Prince of the Blood Page 5

Hiking his thumb toward the end of the row, James said, “Then why does our friend over there feel the need to wear such a heavy robe?”

  Locklear glanced past his companion and noticed a man sitting at the end of the bench, muffled in a large robe. “A priest perhaps?”

  “I know of no order that has members with an interest in football.” James glanced away as the man turned toward him. “Watch him over my shoulder, but nod as if you’re listening to everything I’m saying. What’s he doing?”

  “Nothing presently.” Then a horn was blown, signaling the end of the match. The Blues, a team sponsored by the Millers Guild and the Worshipful Association of Iron Mongers, had defeated the Reds, a team sponsored by a group of nobles. As such sponsorship was well-known among those in attendance, the result of the match met with general approval.

  As the crowd began to depart, the man in the robe stood. Locklear’s eyes widened as he said, “He’s taking something out of his sleeve.”

  James whirled about in time to see the man raise a tube to his lips and point it in the direction of the Princes. Without hesitation, James pushed hard, knocking the two young men into the row below. A strangled gasp sounded from a man standing just beyond where Erland had been, and the man raised a hand to his neck. It was a gesture never finished, for as his fingers neared the dart protruding from his throat, he collapsed.

  Locklear was only an instant behind James to react. As James and the twins went sprawling below, accompanied by angry shouts as spectators were knocked about, Locklear had his sword out and was leaping toward the robed and cowled figure. “Guards!” he shouted, as an honor guard was stationed just below the viewing stands.

  The sounds of boots pounding upon wooden stairs answered his call almost instantly as soldiers of the Prince raced to intercept the fleeing figure. With little concern for bruises caused, the guardsmen roughly shoved innocent onlookers out of their way. With the silent understanding mobs possess, suddenly everyone knew that something was wrong in the viewing stands. While those nearby scampered to get away, those in other parts of the field turned to observe the cause of such turmoil.

  Seeing guardsmen mere yards away, with only a few confused citizens blocking their approach, the robed man put one hand upon the rail of the stairs and vaulted over the side, falling a full dozen feet to the earth below. Locklear heard a heavy thud and an exclamation of pain as he reached the railing.

  Sprawled upon the ground, two stunned commoners sat inspecting the unmoving form that lay next to them. One man pushed himself back without standing while the other crawled. Locklear vaulted over the rail and landed upon his feet, sword point leveled at the robed figure. The form upon the ground stirred, then leaped at the young Baron.

  Almost taken by surprise, Locklear let the man get inside his guard. The robed man had his arms around Locklear’s waist as he drove him back into the supports of the viewing stand.

  Locklear’s breath burst from his lungs as he struck the heavy wooden beams, but he managed to strike the man behind the ear with his sword hilt. The man staggered away, obviously intent upon escape rather than combat, but shouting voices heralded the approach of more guardsmen. Turning, the man struck out at Locklear, who was struggling to regain his breath, and his fist found Locklear’s ear.

  Pain and confusion overwhelmed Locklear as the assailant rushed into the darkness under the viewing stands. The Baron shook his head to clear it, then turned and hurried after.

  In the sudden darkness under the stands, the man could be hiding anywhere. “In here!” Locklear yelled, in reply to an inquiring shout, and within seconds a half dozen guardsmen were standing behind him. “Spread out and be alert.”

  The men did as they were bidden and slowly advanced beneath the viewing stands. The men closest to the front were forced to stoop, as the lowest risers of the stands were but four feet off the ground. One soldier walked along, poking his sword into the gloom, against the fugitive having crawled under the front-most stands to hide. Above them the sounds of citizens leaving the stands filled the gloom with a thunderous clatter of sandals and boots upon wood, but after a few minutes, the noise diminished.

  Then the sounds of struggle came from before them. Locklear and his men hurried forward. In the dark, two figures held a third. Without seeing who was who, Locklear drove his shoulder into the nearest body, knocking everyone to the ground. More guards piled on top of the fray, until at last the struggle at the bottom of the mass was ended by sheer weight. Then the guards were quickly unpiling and the combatants were pulled up. Locklear grinned as he saw that one of them was James and the other Borric. Looking down, he could see the still form of the man in robes. “Drag him out into the light,” he ordered the guards. To James he said, “Is he dead?”

  “Not unless you broke his neck jumping on him that way. You damn near broke mine.”

  “Where’s Erland?” asked Locklear.

  “Here,” came an answering voice in the gloom. “I was covering the other side of the fray in case he got past these two.” He indicated James and Borric.

  “Nursing your precious side, you mean,” shot back Borric with a grin.

  Erland shrugged. “Maybe.”

  They all followed the guards, who were carrying the still form of the assailant, and when they were in the afternoon sunlight again, discovered a cordon had been thrown up by other guards.

  Locklear bent over. “Let’s see what we have here.” He pulled back the hood and a face stared blankly up at the sky. “He’s dead.”

  James was instantly on his knees, forcing open the man’s mouth. He sniffed and said, “Poisoned himself.”

  “Who is he?” said Borric.

  “And why was he trying to kill you, Uncle Jimmy?” said Erland.

  “Not me, you idiot,” snapped James. He pointed at Borric. “He was trying to kill your brother.”

  A guard approached. “My lord, the man struck by the dart is dead. He died within seconds of his wounding.”

  Borric forced a nervous grin. “Why would anyone wish to kill me?”

  Erland joined in the strained humor. “An angry husband?”

  James said, “Not you, Borric conDoin.” He glanced around the crowd, as if seeking other assassins. “Someone tried to kill the future King of the Isles.”

  Locklear opened the man’s robe, revealing a black tunic. “James, look here.”

  Baron James peered down at the dead man. His skin was dark, even darker than Gardan’s, marking him as Keshian by ancestry, but those of Keshian ancestry were common in this part of the Kingdom. There were brown- and black-skinned people in every stratum of Krondorian society. But this man wore odd clothing: a tunic of expensive black silk and soft slippers unlike anything the young Princes had seen before.

  James inspected the dead man’s hands, and noticed a ring set with a dark gem, then looked for a necklace and found none.

  “What are you doing?” Borric asked.

  “Old habits,” was all Jimmy would answer. “He’s no Nighthawk,” he observed, mentioning the legendary Guild of Assassins. “But this may be worse.”

  “How?” asked Locklear, remembering all too well when the Nighthawks had sought to kill Arutha twenty years before.

  “He’s Keshian.”

  Locklear leaned down and inspected the ring. Ashen-faced, he stood. “Worse still. He’s a member of the Royal House of Kesh.”

  The room was silent. Those who sat in the circle of chairs moved slightly, as discomfort over the attempt upon Borric manifested itself in the creaks of leather and wood, the rustle of cloth, and the clink of jewelry.

  Duke Gardan rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “It’s preposterous. What would Kesh gain in killing a member of your family? Does the Empress wish war?”

  Erland chimed in. “She’s worked as hard as anyone to preserve the peace, or at least all the reports say that. Why would she want Borric dead? Who—”

  Borric interrupted his brother. “Whoever wants war between the Kingdom and the
Empire.”

  Locklear nodded. “It’s such a shallow lie; so transparent an attempt that it is not believable.”

  “Yet …” Arutha mused aloud, “what if that assassin was chosen to fail? A dupe. What if I am supposed to withhold my envoy, keep my sons at home with me.”

  Gardan nodded. “Thereby insulting the Royal House of Kesh.”

  James, who leaned against the wall behind Arutha, said, “We’ve managed a fair job already by dispatching a member of the Empress’s house. He was a very distant cousin, true, but a cousin, nevertheless.”

  Gardan returned to rubbing the bridge of his nose, a gesture of frustration more than fatigue. “And what was I supposed to say to the Keshian Ambassador? ‘Oh, we’ve found this young fellow, who seems to be a member of your Royal House. We had no idea he was in Krondor. We’re sorry to tell you he’s dead. Oh, and by the way, he tried to murder Prince Borric.’ ”

  Arutha leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a tent before his face, absently flexing in a gesture that all in the room had come to recognize over the years. He glanced at last at James.

  “We could dump the body,” offered the young Baron.

  Gardan said, “I beg your pardon?”

  James stretched. “Take the body down to the bay and toss it in.”

  Erland grinned. “Rough treatment for a member of the Royal House of Kesh, wouldn’t you say?”

  Arutha said, “Why?”

  James moved to sit on the edge of Arutha’s desk, as the Prince over the years had come to conduct very informal sessions with close advisors and family. “He’s not officially a guest in the city. We aren’t supposed to know he’s here. No one is supposed to know. The only Keshians who will know he’s here are those who know why he’s here. And I doubt any of them will inquire as to his well-being. He’s now the forgotten man, unless we call attention to his whereabouts.”

  Dryly, Borric added, “And his condition.”

  “We can claim he tried to kill Borric,” James acknowledged, “but all we have is a Keshian corpse, a blowgun, and some poisoned darts.”

  “And a dead merchant,” added Gardan.

  “Dead merchants are a frequent enough commodity on any given day in the Western Realm, my lord Duke,” observed James. “I say we strip him of his ring and toss him into the bay. Let the Keshians who sent him wonder for a while. Should anyone inquire, we might gain an opportunity to learn more of who’s behind him. At worse, we can show considerable distress at his demise, insisting that had we but known he was in the city we would have made every effort to ensure his safety. But if bored royal visitors slip into the city incognito, and insist on frequenting the seedier parts …?” He shrugged dramatically.

  Arutha said nothing for a while, then gave one affirmative nod. James indicated with a jerk of his head that Locklear should use Royal Guardsmen for the job, and the other young Baron slipped through the door. After a short conference with Lieutenant William outside, Locklear returned to his seat.

  Arutha sighed. Looking at James, he said, “Kesh. What else?”

  James shrugged. “Hints, rumors. Their new Ambassador is … an odd choice. He’s what they call a ‘trueblood,’ but not of the Royal House—the assassin would have been a more logical choice. The Ambassador is a purely political appointment. It’s rumored that he may actually have stronger influence in Kesh’s court than many with royal blood. I can’t find any obvious reason why he should be given such an honor—save as a compromise, to appease different factions in court.”

  Arutha nodded. “While none of this makes apparent sense, still, we must play according to the rules of such games.” He was silent for a while, and no one spoke as the Prince gathered his thoughts. “Send word to our people in Kesh,” he instructed James. Years earlier, he had allowed James to begin creating a network of agents, starting inside the Principality and slowly spreading through the Western Realm. Now Prince Arutha had operatives in the Royal Courts of Kesh and Queg, and close to the most powerful men in the Free Cities. “I want our agents hard at work before my sons arrive. If someone seeks to suck us into war with Kesh, striking at the King’s nephews would be a logical choice. You will accompany the Princes to Kesh. There is no one I trust more to swim through these murky waters.”

  Baron Locklear said, “Highness?”

  Looking at the other young Baron, Arutha said, “You will accompany Baron James, as Master of Ceremonies, Chief of Protocol, and the rest of that idiocy. The Imperial Court is dominated by women. We will at last find a use for that infamous Locklear charm. Instruct Captain Valdis he will act in your place as Knight-Marshal. And have Cousin William take over the Household Guard as acting Captain.” Absently he added, “He’s overdue for promotion, anyway.” Arutha drummed his fingers on the table as he reflected for a moment. “I want you,” he said to James, “shed of any office and protocol on this journey. Your only title will be ‘tutor.’ You must be free to come and go as you need.” He stood and the others followed suit. He looked at the boys and said, “Supper tonight.”

  The twins nodded their understanding and rose, assuming this meant they were dismissed. As Locklear and James followed suit, Arutha said, “James, abide a moment longer.”

  The twins exchanged glances, but said nothing, and left the room with Locklear a step behind. When only Arutha, James, and Gardan remained, the Prince asked, “What sort of intelligence are we getting out of the city of Kesh?”

  Ten years previously, Arutha had quietly asked James to begin creating an intelligence system, primarily as a means to counteract a very well-established network of agents working for Kesh in the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles. James had begun with his already established contacts in the Krondorian underworld. Within a year he had informants watching every ship and caravan in and out of the city as well as having identified a dozen likely recruits in other cities and towns, from Land’s End up to Ylith.

  A visit to Locklear’s father two years earlier had provided James with his best new agent on the border with Kesh. James had only been to Land’s End once previously, as a boy, and used a very old acquaintance from that visit as his introduction around the city.

  Bram had been the illegitimate son of the Baroness of Land’s End and his claim on the title had not been upheld by the crown, the title and estates being given to Locklear’s father. But as a reward for service done the crown in a bit of black murder few besides James knew about, Bram had been set up as a very wealthy farmer with his wife Lorri. By the time James reacquainted himself with them, they had trading concerns down into Great Kesh, and finally, after years of work, James had an agent in the palace of the Empress.

  James said, “I have someone as highly placed in the palace staff as possible without trying to recruit a trueblood.” Both Arutha and Gardan knew that recruiting any trueblood Keshian to service for a foreign power would prove impossible. “The difficulty is sifting through rumor and gossip looking for useful information.

  “Here’s what we know,” said James, knowing both men had read every report he had prepared. “There are factions within the trueblood community with differing loyalties to various claimants to the throne. The Empress has a daughter—now widowed—who would normally be next in line, but for reasons we don’t know yet is not openly acknowledged. She has a younger brother who is very popular among the leadership of much of the military. The Empress also has a granddaughter, who is very young, but a marriage to the right leader would create even more division among the factions.”

  “Civil war,” said Gardan. “If the Empress doesn’t clean up the question of succession before she dies, Kesh could be shattered.”

  Arutha nodded. “The Confederation is always looking for an excuse to rebel, and nothing would suit them better than the Royal House of Kesh being torn apart.”

  James said, “I’m still waiting for copies of the last year’s communications between our Ambassador and your brother, Highness.”

  Arutha nodded. One of his frus
trations was that while he had a great deal of autonomy in dealing with the Western Realm, the Kingdom was still ruled from Rillanon, a city thousands of miles away. And while Kesh often sent envoys and ambassadors to the Western Realm as a concession to necessity, Arutha had no formal reciprocation. And for reasons not clear after years ruling Krondor, he still had trouble getting copies of communications between the Isles’ Ambassador and the King. “You’ll have to wait longer, I’m afraid. By the time you return from Kesh, I expect you’ll have better information than Lord Dougrey.” The Kingdom’s ambassador to Kesh was a minor Earl with a talent for entertaining and a lack of other gifts. “For he has been recalled by the King, so when you get there, you’ll have to rely on your agent in the palace, and your own wits.”

  James sighed. “Well, at least that rids us of the problem of how to keep the Ambassador busy and out from under foot.”

  Arutha said, “We have two possibilities to consider. Either someone wants to keep the Empire together, and what better way to avoid a civil war than by plunging the Empire into a major war with a neighbor?”

  James finished. “Or someone wants to use a war with Isles or the threat of a war to pull the Empire apart.”

  Gardan said, “And the list of those who would delight in seeing Kesh collapse is not short.”

  Arutha stood. “I’m sending you into another mess, Jimmy. But this one has consequences as dire as any before if mistakes are made. I would not bother to inform you of the obvious, save this time you’re laboring with a grave handicap.”

  James smiled. “Borric and Erland will be kept on a short leash.”

  “Don’t let them start a war, please?” Then without another word, he departed, the Duke following after.

  James had come to understand Arutha’s moods as well as any outside his family. A mind as complex and deep as the Prince’s was like a chess master’s; Arutha was planning every conceivable outcome as many moves in advance as possible.

  James left the room and found Locklear and the twins waiting for him outside the door. “We leave early in the morning,” James informed them.