The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist

seen too many men die on those walls and spent too many days defending them to have missed Crydee, Briana.’ Then he kissed her cheek and squeezed her in a bear hug. ‘But damn me if I haven’t missed you and Martin.’

      Arms around each other’s waists, the tall Duchess and the large sea captain walked up the steps into Castle Crydee.

      Martin indicated Nicholas should sit and moved behind a large desk. The Duke’s office looked small compared to Arutha’s in Krondor, and Nicholas glanced around.

      Behind Martin, on the wall, was the sea gull banner of Crydee. Above the bird’s head were the faint outlines of a crown, where a piece of material had been removed. Nicholas knew that once his own grandfather had held this office, and had also been second in line to the crown Nicholas’s uncle now wore. But Martin’s line was prevented from inheritance by an illegitimate birth, and all marks of such succession had been removed from the family coat-of-arms.

      Martin said, ‘This office was your father’s for a while, during the years of the Riftwar, Nicholas. Before that it was your grandfather’s, and his father’s and grandfather’s before him.’

      Nicholas noticed that beyond that one ducal banner, the walls were devoid of personal mementos or trophies; only a large map of the Duchy and another of the Kingdom graced the otherwise bare stone. Martin’s desk was equally well ordered, with a solitary inkwell and quill, a bar of red wax for the ducal signet, and a candle. Two rolled parchments hinted at some unfinished business, but otherwise there was a sense of organization in this room, as if the present occupant was loath to leave at the end of the day with any task unfinished or unresolved. There was something familiar in that, Nicholas realized, as that drive for order was also a hallmark of his father. He returned his attention to his uncle, who was watching him closely. Nicholas flushed.

      Martin smiled and said, ‘You are with family, Nicholas, never forget that.’

      Nicholas shrugged. ‘I’ve heard Father tell of Crydee, and Amos has war stories that never end, but …’ He glanced around once more. ‘I guess I didn’t know what to expect.’

      Martin said, ‘That’s why you’re here. Arutha wished you to know something of your heritage.

      ‘We’ve a rough court, by Krondorian standards,’ he continued. ‘Close to primitive by the standards of Rillanon and the other eastern courts. But you’ll find it comfortable enough in the ways that matter.’

      Nicholas nodded. ‘What exactly will I be doing?

      Martin said, ‘Arutha has left that up to me. I think for the time being I’m going to name you my Squire. You’re a little old for the position, but that way you can stay close, and perhaps after a while I’ll find better use for you. I’ll assign your friend to Marcus.’

      Nicholas was about to object when Martin said, ‘Squires do not have squires, Nicholas.’ Nicholas nodded.

      ‘Tonight we’ll have a formal reception, with a troupe of players who are in the town. Then tomorrow you’ll begin your duties.’

      ‘What will those be?’

      ‘Housecarl Samuel will fill you in on some of your duties. Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon will have others for you. You will do several things every day, mostly to make my time more efficient in governing the Duchy. You may have noticed new buildings above the south bluffs and beyond. Crydee is becoming quite the metropolis by Far Coast standards. There is much to be done. Now I’ll have a servant show you to your rooms.’

      ‘Thank you, Uncle Martin.’ Nicholas rose as Martin came around the desk and opened the door, signaling for a servant to approach.

      Martin said, ‘Beginning tomorrow, Your Highness, you will address me as “Your Grace”. You will be addressed as “Squire”.’

      Nicholas flushed, feeling embarrassed but not knowing why. He nodded and followed the servant to his quarters.

      That night Nicholas sat between his uncle and his cousin Marcus. The food was hearty if plain, the wine was robust and flavorful, and the entertainment adequate. Nicholas spent the better part of the evening glancing past his aunt and uncle to where Abigail sat beside Margaret. The two girls seemed to have their heads together the better part of the meal, and several times Nicholas found himself blushing without quite knowing why. The few attempts he made at speaking with Marcus resulted in short answers and long silences. Nicholas was beginning to feel that somehow his cousin disliked him.

      Amos, Nakor, and Ghuda Bulé were all at the far end of the table, beyond Nicholas’s ability to speak to them. They were obviously having a good enough time swapping stories with Swordmaster Charles and Horsemaster Faxon.

      Looking down the table, Nicholas saw Harry attempting to engage a quiet young man in conversation. The man seemed to speak quietly, as Harry was constantly leaning over to hear him. The man seemed not much older than the boys, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties. He had a shock of blond hair that hung to his shoulders, and had bangs that seemed to threaten his vision every moment, as he was constantly brushing them back with his hand. His eyes were blue, and Nicholas imagined that if he ever smiled, he’d be a likable-enough-looking chap.

      ‘Cousin, who is that?’

      Marcus looked to where Nicholas indicated. ‘That’s Anthony. He’s a magician.’

      ‘Really?’ asked Nicholas, pleased that he had finally gotten more than one sentence from his cousin. ‘What’s he doing here?’

      ‘My father asked your father to intercede with the masters of Stardock to send a magician to us a few years ago.’ Marcus shrugged. ‘Something to do with Grandfather, I think.’ He put down the rib bone he had been gnawing, dipped his hands in the finger bowl, and wiped them on a linen napkin. ‘Did your father ever talk about having a magician at court?’

      Relieved that they were at last engaged in something like a conversation, Nicholas shrugged. ‘A few stories. About Kulgan and Pug, I mean. I met Pug on this journey.’

      Marcus kept his eyes upon the magician. ‘Anthony is a good fellow, I’ll warrant you that, friendly when you get to know him. But he keeps to himself a great deal, and those few times Father asks him for counsel, he tends towards the evasive. I fear the magicians at Stardock sent him here as something of a joke.’

      ‘Really?’

      Marcus fixed Nicholas with a sour look. ‘You keep asking “really” as if I’m making this up.’

      ‘Sorry,’ said Nicholas, blushing a little. ‘It’s just a habit. What I mean is, why do you think the masters of Stardock would do that, send him here as a joke?’

      ‘Because he’s not a very good magician, from what I can tell of such things.’

      Nicholas caught himself as he was about to say ‘Really?’ and instead changed it to, ‘Interesting. I mean, you don’t see a lot of magicians anywhere, but the few who’ve come to court don’t do much by way of magic, at least not anywhere you can see them.’

      Marcus shrugged. ‘I guess he has his uses, but there’s something about him that makes me cautious. He’s got secrets.’

      Nicholas laughed. Marcus turned to see if Nicholas was laughing at him. Nicholas said, ‘I think that’s part of the act, you know. Lurking in shadows and mysteries and the rest.’

      Marcus shrugged again, allowing himself a faint smile. ‘Perhaps. Anyway, he’s Father’s adviser, though he doesn’t do much of that.’

      Glad to be involved at last in something other than silence, Nicholas pursued the conversation. ‘You know, I knew Horsemaster Faxon’s father. I didn’t know he’d bear such a resemblance to the old Duke.’

      Marcus grunted a noncommittal sound. ‘Gardan was an old man when he came back from Krondor. I never noticed.’

      Feeling the conversation slipping away, Nicholas said, ‘I was sorry to hear of his death last year.’