The captain mounted a little clumsily, as riding was not his first occupation, but once in the saddle he seemed comfortable enough.
‘To the keep!’ said the Duke over the wind’s howl and they turned back and started up the main street of Crydee Town, the boulevard that would take them to shelter and a roaring fire.
Still dripping wet, Captain Reinman accepted a heavy towel and began mopping his face, but waved away a servant bearing a change of clothes. ‘In a minute,’ he said, then to the Duke. ‘A word, my lord.’
They stood in the entrance to the keep with the Duchess, Countess and the three children waiting for an explanation for the mad display they had just witnessed. Both Martin and Brendan had started to speak at once, but the captain’s words cut them short.
Somewhat surprised by Reinman’s more than usually abrupt manner, the Duke nodded to the others to return to the great hall, indicating that he and the captain would join them. The two men moved to a corner of the entry hall and the Duke said, ‘Now, what is so important you’ll risk wrecking the King’s fastest ship to tell me a day early?’
‘Orders from the Crown, my lord. You’re to begin muster.’
The Duke’s face remained impassive, but the skin around his eyes tightened. ‘It’s war, then?’
‘Not yet, but soon, perhaps. Lord Sutherland and the Duke of Ran both say the frontier is quiet, but rumours have it Kesh is moving in the South and you’re to be ready to support Yabon or even Krondor if the need arises.’
Henry considered. War along the Far Coast had occurred only twice in the history of the Kingdom: the original conquest when the land was wrested from Kesh, and then the Tsurani invasion. The people of the Far Coast had known peace for a century and had almost nothing to do with Kesh, save for the occasional trader looking for a market hungry for exotic goods.
But east of the Straits of Darkness it was another matter. The border between the two giant nations had long borne witness to skirmishes and incursions as one side or the other sought advantage. The last time a major assault on the Kingdom had occurred had been on the heels of the invasion by the forces of the Emerald Queen. With the entire West in rubble, Kesh had moved against Krondor, only to be sent home with its tail between its legs by the power of the sorcerer Pug. He had scolded both sides against such wasteful recklessness and thus had earned the enmity of the Crown. Yet his lesson had held, as there had been little by way of conflict between the two giant nations for almost fifty years. The occasional border clash in the Vale of Dreams was not unusual, but this was the first hint of any major military action against the Kingdom by the Empire of Great Kesh.
Henry said, ‘They expect a move against Krondor?’
Reinman shrugged. ‘What the King’s council expects, I have no idea. If Kesh moves against Krondor, Yabon will have to move south in support, and you no doubt will be sent east to support Yabon. But that’s just speculation. All I know is that I have my orders from the mouth of Lord Jamison.’
‘Richard or James?’
‘James.’
Henry let out a long sigh. Richard was the Prince’s Knight-Marshal, second cousin to James, who was a lot closer to the Crown in Rillanon. If the message came from him, it really did mean war was coming. ‘So, Jim was in Krondor?’
‘The man seems to be everywhere,’ said Reinman, mopping his head one more time with the towel. ‘I don’t know how he does it, but I hear from this bloke or that that he was seen a week ago in Rillanon, then I see him in Krondor, and unless he’s sprouted wings and flown I don’t know how he could do that short of killing a string of horses and not sleeping for a week.’
‘He has his ways, obviously,’ said the Duke. ‘Change into something dry and come into the hall. Dinner’s still on the table and I’m sure the boys will pester you with questions once I tell everyone what’s going on.’
‘You’re going to tell everyone?’
‘Remember where you are, Captain. This is Crydee. If there’s been a Keshian spy around here in the last ten years he was lost and wandering far from anywhere he should be.
‘And I must instruct Earl Robert as well as send messages down to Tulan so Earl Morris can begin his muster.’ He smiled. ‘After the entrance you made if you think I could tell my wife that this is a matter of state … well, you don’t remember my wife very well.’
With a grin the captain said, ‘Well, yes, there is that.’
‘Besides, my boys are old enough that they need to learn some warcraft, and while I’m loath to see them fight this young, they are conDoins.’
‘Aye, my lord, there is that as well.’
The Duke led Reinman into the hall where the others waited expectantly. He motioned for the servants to depart, then quickly recounted the very simple but vital order from the Crown.
Earl Robert shook his head. ‘Muster. It’s a bad time of year, my lord. Spring planting begins in a few weeks.’
‘I know, but wars are inconvenient at any time of the year. Still, we can muster levies in stages. One man in three to report as soon as word reaches, outfit and train and return to the village in two weeks or three, the next man, then the last, and by the time we reach full muster, the planting should be in.’
‘If the rain stops,’ added Martin with a sour expression. ‘The ground won’t be ready for most crops for a week if it stops tomorrow, Father.’
‘Farmer, are you?’ asked Reinman with a grin.
Brendan returned the grin while Martin tried to suppress a chuckle. ‘Father believes in the old virtues. We were forced to work at every apprenticeship in the Duchy for a week or two as we grew up, the better to understand the lives of our subjects.’
‘The King’s subjects,’ corrected his father. ‘The citizens of the duchy are ours to protect, but they belong to no man, not even the King, though they are charged to obey him. As are we. Such is the tradition of the Great Freedom, upon which our nation is founded.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ said Brendan rolling his eyes.
Martin changed the subject: ‘Captain, how did you manage that … event, in the harbour, with the light bubble in the midst of the storm?’
‘Ah!’ said Reinman, obviously delighted. ‘That was my weather witch.’
‘Weather witch?’ asked the Duke.
‘Well, he’s not really a witch, I’ll grant you, but “weather magician” doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as neatly. Besides, it annoys him.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Bellard, by name,’ answered the captain. ‘One of the lot from Stardock. He was up with the elves north of here for a couple of years, learning weather magic from their spellweavers.’ He nodded in thanks as a mug of steaming mulled wine was presented to him by a servant. He sipped at this for a moment, then put down the mug and said, ‘Quite good at it too, save for one problem.’
‘What would that be?’ asked Earl Robert.
‘He drinks.’
