Shards of a Broken Crown. Raymond E. Feist

nodded. “That makes sense.”

      Erik put down his now empty mug and said, “That’s about all that does.”

      Dash nodded in agreement as Erik stood. Looking up at the tall, powerfully built captain, he said, “I haven’t seen my sometime employer about lately. How fares your friend Rupert?”

      Erik smiled. “Roo is hauling some ridiculous amount of goods through mud and ice to be first into Darkmoor with what we need.” Then Erik laughed. “He told me he’s the richest man in the world, according to his accounts, but has almost no gold left, so his only hope for recovery is to insure the Kingdom survives long enough to pay him back.”

      “An odd kind of patriotism, wouldn’t you say?”

      Erik smiled as he nodded. “If you knew Roo as well as I, you’d judge it entirely in keeping with his nature.” Pausing for a moment as if considering a second cup of coffee, Erik looked with a faint show of regret at the empty mug. After a moment of silence, he said, “I’d best get back to see what Owen wants done.”

      He departed. Dash pondered what had been said there, amidst the bustle of the kitchen, then rose to find Jimmy and see how he fared.

      The priest was just departing Jimmy’s quarters when Dash arrived.

      Sitting on the bed next to his brother, who lay under a heavy wool blanket. Dash said, “That was quick.”

      “He gave me something to drink, washed my feet in an unguent, then told me to get some sleep.”

      “How bad are they?”

      “I was going to lose toes, at least,” said Jimmy, “if he hadn’t been here.” With a nod of his head he indicated the departed priest.

      “You paint a pretty bleak picture of what’s out there.”

      Jimmy sighed. “I saw places where men had stripped the bark off of trees to make soup.”

      Dash sat back. “Patrick’s not going to be happy.”

      “What’s happened here while I was gone?” asked Jimmy, stifling a yawn.

      Dash said, “We’ve got reports that things are stable up north, though no one has seen sign of that bastard Duko lately.”

      Jimmy said, “If Fadawah is sending Duko south, Krondor could be very difficult to seize.”

      “Yes,” agreed Dash. “Kesh is not happy about what went on down in Stardock, and we’ve got elements of the garrison of Ran and half of the King’s Own down near Landreth, just waiting for an excuse to move south. Kesh has pulled away from Shamata, but they’re a lot closer than Patrick likes, and the vale is once again a no-man’s-land. Negotiations are underway, even as we speak.”

      “The East?” asked Jimmy, this time unable to stop the yawn.

      “We won’t know until the spring, but some of the smaller kingdoms may get playful. Patrick and the King have exchanged messages, and I get the impression Borric wants some of his Army of the East back as soon as the thaw starts.”

      “What’s Father say?”

      “To me?” asked Dash. Jimmy nodded. “Not much,” said Dash with a smile that reminded his brother of their grandfather in his more playful moods. “He’s pretty closemouthed about things.”

      “Mother?” asked Jimmy.

      Dash nodded again. “I get the feeling it may be a long time before Mother visits us. She seems to find court life in Roldem preferable to living in a tent in the burned-out remains of Krondor, irrespective of the rank of Duchess.”

      Jimmy closed his eyes. “She and Aunt Polina are most likely shopping right now, or having gowns fitted for a banquet or dance.”

      “Most likely,” agreed Dash. “But it’s hard on Father. You’ve been away for most of the winter, and the few times you’ve been here you’ve seen him when he’s busy.”

      “Grandfather and Grandmother?” asked Jimmy.

      “Yes,” said Dash. “When he’s alone and thinks I don’t notice, he broods. He knows there was nothing he could do, but he silently rages about it. I hope once spring comes and we start the campaign he’ll snap out of it, but he’s drinking more than he used to and seems withdrawn most of the time.”

      When Jimmy said nothing, Dash glanced at his brother and saw his chin on his chest, his eyes half-closed as he fought to remain awake. Dash quietly stood up and moved to the door. He took a long look at his brother, and for a moment saw an echo of their dead grandmother in his features, the pale skin and nearly white blond hair. Finding a tear coming unbidden to his eyes, Dash quickly left, silently closing the door behind, while he said a silent prayer of thanks to Ruthia, the Goddess of Luck, for the safe return of his brother.

      “Erik!”

      Dash turned to see Rosalyn hurrying down the corridor, and stood aside to let the young woman pass. Dash knew the girl felt overwhelmed at times by being the mother of the next Baron – she was Gerd’s mother because of her rape at the hands of Erik’s half-brother – and Erik was her closest friend. They had been like brother and sister as children, and he was the first person she turned to when in distress. Dash watched as she came to the Captain’s door and started knocking.

      Erik opened the door and said, “What?”

      Dash hesitated a moment, then continued to walk past as Rosalyn said, “It’s the Baroness. She’s refusing to let me bathe my own son! It’s just one more thing she’s taken from me! Do something!”

      Dash stopped and said, “Excuse me.”

      Both Erik and Rosalyn turned to the young man. “Yes?” asked Erik.

      “I hesitate to intrude on the basis of overhearing a conversation I’m not party to, but to avoid any embarrassment, may I make an observation?”

      “What?” said Rosalyn.

      “Given her somewhat … forceful nature, the Dowager Baroness has actually been rather leisurely in acquainting your son with his new office.”

      Rosalyn shook her head. She had been a pretty girl growing up in Ravensburg with Erik, but the birth of two children, hard work in her husband’s bakery, and the travail of the recent war had put premature grey in her hair and robbed her face of the softness Erik had known in his youth. Her eyes were now hard, and she was leery of hearing anything from Dash that would further remove her from her son.

      “Gerd is now Baron von Darkmoor,” said Dash, trying to be patient and instructive without sounding patronizing. Rosalyn might be an untutored common woman, but she wasn’t stupid. “For the rest of his life, many of the things you did for him will be done by servants. Had you been Baroness, you would never have bathed him, nor changed his diapers, nor perhaps even nursed him.

      “It’s time for you to begin his education as Baron.” Dash waved around, indicating the castle. “This is now the frontier of the Kingdom, until the West is retaken, and may continue to be a critical stronghold for years, far into Gerd’s adulthood. Gerd is almost five years old, and soon will spend most of his day with tutors and instructors. He needs to learn to read, to write, the history of his people, riding, weapons, court protocol …”

      Erik nodded, putting his hand on Rosalyn’s shoulder. “Dash is right.” The young woman looked defiant and Erik felt her shoulder tense under his hand. He smiled. “But there’s no reason you can’t stand nearby and watch as the servants care for him.”

      Rosalyn said nothing for a moment, then nodded and turned off to retrace her steps to where her son was housed in the Baron’s quarters of the castle. Erik watched her retreating back, then turned to Dash. “Thanks for pointing things out.”

      “I hesitated to insert myself into your conversation, but it’s only the truth.”

      Erik glanced down the hall to the