give to Papa to explain why my boat is now floating across half the harbor.’
Harry looked at Nicholas with a confident smile and said, ‘I’ll think of something.’
‘You didn’t see it?’ said the Prince of Krondor as he regarded his youngest son and the Squire from Ludland. ‘How could you miss the biggest warship in the Drondorian fleet when it was less than a hundred feet away!’ Arutha, Prince of Krondor, brother to the King of the Isles, and second most powerful man in the Kingdom, regarded the two boys with a narrow, disapproving gaze they had both come to know well. A gaunt man, Arutha was a quiet, forceful leader who rarely showed his emotions, but to those close to him, old friends and family, the subtle changes in his mood were easy enough to read. And right now he wasn’t amused.
Nicholas turned to his partner in crime. Whispering, he said, ‘Good story, Harry,’ in dry tones. ‘You obviously spent a lot to time thinking about it.’
Arutha turned to his wife, his disapproval giving way to resignation. Princess Anita fixed her son with a scolding look that was mitigated by amusement. She was upset with the boys for acting foolishly, but Harry’s blatantly artless pose of innocence was entertaining. Though she was past forty years of age, there was still a girlish quality about her laughter, which she fought hard to keep reined in. Her red hair was streaked with grey, and her freckled face was lined from years of service to her nation, but her eyes were clear and bright as she regarded her youngest child with affection.
The evening’s meal was a casual one, with few court functionaries in attendance. Arutha preferred to keep his court informal when possible, quietly enduring pomp only when necessary. The long table in the family’s apartment in the palace could comfortably hold a half-dozen more people than dined tonight. While the great hall of Krondor housed most of the Western Realm’s battle trophies and banners of state, the family’s dining hall was devoid of such reminders of wars, being decorated with portraits of past rulers and landscapes of unusual beauty.
Arutha sat at the head of the table, with Anita at his right hand. Geoffrey, the Duke of Krondor and Arutha’s chief administrator, sat in his usual chair on Arutha’s left. Geoffrey was a quiet, kind man, well liked by the staff, and an able administrator. He had served for ten years in the King’s court before coming to Krondor eight years previously.
Next to him sat Prelate Graham, a bishop of the Order of Dala, Shield of the Weak, one of Arutha’s current advisers. A gentle but firm teacher, the Prelate had ensured that Nicholas, like his brothers before him, would become a man of broad education, knowing as much about art and literature, music and drama, as he did about economics, history, and warcraft. He sat beside Nicholas and Harry, and showed by his expression that he did not find the excuse remotely amusing. While the boys had been excused his tutelage while he attended the Prince’s council, he had expected them to be studying, not crashing their boat into warships in the harbor.
Opposite the boys sat Anita’s mother and Amos Trask. The Admiral and Princess Alicia had enjoyed a playful relationship for years, which court gossip claimed was far more intimate than simply flirtation. Still a handsome woman of a like age to Amos’s, Alicia positively glowed from his attention. Anita’s resemblance to her mother was clear to see, although Alicia’s once red hair was now grey and her features revealed life’s passage. But when Amos told a quiet joke to make her blush, her sparkling eyes and embarrassed laughter made her seem girlish again.
Amos squeezed Alicia’s hand while he whispered something to her, probably off-color, and the Dowager Princess laughed behind her napkin. Anita smiled at the sight, for she remembered how dreadfully her mother had missed her father after his death, and what a welcome addition to Arutha’s court Amos had become after the Riftwar. Anita was always pleased to see her mother smile, and no one could make her laugh like Amos.
To the Admiral’s left sat Arutha’s military deputy, William, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, a cousin to the royal family. Cousin Willie, as everyone in the family called him, winked at the two boys. He had been serving in the palace for twenty years, and over that span of time had seen Nicholas’s other brothers, Borric and Erland, discover every possible way to incur their father’s anger. Nicholas was new to causing his father to lose his temper. William reached for a slice of bread and said, ‘Brilliant strategy, Squire. No unnecessary details to remember.’
Nicholas attempted to look properly chastised, but failed. He quickly cut a piece of lamb and stuffed it in his mouth to keep from laughing. He glanced at Harry, who was hiding his amusement behind a cup of wine.
Arutha said, ‘We’ll have to think up a suitable punishment for you two. Something to impress the value of both the boat and your own necks on you.’
Harry threw Nicholas a quick grin from behind the wine cup; both boys knew that they stood half a chance of Arutha’s forgetting any serious punishment if the press of court business was heavy, as it often was.
The Prince’s court was the second busiest in the Kingdom, and only by a little after the King’s. Effectively a separate realm, the West was governed from Krondor, with only broad policy coming from King Lyam’s court. In the course of one day, Arutha might have to see two dozen important nobles, merchants, and envoys, and read a half-dozen important documents, as well as approve every regional decision involving the Principality.
A boy in the purple and yellow livery of a palace page entered the room and came to the elbow of the Royal Master of Ceremony, Baron Jerome. He whispered to the baron, who in turn came to Arutha. ‘Sire, two men are at the main entrance of the palace, asking to see you.’
Arutha knew that they would have to be something unusual for the guard sergeant to pass them along to the Royal Steward, and for the steward to disturb the Prince. ‘Who are they?’ asked Arutha.
‘They claim to be friends of Prince Borric’s.’
Arutha’s eyebrows went up slightly. ‘Friends of Borric’s?’ He glanced at his wife, then asked, ‘Do they have names?’
The Master of Ceremony said, ‘They gave the names Ghuda Bulé and Nakor the Isalani.’ Jermone, an officious man to whom dignity and pomp were more essential than air and water, managed to convey a volume of disapproval as he added, ‘They’re Keshian, Sire.’
Arutha was still trying to piece together some semblance of understanding when Nicholas said, ‘Father! Those are two who helped Borric when he was captured by slavers in Kesh! You remember him telling us about them.’
Arutha blinked and recollection came to him. ‘Of course.’ He told Jerome, ‘Show them in at once.’
Jerome motioned for the page to carry word to the entrance of the palace, and Harry turned to Nicholas. ‘Slave traders?’
Nicholas said, ‘It’s a long story, but my brother was an envoy to Kesh, about nine years ago. He was captured by raiders who didn’t know he was from the royal house of the Isles. He escaped and made his way to the Empress’s court and saved her life. These are two men who helped him along the way.’
Everyone was staring at the door expectantly when the page entered, followed by a pair of ragged and dirty men. The taller was a fighter by his dress: old, battered leather armor and a dented helm, a bastard-sword slung over his back, and two long dirks, one at each hip. His companion was a bandy-legged fellow, with a surprisingly childlike expression of delight at the new sights around him, and an appealing grin, although he could be described as nothing so much as homely.
They came to the head of the table and both bowed, the warrior stiffly and self-consciously, the shorter man in a haphazard, absent-minded fashion.
Arutha
