His bout of heartsickness had passed, and he could look back on his days with Alysandra and feel only a bittersweet irony. On that last day he was thinking of marriage, or spending his life with her, and now he felt she was nothing more than an object of pity or contempt. Or both. A thing without a heart; but despite this, Talon knew that in some sense he must learn to be like her, for everything he had been told since that day led him to believe she was far more dangerous than he could yet imagine.
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came to stand beside Talon and said nothing, content to take in the view.
Roiling swells and spindrift vanished into the fading light of day, as dark grey clouds edged in black raced by above. In the distance they could see flashes of lightning.
At last Caleb said, “We should reach Krondor ahead of the storm, but only just.’’
Talon nodded. “I think I could be a sailor,” he said after a while.
“The sea calls many men,” Caleb observed.
They remained silent for the rest of the afternoon, until half an hour before darkness, when the lookout above called, “Land ho!’’
The captain of the ship came forward to greet them.
“Gentlemen, we shall reach Krondor after dark. We’ll heave to in the lees of the breakwater and shelter against the storm, then at first light, I’ll signal the harbormaster and we’ll enter the sound. It should be a noisy, but safe night.’’
Talon nodded. He felt a strange anticipation at seeing this city. He had read about it in the history of Rupert Avery, and in other books.
Caleb put his hand on Talon’s shoulder and signaled that they should go below. Talon turned and led the way.
Reaching their cabin—which was barely big enough for the two bunks, one above the other—they doffed their wet cloaks and sat down, Talon on the upper bunk, Caleb on the lower.
“We have some time before supper,” said Caleb. “I know you have rehearsed your story.’
“Yes,” Talon replied. He was to tell anyone who asked that he was a hunter from the woodlands near Crydee, which might explain his slight accent. As there was limited travel between Krondor and the Far Coast city, it was 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 233
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unlikely they’d encounter anyone who was familiar with that distant town. And if they did, Caleb would take the lead, since he knew that area.
“Caleb?”
“Yes, Talon?’’
“Why are we traveling this way?” He had wanted to ask since they had left the island.
“To broaden your knowledge,” said Caleb. “It is much like any other thing, traveling; being told this or that about a place is one thing, but doing it is another. You will see a thousand sights, and many will be different from what I see.’’
“Where are we going?’’
“From Krondor we find a caravan and travel to Malac’s Cross, the border between the Western and Eastern Realms of this Kingdom. From there we shall secure horses and travel to Salador. Both cities will offer you many opportunities for learning.”
“Fair enough, but what are we to do when we reach Salador?’’
“Study,” said Caleb, lying down upon his bunk. “Now, be still so I can take a nap until they call for supper.’’
“Study,” Talon muttered. “It seems to be my life.’’
“And as such, it’s a fair one. Now be quiet.’’
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The boat nestled alongside the quay as a dockhand fended it off the stonework, then tied off the bowlines. Talon stepped ashore, followed by Caleb. A man wearing an armband bearing a crest depicting an eagle flying over a mountain peak approached, looked them up and down, and spoke in a bored manner. “Where are you from?’’
“Crydee,” said Caleb.
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“You arrived on a Keshian ship.’’
“It was the first one leaving the Far Coast when we decided to come this way,” Caleb replied in an affable manner.
“Well, if you’re Kingdom citizens, that’s fair enough.”
The man walked on, leaving Caleb and Talon alone.
“That’s it?” said Talon.
“It’s an era of peace, so they say.” Caleb motioned for Talon to follow him. “At least here in the west. King Ryan has pledged his daughter in marriage to the nephew of the Empress of Great Kesh, and the Emperor of Queg has a cousin who is wed to King Ryan’s younger son. Trading with the Free Cities is brisk, and the Governor of Durbin is keeping his ‘privateers’ on a short leash. Hasn’t been a major conflict in seven years.’’
As they climbed the stone steps from the quayside to the road above, Caleb added, “It’s in the east where things are balanced on a razor’s edge, and that’s where you’ll find yourself subject to far more intense scrutiny than here.’’
They walked down a street toward the center of the city. When Talon craned his neck, he could see a castle to the south of the harbor. “That’s where the Prince lives?’’
“Prince Matthew, son of King Ryan. King Patrick’s been dead for less than two years and Matthew is still a youngster, less than fourteen years of age.” Caleb said,
“But he’s not the power in the city, anyway.’’
“Who is?’’
“Two brothers, the Jamisons. James is Duke of Krondor, as his grandfather was before him, and they say he’s nearly as wily as his legendary grandpa. His younger brother Dashel is a rich businessman. It’s said whatever James doesn’t control, Dashel does. They’re dangerous men, by any measure.’’
“I’ll remember that,” said Talon.
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“Well, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever make either man’s acquaintance, but stranger things have been known to happen. Here we are.’’
Talon looked up and saw that they were standing before an inn, a sign above it bearing the faded image of a grinning face, a man with a dark beard wearing a plumed hat. Below it was written, “Admiral Trask.’’
Caleb pushed open the door, and they stepped into a smoky room, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat, tobacco smoke, spilled ale, and wine. Talon’s eyes began to water.
Caleb pushed his way past several dock men, sailors and travelers, until he reached the counter. The innkeeper looked up and grinned. “Caleb! It’s been too long, old friend!’’
“Randolph,” answered Caleb, taking his hand. “This is Talon. Do you have a room?’’
“Yes,” said the innkeeper. “You can have your pick. The one in the back?’’
“Yes,” said Caleb, understanding the question.
“Are you hungry?’’
Caleb smiled. “Always.”
“Then sit down, and I’ll have the girl fetch you your supper. Any baggage?’’
“You know I travel light.” Talon and Caleb both carried all their gear in light packs they wore across their shoulders.
The innkeeper tossed a heavy iron key to Caleb, who caught it neatly. “Sit,” he said, “then retire when you’re of a mind to.’’
They took their seats, and in a moment a girl appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray on which rested an abun-dant heap of steaming food: hot chicken, roasted duck, a slab of lamb, and steamed vegetables.
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When she placed the tray on the table, Talon glanced up and his mouth fell open. He started to rise, but a firm
hand from Caleb pushed him back into his chair. Lela looked down at him with a friendly smile, but there was no hint of recognition in her eyes. “Can I bring you drinks, fellows?’’
“Ale,” Caleb said, and she hurried off.
“What—?”
Caleb spoke in a low voice, “She’s not who you think she is.’’
In less than a minute, the girl returned with two large pewter jacks filled with foaming ale. “What’s your name, girl?” asked Caleb.
“Roxanne,” she replied, “sir. Is there anything else?’’
“No,” said Caleb, and the girl left them.
Softly, Talon said, “That was Lela.’’
“No,” said Caleb. “You’re mistaken.”
Talon looked at his friend, then nodded curtly. “Yes, I must be mistaken.”
They ate in silence.
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They spent three days in Krondor, making arrangements to travel with a caravan. Caleb and Talon would serve as guards, in exchange for transportation and food. The caravan master was pleased not to have to pay the mercenary bonus, and counted himself fortunate.
The mystery of why Lela was working at the inn under the name of Roxanne was not discussed, and Talon assumed it was yet another of those things which might never be explained to him. Yet it was oddly reassuring to discover a familiar face in such strange surroundings, even if under circumstances that could only be called bizarre.
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Krondor was a revelation to Talon, for while Latagore had seemed fabulous to his untutored eyes when he had visited it for the first time, it seemed a provincial village compared to the capital of the Western Realm of the Kingdom. The city was teeming with people, from distant lands as far away as the Keshian Confederacy, the captive nations in the Empire’s southern reaches. Dialects and languages strange to the ear could be heard in every market and inn.
Caleb took him to see famous sights: the remaining portion of the seawall, which had been destroyed during the Serpentwar when, according to legend, the armies of the Emerald Queen had invaded from across the sea and the entire city was virtually destroyed. Talon had to pause when Caleb told the story, to remind himself that Caleb was speaking of his own grandmother, who had been enslaved by a demon. Talon judged that many of the tales told around the campfire in his boyhood might need be reevaluated, rather than merely dismissed as folktales.
He visited Barrett’s Coffee House, where finance, as complex and mysterious as magic, was conducted. He had a vague sense of what the place meant to the economy of the Kingdom from his reading of the life of Rupert Avery, who had been a businessman of some fame at Barrett’s. They went to see the palace, though they observed it from a respectful distance, for while Caleb hinted at some past relationship between his family and the crown, there seemed no plausible reason to gain entrance. Nor any motive, for that matter, apart from curiosity. Talon felt a mild interest in these things, as he did with anything that was alien to his experience. Now when he reflected upon his childhood, he realized how little of the world he had known as a boy; but even so he remembered with clarity how much he thought he understood of it. Such had been 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 238
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the heritage of his people, who were content to live out their lives in the mountains as their ancestors had done before them. Generations passed with little change among the Orosini, and it seemed a good life. Talon looked around the city, taking in the crowds clogging the streets, and wondered if perhaps that was one thing his people had correctly apprehended—the quality of a good life.
Certainly, most of the people he viewed as they passed were evidencing little by way of joy. Most were intent upon the business at hand, or making their way somewhere in a great hurry. A few children played in the streets, but only the very young; the older children seemed to be banded together in groups of ten or more and often could be seen running with a constable of the law in pursuit.
They traveled with the caravan through the Western Realm, through rolling hills and into low mountains not unlike those of his homeland. But where those mountains had been populated by folk living in villages of wooden huts and stockades, these mountains boasted towns and castles. In Ravensburgh they had the finest wine Talon had tasted, and he asked many questions of the innkeeper. He stole an hour to seek out a winemaker and plied him with questions, too.
Demetrius had said at some point that their masters would be teaching Talon about wine, and he now thought this would be a good thing.
The journey continued to the town of Malac’s Cross, and there they bid good-bye to the caravan master. After a night spent sleeping in a relatively clean room, Caleb secured two fine horses, and they set off to the east.
As they rode toward the rising sun, Talon said, “Caleb, am I to ever discover what it is we are doing?’’
Caleb laughed. “I suppose it matters little if I tell you now or tell you when we reach Salador.’’
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“Then tell me now, for I am afire with curiosity.”
Caleb said, “In Salador we shall finish with your education in manners and breeding. For a year or more you will learn at least two musical instruments—the lute and another, perhaps a horn or pipe. You will learn even more about the culinary arts, though you are well on your way, having tutored under Leo. And you will learn more about manners of the court, costumes appropriate for all occasions, and how to comport yourself with persons of any rank. You will learn to judge wine and you will learn to sing, though I suspect this last matter may be a lost cause.’’
Talon laughed. “I can sing.’’
“I’ve heard you, and I’d hardly call it singing.’’
“But to what end does all this training in the art of being a man gentle born lead?’’
Caleb switched from the King’s Tongue, which they had been speaking since arriving in Krondor, to Roldemish. “Because in a year’s time, my young friend, you shall journey to the island kingdom of Roldem, and there you shall enroll in the Masters’ Court. And if the fates are kind, we shall establish you there as a minor noble, a distant cousin of a noteworthy family, rich in heritage but poor in resources, and as such employable.”
“The Masters’ Court? Kendrick told me a little about it. He said the finest swordsmen in the world trained there.’’
“And that, my friend, is your task. For when you leave Roldem, you must be counted as the best of them all. You must be counted as the greatest swordsman in the world.’’
Talon stared at his friend in stunned silence and rode on.
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P a r t T w o
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MERCENARY
R e v e n g e i s s w e e t b u t n o t n o u r i s h i n g .
—Mason Cooley
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FOURTEEN
MASTERS’ COURT
Tal blinked.
The blade that hovered for the briefest instant in front of his face flicked to the right, and he hesitated, then moved in the same direction. As he had anticipated, his opponent was feigning to the right and went left. He slipped past his guard so fast that the other swordsman couldn’t react in time, and Tal’s blade struck home.
“Touch!” cried the Master of the Court.
Tal retreated a step, then came to attention and saluted his opponent, a young noble from the coastal city of Shalan. Duzan or Dusan, Tal couldn’t quite recall his name. The spectators applauded politely as if the match had
run to form, which it had.
The Master of the Court stepped forward and declared, “Point and match to m’lord Hawkins.’’
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cousin to Lord Seljan Hawkins, Baron of the Prince’s Court in Krondor, bowed first to the Master of the Court, then to his opponent. The two men removed the protective mesh masks they wore and crossed to shake hands. The young Roldemish nobleman smiled and said, “Someday you’re going to guess wrong, Tal, and then I’ll have you.’’
Tal smiled in return. “You’re probably right. But as my man Pasko says, ‘I’d rather be lucky than good.’ Right, Pasko?’’
The burly servant, who had appeared at his elbow and was now taking his master’s sword and mask, smiled, and said,
“As my master says, given the choice, I’ll take luck anytime.’’
The two combatants exchanged bows and retired to opposite corners of the huge dueling hall that was the heart of the Masters’ Court in Roldem City. Large carved wooden columns surrounded a massive wooden floor, which had been polished to a gleam like brushed copper.
Intricate patterns had been laid into the floor and, once he had been introduced to the instructors, Tal had quickly seen they served a function beyond the aesthetic aspect.
Each pattern defined a dueling area, from the very confined, long and narrow dueling path for rapier fencing, to a larger octagon for longer blades.
For blades were the reason for the existence of the Masters’ Court. Over two hundred years ago the King of Roldem had commanded a tourney to name the greatest swordsman in the world. Nobles, commoners, soldiers, and mercenaries had traveled from as far away as beyond the Girdle of Kesh—the mountains that separate the northern and southern halves of the Empire, the Far Coast of the Kingdom, and all points in between. The prize had been fabled: a broadsword fashioned from gold and studded with gems—an artifact worth a kingdom’s taxes for years and years.
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