rodezian cutthroat whose wit was as sharp as his dagger, who knew both court intrigue and dark-alley brawls; a man of temper and strange loyalties. Roo tied his bundle and turned to see both Erik and Jadow watching him.

“What is it?”

“You were lost there a moment,” said Erik.

“I was thinking about Biggo and the others. . .”

Erik nodded. “I understand.”

“Maybe some of them will show up when
Trenchard's Revenge
gets here,” ventured Jadow.

Roo said, “That would be fine.” Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he added, “But Billy and Biggo
won't.”

Erik nodded. He and Roo had watched Biggo die in Maharta, and Erik had seen Billy fall from his horse, cracking his head on a rock.

The three men were silent as they climbed back on deck and hurried down the gangway to find Robert de Loungville chatting with Nakor and Sho Pi.

“Hey now, you vile runt of a man!” said Jadow without ceremony to the man who for nearly three years had controlled his life.

De Loungville turned. “Who are you talking to like that, you Valeman scum!”

“You, Bobby de Loungville, Sergeant
sir
!” snapped back Jadow, but Erik could easily see the mocking humor in both men's expressions. Battle had made him very aware of his companions' every mood, and he knew they were having fun with each other. “And who are you calling ‘scum'? We men of the Vale are the best fighting men in the world, don't you know, and we are usually wiping our boots to clean them of something that resembles you.” He sniffed loudly, bending forward as if to make sure de Loungville was the source of the offending odor. “Yes, very much like you.”

De Loungville grabbed one of Jadow's cheeks and pinched it as a mother does a child's, saying, “You're so lovely I should kiss you.” Playfully slapping him on the face, he said, “But not today.”

To the group, de Loungville said, “Where are you off to?”

“Drinks!” said Nakor with a grin.

De Loungville rolled his eyes heavenward. “Well, don't kill anyone.” He asked Jadow, “You coming
back?”

Jadow grinned. “I don't know why, but yes.”

His own smile vanishing, de Loungville said, “You know exactly why.”

Instantly all humor fled. Each man had seen exactly what the others had, and all knew that a terrible enemy gathered across the sea, and that no matter how much had been accomplished in recent months, the struggle had only just started. A decade or more might pass before the final confrontation with the armies gathered under the banner of the Emerald Queen, but eventually every man living in the Kingdom would either stand and fight or die.

After a moment's silence, de Loungville waved them down the street. “Get away with you. Don't have too much fun.” As the men walked off, he called after, “Erik, you and Jadow be back here tomorrow to get your papers. On the day after, you're deserters! And you know we hang deserters!”

“That man,” said Jadow as they moved down the street in search of an inn. “Always with them threats. He has an unnatural love of hanging, don't you know?”

Roo laughed and the rest joined in, and the mood lightened as an inn seemed to appear by magic on the corner before them.

Roo awoke, his head pounding and his mouth dry. The inside of his eyes felt as if someone had put sand behind the lids, and his breath smelled as if something had crawled into his mouth and died. He moved and Erik let out a groan, so he moved the other way, only to find Jadow groaning and pushing him away.

With no other choice, he sat up and instantly wished he had remained asleep. He forced himself to keep whatever was in his stomach from coming up and at last managed to focus his eyes.

“Oh, wonderful,” he said, and instantly regretted talking. His own voice made his head hurt.

They were in a cell. And unless Roo was mistaken, he knew exactly what cell. It was a long cell, open along one side to a hall, with floor-to-ceiling bars and a door with a heavy iron lock plate. Slightly above head height opposite the bars, a long window, less than two feet in height, ran the length of the cell. He knew the cell was below ground level, as the window was only a foot or so above ground, giving a peculiar angle so those inside the cell could see the scaffold dominating the courtyard beyond. He was now in the death cell beneath the Prince of Krondor's palace.

He pushed Erik and his friend groaned as if tortured. Roo shook him insistently and at last Erik came awake. “What?” he said as he tried to focus his attention on his friend's face. “Where are we?”

“Back in the death cell.”

Erik looked instantly sober. He glanced around and saw Nakor curled up in the corner, snoring, while Sho Pi lay a short distance away.

They shook the others awake and took stock. Several of them were splattered with dried blood, and they all nursed an assortment of bruises, scrapes, and cuts. “What happened?” croaked Roo, his voice sounding as if he'd eaten sand.

Jadow said, “Those Quegan sailors, remember?”

Sho Pi and Nakor, who seemed, of the company, the least worse for wear, exchanged glances, and
Nakor said, “One of them tried to remove a young woman from your lap, Roo.”

Roo nodded, then wished he hadn't. “I remember now.”

Jadow said, “I hit someone with a chair. . . .”

Nakor said, “Maybe we killed those Quegans.”

Erik tried to stay on his feet by leaning against the wall, his knees shaking from his hangover, and said, “It would be just the sort of black joke the gods make that after all we have been through, we end up back here waiting for the gallows again.”

Roo felt vaguely guilty, as he always did when he had drunk too much the night before. He was a slight man, so trying to keep up drink for drink with men the size of Jadow and Erik was foolish, even though Erik didn't have much of a head for drink. “If I killed someone, you'd think I'd remember,” Roo observed.

“Well, what are we doing back here in the death cell, man?” asked Jadow from where he sat in the corner, obviously disturbed at their circumstances. “I didn't sail around the world and back again so Bobby de Loungville could finally hang me.”

As they were attempting to gather their wits, the door to the hall was yanked open, clanging into the wall hard enough to make every man visibly wince. De Loungville walked into view and shouted, “On your feet, you swine!”

Without thought, everyone except Nakor leaped to his feet, and each man groaned an instant later. Jadow Shati turned his head and vomited into the chamber pot, then spat. The others stood on unsteady feet, Erik having to grip the bars of the cell to keep himself upright.

With a grin, de Loungville said, “What a lovely
bunch you are.”

Nakor asked, “What are we doing back here, Sergeant?”

De Loungville moved to the cell door and pulled it open, showing it hadn't been locked, and said, “We couldn't think of anywhere else to put you conveniently. Did you know it took the better part of a full watch of the city guard
and
a squad of the palace guards to arrest you?” He beamed like a proud father. “Quite a brawl. And you had the good sense not to kill anyone, though you did damage quite a few.”

With a wave, de Loungville indicated they should follow him. “Prince Patrick and his uncles felt it was better to keep you lot close by for the rest of the night,” he said as he led them from the cell.

Roo glanced around and remembered the last time he had seen these passages, as he was being led to the mock hanging that had set his feet upon a path he never could have imagined before leaving his birthplace. The first journey he had made along here was almost lost on him, so far had his mind retreated into terror then. Now he could barely focus because of the abuses of the night before.

He and Erik had fled their lifelong home in Ravensburg after killing Erik's half brother Stefan, then Baron of Darkmoor. Had they stayed and faced trial, they might have convinced a judge it was self-defense, but their flight counted heavily against them and they had been sentenced to die.

They reached the steps that led up toward the yard where the gallows stood, but this rime they passed them by. De Loungville, the man who had held their lives in his hand from the moment they had fallen to
the hard wooden floor of the gallows until they had departed ship the day before, said, “You're a scruffy bunch, so I think we should clean you up a bit before your audience.”

“Audience?” asked Erik, still showing signs of damage from the night before. One of the strongest men Roo had ever known—uncontestedly the strongest boy in Ravensburg—Erik had pitched a guardsman through a window just before another broke a wine jar over his head. Roo couldn't tell if he had taken more damage from the blow or from the large amounts of wine he had been drinking before the fight started; Erik had never been much of a drinker.

“Some important men would like a word with you. It wouldn't do to have you in court looking as you do. Now,” he said, pushing open a door, “strip off!”

Hot tubs of soapy water waited and the men did as they were bidden. Two years of following de Loungville's orders without question had formed a habit too hard to break, and soon the five men were sitting in tubs, letting palace pages sponge them down.

Pitchers of cold water were provided and the men all drank their fill. Between the very hot bath and the large amounts of cold water he drank, Roo began to feel again that life might be worth living.

When clean, they discovered their clothing had been removed. De Loungville pointed to two black tunics with a familiar mark upon the breast. Erik picked one up and said, “The Crimson Eagle.”

De Loungville said, “Nicholas thought it fitting and Calis didn't object. It's the banner of our new
army, Erik. You and Jadow are my first two corporals, so put those on.” To the others he said, “There's some clean clothing over there.”

Nakor and Sho Pi both looked odd in the clean tunic and trousers instead of the usual robes they affected, but Roo found his own appearance improved dramatically. The tunic might be a little large for his diminutive frame, but it was certainly the finest weave he had ever worn, and the trousers fit perfectly. He was still barefoot, but months at sea had toughened his feet to the point he didn't think twice about it.

Erik retained his worn boots, but Jadow, like the others, went barefoot.

After they dressed, the men followed de Loungville into a familiar hall; here the men of Calis's desperate company had stood trial before the Prince of Krondor—at the time, Nicholas. The hall hadn't changed much, Roo thought, but he realized that his mind had been so numb from terror the last time he had been there he had barely noticed his surroundings.

Ancient banners hung from every ceiling beam, casting the hall into shadow as they cut the light from windows high in the vaulted ceiling. Torches burned in sconces along the wall to provide illumination, for despite the large windows in the far wall, the hall was immense enough the light did not reach far enough. Roo considered he would have the banners removed, were he the Prince.