to Krondor, but instead said, ‘all the fuss.’
Roo said, ‘So those soldiers are heading south to support the garrisons along the Keshian border, in case the Emperor gets ambitious now that Arutha’s dead.’ Now suddenly an expert in military matters, Roo was left standing by Erik, who had resumed his hurried march.
Seeing he was suddenly alone, Roo yelled, ‘Hey!’ and chased after his friend, catching up with him as Erik left the street of the Pintail and entered the main square of the town.
‘Where are you going?’
Erik stopped. ‘I have to meet someone.’
‘Who?’
‘It’s personal.’
‘It’s not a girl, or you’d be heading north to the fountain, not east toward the baronial road.’ Roo’s eyes widened. ‘You are meeting your father! I was just joking before.’
Erik said, ‘I don’t want anyone to say anything, especially not to my mother.’
‘I’ll keep this to myself.’
‘Good,’ said Erik, turning Roo around with two large and powerful hands on narrow shoulders. ‘Go find something amusing to do, and not too illegal, and I’ll talk to you later tonight. Meet me at the inn.’
Roo frowned, but sauntered off as if he had intended to leave Erik alone anyway. Erik resumed his journey.
He hurried through the businesses clustered around the town square, two- and three-story edifices overhanging the narrow streets, then moved between the modest homes owned by the higher-ranking members of the various crafts and guilds, then the ramshackle houses used by workers, married apprentices, and traders without storefronts.
Leaving the town proper, he hurried along the east road, past small vegetable gardens where pushcart traders grew their wares to sell in the town market, and the large eastern vineyards. Reaching the point where the baronial road leading to Darkmoor intercepted the main east – west road through Ravensburg, he waited.
He mulled over what possible reason he could have been asked to meet his father at this relatively remote location, dismissing the most fanciful of all, that his mother’s dream would somehow be realized and his father would acknowledge him.
His musing was interrupted by the sound of an approaching company of horsemen. Soon he could see them crest a distant hill, a company of riders appearing out of the evening’s gloom to the northeast. As they neared, he could see they were the Baron’s own, leading the same carriage Erik had seen the last time the Baron had paid the town a visit. He felt a tightening in his chest as they neared, and no small apprehension, for his two half brothers could be seen riding beside the carriage. The first riders hurried past, but Stefan and Manfred reined in.
Stefan shouted, ‘What! You again?’
He made a threatening gesture as if to draw his sword, but his younger brother shouted, ‘Stefan! Keep up! Leave him alone!’
The younger brother set heels to his mount and moved to keep up with the vanguard, but his older brother hesitated.
As more soldiers rode past, Stefan shouted, ‘I warn you now, brother: when I ascend to the Baron’s office, I’ll be nowhere near as tolerant as our father. If I catch a glimpse of you or your mother at any public function, I’ll have you arrested so quickly your shadow will have to search to find you.’ Without waiting for a reply, he viciously dug his spurs into his horse’s flank, causing the high-spirited gelding to leap forward into a fast canter, then a gallop, so he could overtake his younger brother.
Then the main detachment of soldiers approached, followed by the Baron’s carriage. As they passed, the riders moved at a steady canter, but the carriage slowed. When it was almost upon Erik, the curtain of the carriage closest to him was pulled back, and he could glimpse a white face peering through the gloom at him. For a moment, father and son locked gazes, and Erik felt a sudden rush of confused feelings. Then all too suddenly the instant passed, and the carriage rolled away, the driver using the reins to urge his team of four ahead, to overtake the escort.
Erik stood puzzled and angered as the following troop of soldiers approached. He had expected to speak at last to his father, not merely share a momentary glimpse.
As he turned to leave, the last rider reined in and said, ‘Erik!’
He turned to see Owen Greylock dismounting. Forgetting courtesy, Erik vented his anger. ‘I thought we were friends, Master Greylock, at least as much as rank permitted. But you had me traipse through the town to this place so that Stefan could insult and threaten me, and my father peek out from his warm carriage at me!’
Greylock said, ‘Erik, it was your father’s request.’
Erik put hands on hips and took a deep breath. ‘So it was his idea to have Stefan as much as tell me to leave the barony?’
Greylock led his treasured mare to where Erik stood, and put his hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘No, that was Stefan’s impromptu performance. Your father wished to see you one last time. He’s dying.’
Erik felt unexpected emotions break to the surface, panic and regret, all viewed somehow at a distance, as if the warring emotions were taking place within someone else’s breast. ‘Dying?’
‘His chirurgeon warned against this, but with the Prince’s death, he felt the need to attempt the journey. Borric has named his youngest brother, Nicholas, to succeed his father, until his own son, Patrick, is of an age to rule the Western Realm. Nicholas is an unknown; everyone expected Erland to take the post. It could be a fair political bloodbath in Krondor this week.’
Erik knew the names: Borric, the King, and Erland, his younger twin brother. Patrick was the King’s eldest son, and by tradition one of the two should have taken the office of Prince of Krondor, but the intrigues of the court meant little to Erik.
‘He asked me here so he could catch a glimpse of me as his carriage sped by?’
Greylock squeezed Erik’s arm for emphasis. ‘His last glimpse of you.’ He removed something from his tunic. ‘And to give you this.’
Erik beheld a folded parchment being handed him by Greylock. He took it and noticed it was free of any stamp or seal. He unfolded it and began to read. ‘“My son –”’
Greylock interrupted. ‘No one is to know the contents but you, and once you are done, I am to burn this. I will stand away while you read this to yourself.’
He led the horse away, while Erik read:
My son, If I am not yet dead when you read this, I soon shall be. I know you have many questions, and no doubt your mother has answered some. I am sorry to say that I can give you little more than that, and less satisfaction.
When we are young, we feel passions that are but faint memories when we are not very many years older. I think I did love your mother, when I was very young. But if so, then that love, like memories, faded.
If I have any regrets, it is that I could not know you. You were innocent of your mother’s and my indulgences, but I have responsibilities that cannot be set aside because of my regret over a youthful indiscretion. I hope you understand and realize that whatever life we might
