Rage of a Demon King (63 page)

SHARDS OF A BROKEN CROWN

Volume IV of The Serpentwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

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Dash signaled.

Jimmy took out his sword and ducked behind the boulder. Dash left his own position on the south side of the King’s Highway and dropped into a ditch that ran parallel to the road for several hundred feet.

The brothers had been riding for two days. The thaw had begun and there was actually some warmth in the sunlight when it came out from behind the seemingly constant cloud cover. But the temperature didn’t fall below freezing any more, and the rain helped melt the snow. As Dash lay in the cold mud he wished for the ice again. The ooze slowed travel and he didn’t seem able to get dry, even when staying close to a fire at night.

They had heard voices in the woods ahead a few minutes ago, had dismounted, tied their horses and advanced on foot. As the sound of approaching feet grew louder, Dash chanced a glance over the edge of the berm, and saw a ragged band of travelers looking about in fearful manner as they moved eastward along the King’s Highway. There was a man and woman, and children, three of them, though one—Dash couldn’t tell if it was a girl or boy under the heavy hood—seemed almost of adult height.

Dash stood as Jimmy came from behind the boulder. The man in the van of the small party of refugees pulled a wicked-looking hand scythe from under his ragged cloak and held it in menacing fashion as the others turned as if to flee.

“Hold!” Jimmy shouted, “We’ll not harm you.”

The man looked dubious, the others fearful, but they halted their movement. Jimmy and Dash both put away weapons and slowly approached.

The man didn’t lower his scythe. “Who be you?” he said, his words heavily accented.

Jimmy and Dash exchanged glances, for the man spoke with the accent of one who had come from Novindus. This man at one time had been a soldier with the invading army of the Emerald Queen.

Dash held up his hands to show he was not holding any weapon, and Jimmy stopped moving. Jimmy said, “We’re travelers. Who are you?”

The woman who had been crouching behind ventured to step from behind the man’s protection. She was gaunt and looked weak. Jimmy glanced to the others and saw that the children were equally underfed. The tallest of the three was a girl, perhaps fifteen years of age, though looking older for the deep dark circles under her eyes. Jimmy returned his attention to the woman, who looked at him and said, “We were farmers.” She pointed to the east. “We’re trying to reach Darkmoor. We hear there’s food there.”

Jimmy nodded. “Some. Where are you from?”

“Tannerus,” said the woman.

Dash pointed at the man. “He’s not from Tannerus.”

The man nodded. He motioned at himself with his free hand and said, “Markin. From City of the
Serpent River.” He glanced around. “Long way from here.”

“You were a soldier of the Emerald Queen?” asked Jimmy.

The man spat on the ground and it looked as if the gesture was taking most of his strength. “I spit on her!” He started to wobble and the woman put her arms around him.

“He’s a farmer,” she said. “He told us his story when he came to us.”

Jimmy looked at Dash then motioned with his head back toward the horses. Dash didn’t need to be told what was on his brother’s mind. He turned and walked back while Jimmy said, “Why don’t you tell us his story.”

“My man went to fight for the King,” said the woman. “Two years ago.” She glanced back at the three children and said, “My girls are fit to work; Hildi’s almost grown. We did all right for the first year. Then the soldiers came and took the town. Our farm was far enough away we weren’t troubled for a while.”

Dash returned leading the horses. He handed the reins to Jimmy, then went back and opened a saddlebag. He returned a moment later, unwrapping a bundle. Once opened, he revealed some heavy travel bread, thick with honey and nuts and dried fruit, and some jerked beef. Without hesitation the children passed their mother and grabbed what they could.

Dash glanced at Jimmy and nodded slightly. He gave the rest of the bundle to the man, who passed it along to the woman and said, “Thank you.”

“How did an enemy soldier come to be guiding your family to Darkmoor?” asked Dash.

The woman and man both nearly wept in gratitude as they chewed on the heavy bread. After swallowing, the woman said, “When the soldiers came, we hid in the woods, and they took everything. We had only what we had carried away. Then out of spite they burned the roof off our house and broke down the door. Sticks and thatch was all it was, but it was the only home the girls had known.”

She glanced about, afraid other threats might appear suddenly from the surrounding woods. “Markin found us when we were trying to rebuild our house. It was never what you’d call fine, but my man had spent years adding to it, making it more than just a hut. But the soldiers had burned it down and the girls and me had no tools.”

“I find them,” said Markin. “They needed help.”

“He came and he fought for us. Other men came, many with swords and bows, but he kept them from taking me or the girls.” She glanced at him with obvious affection in her eyes. “He’s my man now, and he’s a fair da’ to the girls.”

Jimmy sighed. To Dash he said, “We’ll hear stories like this one a hundred times before we’re through.”

“Why Darkmoor?” asked Jimmy.

“We hear the King’s there and there’s food for the asking.”

Jimmy smiled. “No, the King’s not there, though he was last year. But there’s food for work.”

“I work good,” said the foreign born soldier. “Can we go?” asked the woman.

“Yes,” said Dash, motioning for them to pass. Markin said, “You soldiers?”

Jimmy grinned. “Not if we can help it.”

“But you nobleman. Markin can tell.”

Dash said dryly. “I’ve known him all my life and can tell you he’s far from noble most of the time.”

The old soldier studied the two, then said, “If you try to look like common men, you don’t.” He pointed down to Jimmy’s feet. “Dirty, but nobleman’s boots.”

He motioned for the woman and girls to follow him and moved carefully past, not taking his eyes off the brothers until his small band was passed. Then he turned and hurried along, taking his position in the van, against any other unexpected encounters.

“First time I regretted having comfortable boots,” said Dash.

Jimmy looked down and said, “Well, we may be muddy, but he’s right.” Glancing around, he added, “This is a place of little food and even less comfort.”

Dash remounted his horse. “I suspect by the time we get to Krondor we won’t look quite so prosperous.”

Jimmy also mounted and said, “Maybe we should get off this highway.”

Dash said, “The north road?” He referred to an old road his one-time employer, Rupert Avery, used regularly to move goods, avoiding the tolls charged on the King’s Highway.

Jimmy shook his head. “No, that’s almost as busy as this one and those woods are going to be full of deserters and bandits.”

“The south?”

“Slower going, but there are enough trails along the lakes if we don’t head too far into the southern hills.”

Dash said, “Since Kesh pulled south to the old border, everything from here to their nearest garrison is going to be wilderness.”

Jimmy laughed. “What’s the difference if we run into fifty deserters from the Emerald Queen’s army or fifty bandits, or fifty Keshian mercenaries . . .” He shrugged.

Dash made a show of shivering under his heavy cloak.

“Let’s hope whoever’s down there is hugging their fires. As any sane man would do.” Dash urged his horse forward and soon the two brothers were riding south at a steady walk. “Why do we do these things?” he asked.

Jimmy said, “Because our King commands and we obey.”

Dash let out a theatrical sigh. “I thought it was something like that.”

Softly, Jimmy began to sing a very old song:

“To Kesh’s heartland or Queg’s harsh shore
Our blood, our hearts, our lives and more,
For honor’s sake do we obey,
And go over the hills and far away
 . . .”

The sound of cracking ice rang through the cold morning air and both brothers pulled up just before entering a clearing. Using hand signals, Jimmy motioned for Dash to move south along the edge of the clearing while he circled north.

Dash nodded, dismounted and tied his horse to a branch of a small birch tree. Jimmy did likewise and moved silently away.

Dash moved through the thinning trees, bordering a burned out farm he judged from the appearance of tree stumps nearby. The sound resolved itself into a repeated hammering at ice.

Dash saw the man in the distance.

A slender figure, he crouched over the frozen ice on a large pond, perhaps a hundred yards away from where Dash watched, hammering at the ice with a rock. Up and down the rock moved, and Dash couldn’t help but be fascinated with the sight.

Dash couldn’t get a good look at the man, but his clothing seemed a hodgepodge of rags and ill-matched garments. He might have worn boots, but all Dash could see was a collection of rags tied around each foot for warmth.

Dash saw movement in the woods beyond the pond and judged Jimmy was in place. He waited.

Jimmy walked slowly out of the woods and the man leaped to his feet with astonishing speed. He turned away as Jimmy shouted, “Wait! I won’t hurt you!”

Dash slowly took out his sword as the tatters-clad man hurried toward him, trying to keep his movement from alerting the ragged man. As the man reached the first line of trees, Dash stepped out, extending his foot, and tripped him.

The man went down in a tangle of clothes and turned over, scuttling backward as he shouted, “Don’t kill me!”

Dash moved quickly to put the point of his sword before the man’s face, as Jimmy caught up, out of breath.

Dash said, “We’re not going to hurt you.” To demonstrate his good intentions, he quickly sheathed his sword. “Get up.”

The man got up slowly as Jimmy leaned over, hands on knees, and said, “He’s fast.”

Dash grinned. “You’d have caught him had you had another mile or so to overtake him. You’ve
always had endurance, if not speed.” Turning his attention to the figure on the ground, he said, “Who are you and what were you doing?”

The man slowly rose, as if ready to bolt at the slightest threat, and said, “I am called Malar Enares, young masters.” He was a slender man, with a hawk nose sticking out over a large rag wrapped around his face. His eyes were dark, and they shifted back and forth between the brothers. “I was fishing.”

Jimmy and Dash exchanged glances, and Dash said, “With a rock?”

“To break the ice, young sir. Then when the fish come up to sun himself, I would strip bark and make a noose.”

Jimmy said, “You were going to snare a fish?”

“It is easy if you but have patience and a steady hand, young sir.”

Dash said, “I hear Kesh in your speech.”

“Oh, no, mercy, young sir. I am but a humble servant of a great trader of Shamata, Kiran Hessen.”

Jimmy and Dash had both heard the name. A trader with Keshian connections who did a great deal of business with the late Jacob Esterbrook. Since the destruction of Krondor, the boys’ father, Lord Arutha, had pieced together several accounts that had clearly indicated two facts, that Esterbrook had been a long standing agent of Great Kesh, and that he and his daughter were both dead. Jimmy could see what Dash was thinking; if Esterbrook had been a Keshian agent, so then could Kiran Hessen.

“Where is your master now?” asked Jimmy.

“Oh, dead I fear,” said the thin man with a display of regret. “Fourteen years was I his servant, and he a generous master. Now I am alone in this cold place.”

Jimmy said, “Well, why don’t you tell us this story.”

“And show us how you planned on catching those fish,” said Dash.

“If I might have some hair from your horse’s manes,” said the ragged man. “Then it would be so much easier.”

“Horses?” asked Dash.

“Two young noblemen such as yourselves didn’t walk into this forsaken wilderness I am certain,” supplied Malar. “And I heard one of them snorting a moment again.” He pointed, “That way.”

Jimmy nodded. “That’s fair.”

“What do you need hair from their manes for?” asked Dash.

“Let me show you.”

He walked toward the place where Dash’s horse had been tied, and said, “The ice was almost broken when you startled me, young sir. If you would but use the hilt of your sword to break it open, that would be a great service.”

Jimmy nodded and started back toward the icy pond.

Dash asked, “Now, about how you came to be lost in this forsaken wilderness.”

“As you are no doubt aware,” began Malar, “there was much trouble between Kesh and the Kingdom lately, with Shamata for a time being deeded to the Empire.”

“So we had heard,” said Dash.

“My master, being of Kingdom allegiance, decided it wise to visit his holdings in the north, first in Landreth, then Krondor.

“We were traveling to Krondor when we encountered the invaders. We were overtaken and my master
and most of his other servants were put to the sword. I and a few others managed to flee into the hills, south of here.” He pointed southward with his chin, as he reached Dash’s horse. Malar reached up and gripped a few hairs from the horse’s mane, yanking expertly, and came away with several long stands of hair. The horse moved at the unexpected pressure, snorting displeasure. Dash reached out and took the reins from the tree branch where they were tied, and Malar yanked out some more hairs. He repeated the procedure twice more. “That is sufficient,” he observed.

“So you’ve been in these hills how long?”

“More than three months, young sir,” said Malar, as he started deftly weaving the hair into a braid. “It has been a bitter time. Some of my companions died from hunger and cold, and two were captured by a band of men—outlaws or invaders, I do not know which. I have been alone for all of three weeks or so, I judge.” He sounded apologetic as he said, “It is difficult to keep track of time.”