Both sons were suddenly uncomfortable with this atypical revelation. They loved their father but, like him, were discomforted by any attempt to express such feelings openly. We understand, was all Borric could manage.
Looking Borric directly in the eyes, he said, Do you? Do you really? Then understand that from this day forth you are no longer my sons alone, Borric. You are both now sons to the Kingdom. Each of you is a Royal. You are to be King someday, Borric. Wrap your mind around that fact, for it is so, and nothing this side of death will change that. And from this day on a fathers love of his son will no longer shield you from lifes harshness. To be a king is to hold mens lives by a thread. A thoughtless gesture will end those lives as certainly as if you had chosen to tear the threads.
To Erland, he said, Twins pose a serious threat to peace in our Kingdom, for should old rivalries surface, youll find some claiming the birth order was reversed, some who will raise your cause without your consent, as an excuse to make war upon old foes.
You both have heard the story, of the First King Borric and how he was forced to slay his own brother, Jon the Pretender. And you have also heard, often enough, of how I stood with the King and our brother Martin in the hall of our ancestors, before the Congress of Lords, each of them with a just claim to the crown. By Martins signal act of nobility, Lyam wears his crown and no blood was shed. He held his thumb and forefinger a scant fraction of an inch apart. Yet we were but this far from civil war that day.
Borric said, Father, why are you telling us this?
Arutha stood, sighed, and put his hand upon his eldest sons shoulder. Because your boyhood is at an end, Borric. You are no longer the son of the Prince of Krondor. For I have decided that should I survive my brother, I will renounce my own claim upon the crown in favour of yours. Borric began to protest, but Arutha cut him off. Lyam is a vigorous man. I may be an old one when he dies, if I dont precede him. It is best if there is not a short rule between Lyams and your own. You will be the next King of the Isles.
Glancing at Erland, he said, And you will always stand in your brothers shadow. You will forever be one step from the throne, yet never permitted to sit upon it. You will always be sought out for favour and position, but never your own; you will be seen as a stepping-stone to your brother. Can you accept such a fate?
Erland shrugged. It doesnt seem too grave a fate, Father. I shall have estates and title, and responsibilities enough, I am certain.
More, for you need stand with Borric in all things, even when you disagree with him in private. You will never have a public mind that you may call your own. It must be so. I cannot stress this enough. Never once in the future can you publicly oppose the Kings will. Moving a short way off, he turned and regarded them both. You have never known anything but peace in our Kingdom. The raids along the border are trivial things.
Erland said, Not to those of us who fought those raiders! Men died, Father.
Arutha said, I speak of nations now, and dynasties, and the fate of generations. Yes, men died, so that this nation and its people may live in peace.
But there was a time when border skirmishes with Great Kesh and the Eastern Kingdoms were a monthly occurrence, when Quegan galleys took our ships at their leisure, and when invaders from the Tsurani world held part of your grandfathers lands for nine years!
You will be asked to give up many things, my sons. You will be asked to marry women who will most likely be strangers to you. You will be asked to relinquish many of the privileges lesser men know: the ability to enter a tavern and drink with strangers, to pick up and travel to another city, to marry for love and watch your children grow without fear of their being used for others designs. Gazing out over the city, he added, To sit at days end with your wife and discuss the small matters of your life, to be at ease.
Borric said, I think I understand. His voice was subdued.
Erland only nodded.
Arutha said, Good, for in a week you leave for Great Kesh, and from this moment forward you are the Kingdoms future. He moved toward the stairs that led down into the palace and halted at them. I wish I could spare you this, but I cant. Then he was gone.
Both boys sat quietly for a time, then as one, turned to look out over the harbour. The afternoon sun beat down, yet the breeze from the Bitter Sea was cooling. In the harbour below, boats moved as punts and barges carried cargo and passengers back and forth between the docks and great sailing ships anchored in the bay. In the distance white dots signalled approaching ships, traders from the Far Coast, the Kingdom of Queg, the Free Cities of Yabon, or the Empire of Great Kesh.
Then Borrics face relaxed as a smile spread. Kesh!
Erland laughed. Yes, to the heart of Great Kesh!
Both shared the laughter at the prospect of new cities and people, and travel to a land considered exotic and mysterious. And their fathers words vanished upon the wind to the east.
Some institutions linger for centuries, while others pass quickly. Some arrive quietly, others with fanfare. In years past it was considered a general practice to give apprentices and other servants the latter half of the sixth day of the week for themselves. Now the practice had come to include a general closing of businesses on sixthday at noon, with seventhday generally held to be a day of devotions and meditations.
But within the last twenty years another tradition had arisen. From the first sixthday following the winter equinox, boys and young men, apprentices and servants, commoner and noble, began preparing. For upon the holiday of First Thaw, held six optimistic weeks after the equinox, often despite inclement weather, football season commenced.
Once called barrel ball, the game had been played for as long as boys had kicked balls of rags into barrels. Twenty years before, the young Prince Arutha had instructed his Master of Ceremonies to draw up a standard set of rules for the game, more for the protection of his young squires and apprentices, for then the game was rough in the extreme. Now the game had been institutionalized in the minds of the populace; come spring, football returned.
On all levels, from boys playing in open fields up to a City League, with teams fielded by guilds, trading associations, or rich nobles eager to be patrons, players could be seen racing up and down attempting to kick a ball into a net.
The crowd shouted its approval as the Blues swiftest forward broke away from the pack with the ball, speeding toward the open goal net. The Reds goalkeeper hunkered down, ready to leap between ball and net. With a clever feint, the Blues player caused the Reds to overbalance, then shot it past him on his off side. The goalkeeper stood with hands on hips, evidencing disgust at himself while the Blues players mobbed the scorer.
Ah, he should have seen it coming, commented Locklear. It was so obvious. I could see it up here.
James laughed. Then why dont you go down and play for him?
Borric and Erland shared in Jamess laughter. Certainly, Uncle Locky. Weve heard a hundred times how you and Uncle Jimmy invented this game.
Locklear shook his head. It was nothing like this. He glanced about the field at the stands erected by an enterprising merchant years before, stands that had been expanded upon and enlarged until as many as four thousand citizens could crowd together to watch a match. We used to have a barrel at each end and you couldnt stand before the mouth. This net business and goalkeepers and all the other rules your father devised
Borric and Erland finished for him in unison, Its not sport anymore.
Locklear said, Thats the truth.
Erland inserted, Not enough bloodshed!
No broken arms! No gouged eyes! laughed Borric.
James said, Well, thats for the better. There was one time
Both brothers grimaced as one, for they knew they were about to hear the story of the time Locklear was hit from behind by a piece of farriers steel an apprentice boy had concealed in his shirt. This would lead, then, to a debate between the two Barons on the general value of rules and which rules enhanced the game and which impeded.
But the lack of further comment from James caused Borric to turn. James had his eyes focused not on the game below which was drawing to a close, but upon a man down near the end of the row upon which the Baron sat, one row behind the Princes. Rank and a well-placed bribe had given the sons of the Prince of Krondor two of the best seats for the match, at the midfield line halfway up the stands.
James said, Locky, is it cold?
Wiping perspiration from his brow, Locklear said, Youre joking, right? Its a month after midsummer and Im roasting.
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 youre listening to everything Im saying. Whats he doing?
Nothing presently. Then a horn was blown, signalling 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. Locklears eyes widened as he said, Hes 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 honour 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. A heavy thud and an exclamation of pain could be heard by Locklear 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 levelled 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 Locklears waist as he drove him back into the supports of the viewing stand.
Locklears 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 Locklears 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 whom, 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.
Wheres 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. Lets see what we have here. He pulled back the hood and a face stared blankly up at the sky. Hes dead.
James was instantly on his knees, forcing open the mans 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 himself to a nervous grin. Why would anyone wish to kill me?
Erland joined in the strained humour. 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.