From outside the sound of rushing men could be heard, and Borric said, Wed best get clear of this mess, as he gave his brother a hand up. Fathers going to be upset enough with us as it is without brawling.
Wincing from his injury, Erland interrupted, You didnt have to hit him. I think I would have killed him in another moment.
Or he you. And Id not want to face Father had I let that happen. Besides, you really wouldnt have killed him; you just dont have the instinct. Youd have tried to disarm him or something equally noble Borric observed, catching his breath in a gasp, and stupid. Now, lets see about getting out of here.
Erland gripped his wounded side as they headed toward the door. Several town toughs, seeing blood upon Erlands side, moved to block the twins exit. Borric and Erland both levelled their sword points at the band of men. Borric said, Keep your guard up a moment, picked up a chair, and threw it through the large bay window facing the boulevard. Glass and leading showered the street, and before the tinkle of shards upon stone had stopped, both brothers were leaping through what remained of the window. Erland stumbled and Borric had to grip his arm to keep him from falling.
As they straightened, they took in the fact that they were looking at horses. Two of the more bold thugs jumped through the window after the twins, and Borric smashed one in the side of the head with his sword hilt, while the other man pulled up short as three crossbows were levelled at him. Arrayed before the door was the small company of ten burly and heavily armed town watchmen commonly known as the Riot Squad. But what had the half-dozen denizens of the Sleeping Dockman standing in open-mouth amazement, was the sight of the thirty horsemen behind the Riot Squad. They wore the tabards of Krondor and the badge of the Prince of Krondors own Royal Household Guards. From within the inn someone overcame his stupefaction and shouted, Royal Guardsmen! and a general evacuation through the rear door of the tavern began, while the gaping faces at the window vanished.
The two brothers regarded the mounted men, all armed and ready in case trouble came. At their head rode a man well known to the two young mercenaries.
Ah good evening, my lord, said Borric, a smile slowly spreading across his face. The leader of the Riot Squad, seeing no one else in sight, moved to take custody of the two young men.
The leader of the Royal Guard waved him off. This doesnt concern you, Watchman. You and your men may go. The watch commander bowed slightly and led his men back to their barracks in the heart of the Poor Quarter.
Erland winced a bit as he said, Baron Locklear, what a pleasure.
Baron Locklear, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, smiled an unamused smile. Im certain. Despite his rank, he looked barely a year or two older than the boys, though he was nearly sixteen years their senior. He had curly blond hair and large blue eyes, which were presently narrowed as he watched the twins in obvious disapproval.
Borric said, And I expect that means that Baron James
Locklear pointed. Is standing behind you.
Both brothers turned to see the man in the great cloak framed in the doorway. He threw back his hood to reveal a face still somewhat youthful despite his thirty-seven years of age, his curly brown hair slightly dusted with grey. It was a face the brothers knew as well as any, for he had been one of their teachers since boyhood, and more, one of their closest friends. He regarded the two brothers with ill-disguised disapproval and said, Your father ordered you directly home. I had reports of your whereabouts from the time you left Highcastle until you passed through the city gates two days ago!
The twins tried to hide their pleasure at being able to lose their royal escorts, but they failed. Ignore for a moment the fact your father and mother had a formal court convened to welcome you home. Forget they stood waiting for three hours! Never mind your fathers insisting that Baron Locklear and I comb the entire city for two days seeking you out. He studied the two young men, But I trust youll remember all those little details when your father has words with you after court tomorrow.
Two horses were brought forward and a soldier deferentially held out the reins to each brother. Seeing the blood along Erlands side, a Lieutenant of the Guard moved his horse nearby and said in mock sympathy, Does His Highness require help?
Erland negotiated the stirrup and heaved himself into the saddle without aid. In irritated tones, he answered, Only when I see Father, Cousin Willy, and I dont think you can do much for me then.
Lieutenant William nodded and in unsympathetic tones, he whispered, He did say come home at once, Erland.
Erland nodded in resignation. We just wanted to relax for a day or two before
William couldnt resist laughing at his cousins predicament. He had often seen them bring disaster down upon themselves and he never could understand their appetite for such punishment. He said, Maybe you could run for the border. I could get very stupid following you.
Erland shook his head. I think Ill wish I had taken your offer, after tomorrow mornings court.
William laughed again. Come along, this dressing down wont be much worse than a dozen youve already had.
Baron James, Chancellor of Krondor and first assistant to the Duke of Krondor, quickly mounted his own horse. To the palace, he ordered, and the company turned to escort the twin princes, Borric and Erland, to the palace.
Arutha, Prince of Krondor, Knight-Marshal of the Western Realm, and Royal Heir to the throne of the Kingdom of the Isles, sat quietly attentive to the business of the court being conducted before him. A slender man in his youth, he had not gained the bulk commonly associated with middle age, but rather had become harder, more angular in features, losing what little softening effects youth had given his lanky appearance. His hair was still dark, though enough grey had come with the twenty years of ruling Krondor and the West to speckle it. His reflexes had slowed only slightly over the years, and he was still counted one of the finest swordsmen in the Kingdom, though he rarely had reason to exercise his skill with the rapier. His dark brown eyes were narrowed in concentration, a gaze that seemed to miss nothing, in the opinion of many who served the Prince. Thoughtful, even brooding at times, Arutha was a brilliant military leader. He had rightfully won his reputation during the nine years of the Riftwar which had ended the year before the twins birth after taking command of the garrison at Crydee, his familys castle, when only a few months older than his sons were now.
He was counted a hard but fair ruler, quick to dispense justice when the crime warranted, though often given to acts of leniency at the request of his wife, the Princess Anita. And that relationship more than anything typified the adminstration of the Western Realm: hard, logical, even-handed justice, tempered with mercy. While few openly sang Aruthas praises, he was well respected and honoured, and his wife was beloved by her subjects.
Anita sat quietly upon her throne, her green eyes looking off into space. Her royal manner masked her concern for her sons from all but those who knew her most intimately. That her husband had ordered the boys brought to the great hall for morning court, rather than to their parents private quarters last night, showed more than anything else his displeasure. Anita forced herself to be attentive to the speech being given by a member of the Guild of Weavers; it was her duty also to show those coming before her husbands court the consideration of listening to every petition or request. The other members of the royal family were not normally required at morning court, but since the twins had returned from their service upon the border at Highcastle, it had become a family gathering.
Princess Elena stood at her mothers side. She looked a fair compromise between her parents, having red-brown hair and fair skin from her mother but her fathers dark and intelligent eyes. Those who knew the royal family well often observed that if Borric and Erland resembled their uncle, the King, then Elena resembled her aunt, the Baroness Carline of Salador. And Arutha had observed on more than one occasion she had Carlines renowned temper.
Prince Nicholas, Arutha and Anitas youngest child, had avoided the need to stand next to his sister, by hiding from his fathers sight. He stood behind his mothers throne, beyond his fathers gaze, on the first step off the dais. The door to the royal apartments was hidden from the eyes of those in the hall, down three steps, where, in years past, all four children had played the game of huddling on the first step, listening to their father conduct court, enjoying the delicious feeling of eavesdropping. Nicky waited for the arrival of his two brothers.
Anita glanced about with that sudden sense mothers have that one of their children is somewhere he shouldnt be. She spied Nicholas waiting down by the door, and motioned him to stand close. Nicky had idolized Borric and Erland, despite them having little time for the boy and constantly teasing him. They just couldnt find much in common with their youngest sibling, since he was twelve years younger.
Prince Nicholas hobbled up the three broad steps and moved to his mothers side and, as it had every day since his birth, Anitas heart broke. The boy had a deformed foot, and neither surgeons ministrations nor priests spell had any effect, save to enable him to walk. Unwilling to hold up the deformed baby to public scrutiny, Arutha had ignored custom and refused to show the boy at the Presentation, the holiday in honour of a royal childs first public appearance, a tradition that may have died with Nicholass birth.
Nicky turned when he heard the door open, and Erland peered through. The youngest Prince grinned at his brothers as they gingerly slipped through the door. Nicky scrambled down the three steps with his canted gait to intercept them, and gave each a hug. Erland visibly winced and Borric bestowed an absent pat on the shoulder.
Nicky followed the twins as they slowly mounted the stairs behind the thrones, coming to stand behind their sister. She glanced over her shoulder long enough to stick out her tongue and cross her eyes, causing all three brothers to force themselves not to laugh. They knew no one else in court could see her fleeting pantomime. The twins had a long history of tormenting their little sister, who gave back as good as she got. She would think nothing of embarrassing them in the Kings own court.
Arutha, sensing some exchange between his children, glanced over and gifted his four offspring with a quick frown, enough to silence any potential mirth. His gaze lingered on his elder sons and showed his anger in full measure, though only those close to him would recognize it as such. Then his attention was back upon the matter before the court. A minor noble was being advanced into a new office, and while the four royal children might not find it worthy of much dignity, the man would count this among one of the high points of his life. Arutha had tried to impress such awareness upon them over the years but continuously failed.
Overseeing the Princes court was Lord Gardan, Duke of Krondor. The old soldier had served with Arutha, and his father before him, thirty years and more. His dark skin stood in stark contrast to his beard, almost white in colour, but he still had the alert eyes of one whose mind had lost none of its edge and a ready smile for the royal children. A commoner by birth, Gardan had risen on his ability, and despite an often expressed desire to retire and return to his home in Far Crydee, he had remained in Aruthas service, first as Sergeant in the garrison at Crydee, then Captain of the Princes Royal Household, then Knight-Marshal of Krondor. When the previous Duke of Krondor, Lord Volney, had died unexpectedly after seven years loyal service in his office, Arutha had awarded the office to Gardan. Despite the old soldiers protestations of not being suited to the nobility, he had proven an able administrator as well as a gifted soldier.
Gardan finished intoning the mans new rank and privileges and Arutha preferred a terribly oversized parchment with ribbons and seals embossed upon it.
The man took his award of office and retired to the crowd, to the hushed congratulations of others in court.
Gardan nodded to the Master of Ceremonies, Jerome by name, and the thin man brought himself to his full height. Once a boyhood rival of Baron James, the office suited Jeromes self-important nature. He was, by all accounts, a thorough bore and his preoccupation with trivia made him a natural for the post. His love of detail manifested itself in the exquisite stitching of his cloak of office and the pointed chin beard he spent hours in trimming. In pompous tones, he spoke: If it pleases Your Highness, His Excellency, Lord Torum Sie, Ambassador from the Royal court of Great Kesh.
The Ambassador, who had been standing off to one side, conferring with his advisors, approached the dais and bowed. By his attire, it was clear he was of the true Keshian people, for his head was shaved. His scarlet coat was cut away, revealing a pair of yellow pantaloons and white slippers. His chest was bare in the Keshian fashion, a large golden torque of office decorating his neck. Each item of clothing was delicately finished in almost imperceptible needlework, with tiny jewels and pearls decorating each seam. The effect was as if he was bathed in shimmering sparkles as he moved. He was easily the most splendid figure in court.
Highness, he said, his speech tinged by a slight singsong accent. Our Mistress, Lakeisha, She Who Is Kesh, inquires as to the health of Their Highnesses.
Convey our warmest regards to the Empress, responded Arutha, and tell her we are well.
With pleasure, the Ambassador answered. Now, I must beg of His Highness an answer to the invitation sent by my mistress. The seventy-fifth anniversary of Her Magnificences birth is an event of unsurpassed joy to the Empire. We will host a Jubilee that will be celebrated for two months. Will Your Highnesses be joining us?
Already the King had sent his apologies, as had the ruler of every neighbouring sovereignty from Queg to the Easter Kingdoms. While there had been peace between the Empire and her neighbours for an unusually long time eleven years since the last major border clash no ruler was foolish enough to come within the borders of the most feared nation upon Midkemia. Those rejections were considered proper. The invitation to the Prince and Princess of Krondor was another matter.
The Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was almost a nation unto itself, with the responsibility for rulership given to the Prince of Krondor. Only the broadest policy came from the Kings court in Rillanon. And it was Arutha, as often as not, who had been the one to deal with Keshs Ambassadors, for the majority of potential conflict between Kesh and the Kingdom was along the Western Realms southern border.
Arutha looked at his wife, and then the Ambassador. We regret that the press of official duty prevents us from undertaking so long a journey, Your Excellency.
The Ambassadors expression didnt change, but a slight hardening around the eyes indicated the Keshian considered the rejection close to an insult. That is regrettable, Highness. My mistress did so consider your presence vital a gesture of friendship and goodwill.