and stopped at its mouth. It was late afternoon on Sorcerer’s Isle and by the time he reached the Villa it would be almost suppertime. He took one more look around the cave and then started his walk home.
The Royal Chirurgeon shook his head and spoke softly to the attending squire. ‘I fear he will not make it through the night.’ The two figures were dwarfed by the enormous chamber in which the Duke of Krondor lay dying. A single candle burned on the table next to the bed.
‘Shall I inform the senior squire, sir?’ asked the young man, a blond-headed rail of a lad no more than fifteen years old. The senior squire served Prince Robert, ruler of Krondor these last eight years, and heir apparent to the Kingdom of the Isles.
‘The hour is late. I shall check on the Duke again very soon. If his condition worsens, there should be time enough to wake the Prince.’
‘Yes, sir. Shall I stay?’
‘No need,’ said the old healer, his face drawn with worry and fatigue. ‘He’ll not rouse and I have other patients to care for; the stomach flux has struck the royal nursery, and though it may not be fatal, the wrath of the Princess is sure to be if I can’t get the children to rest through the night.’
The healer snuffed out the single candle next to the bed and he and the boy left the Duke’s large sleeping chamber, closing the door quietly behind them.
A moment later a figure stepped out of the shadow behind a large curtain. He crossed the room to the bed and touched his fingertip to the still-warm candle wick, and the flame instantly reappeared. Glancing down at the recumbent figure, he softly said, ‘Oh, Erik, you don’t look so good.’
Nakor had known Duke Erik when he had been a boy, fresh from the smith’s forge, tall, with huge shoulders and the strength of three men. He had also been born with a temper, which had almost got him hung for murder, but in the end he had served the Kingdom of the Isles well and had risen in rank to Knight-Marshal of the West, and held the title of the Duke of Krondor under young Prince Robert.
Nakor now looked down on an old man, past eighty years of age. His skin was like old parchment drawn tightly across his skull. His shoulders showed none of the massive strength of his youth, and were lost beneath the voluminous nightshirt he wore.
Nakor retrieved a vial from his rucksack and pulled out the stopper. He administered a single drop on the dying man’s lips and waited. Erik’s mouth moved, slightly, and Nakor poured in another drop. He repeated this application for almost fifteen minutes, a drop at a time, then sat back on the side of the bed and waited.
After a few more minutes, the Duke’s eyes fluttered, then opened completely. He blinked, then said in a soft, hoarse whisper, ‘Nakor?’
The little man grinned. ‘You remember me?’
With a deep intake of breath followed by a long sigh, Erik von Darkmoor – once a sergeant in Calis’ Crimson Eagles, veteran of the Serpentwar, hero of the Battle of Nightmare Ridge and now Duke of Krondor and Knight-Marshal of the Western Realm – sat up and said, ‘You’re damned hard to forget, old friend.’
‘You look better,’ said Nakor.
Erik moved his arms and said, ‘I feel better. What did you do?’
Nakor held up the vial. ‘I bought you some time. I need to talk to you.’
‘Then hurry,’ said the Duke sitting back. He chucked, a dry raspy laugh. ‘By all accounts I don’t have much time – wait, how did you get in here?’
Nakor waved the question away. ‘I just waited until no one was looking then came in through the window.’
Erik smiled. ‘Like old Duke James when he was a boy, then?’
‘Something like that.’
‘So why are you troubling a dying man?’
‘I need you not to die for a while, Erik.’
‘I’d be pleased to accommodate you, but I believe fate has other plans.’
‘How do you feel?’
The Duke stretched out his hands before his face and said, ‘Surprisingly good, all things considered. I’ll ask again, what did you do?’
‘It’s a potion, which I got from a priest who lives a great distance from here. It will … restore you.’
‘Restore me?’
‘It’ll keep you alive for a while longer, or if you drink a lot, for a lot longer.’
The Duke shifted himself higher in the bed, so he could sit up. ‘I’m not sure I’d like that, Nakor. My body has betrayed me and, to put it bluntly, it vexes me to be so dependent on others. It’s hard not to be able to walk to the jakes and take a piss. Nothing humbles a man as much as waking in the morning, sopping wet like a baby. I think I’d rather die than have to spend more days in bed.’
‘Well, you don’t have to do either,’ said Nakor with a grin. ‘The potion will make you stronger, too.’
Erik’s gaze fixed upon Nakor. ‘I can see better; I’ve just realized.’
‘Yes,’ said Nakor. ‘It’s a pretty nice potion.’
‘Is that how you’ve remained unchanged over the last fifty to sixty years?’
‘No. I know some other tricks.’
‘Very well, if you can get me out of this bed so I can protect the Kingdom a while longer, I’ll stay around, but what is your reason for this?’
‘Well, first of all, I like you.’
‘Thank you, Nakor; I like you, too.’
‘You are the last of the Desperate Men who went south with Calis and Bobby.’
‘I was there; I remember. Now, I appreciate nostalgia as much as the next man, Nakor, but what’s the real reason?’
‘We need someone who is close to the Crown to listen and help when the time comes.’
‘We?’ asked the Duke. ‘You mean the Black Sorcerer?’
‘Yes, Pug.’
Erik sat back with a long exhalation of breath, shaking his head slightly. After the Serpentwar, Kesh had moved against and almost destroyed Krondor, seeking to an advantage itself in its seemingly never-ending struggle with its northern neighbour. Pug, who was Duke of Stardock at that time, and vassal to the Crown of the Kingdom of the Isles, had refused to use his powerful magic to destroy the invaders, but rather had ordered the Keshians home, while at the same time publicly humiliating Patrick, who was then the Prince of Krondor, and was now King of the Isles.
Erik said, ‘Pug’s been persona non grata since he defied Prince Patrick, after the Serpentwar. Robbie may be related to Patrick in name only – he’s as thoughtful as Patrick is rash – but the collective royal memory is a long one. Pug pulled Stardock out of the Kingdom and set it up as an independent state; that looks like treason from the throne’s point of view.’
‘That’s
