A Crown Imperilled. Raymond E. Feist

‘Macros,’ he said softly.

      ‘Why, yes. You knew him?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Pug. ‘How long ago?’

      ‘More than a century. His name is recorded in our annals. He stayed with us for a short while, then departed. He was persuasive. Though I suspect had my ancestors tried to prevent his departure they would have been unsuccessful.’

      ‘You have no idea,’ Pug said with a hint of humour.

      ‘Well, it is of little import. Other humans have reached here despite our warnings, having passed through the villages to the north. We assumed they meant ill and dealt with them harshly.’ He shrugged in a very human fashion and said, ‘Or there were priests visiting here and they dealt with them. Either way it’s of little importance now.’ He motioned for them to follow him.

      ‘With the advent of those creatures you call demons, it’s clear that we are in a situation far beyond our abilities to endure. I think we would have repulsed that last contingent of demons you so conveniently destroyed, but should another such band arrive …’ He sighed. ‘Well, I think it safe to say we would eventually be overrun. Our resources are now nearly depleted. We have refugees from the north, as you saw, crowding our plaza, and when they fled they brought little by way of foodstuffs. And winter is fast approaching.

      ‘Our fishers and hunters roam the lands to the south of here, but we have scant hope to hold off starvation for little more than a month at best, and should the demons return …’ He made a despairing gesture.

      Pug took a moment to consider, as they left the conference room and moved deeper into the building, then said, ‘If we do not run afoul of your priests, perhaps we can help.’

      ‘You must understand we will not be able to stand apart should you, indeed, run afoul of the priests. We are created in such a way that we must defend all or any of us.’

      ‘I understand,’ said Pug, not entirely sure that he did.

      They walked down a long hall until they found themselves at a circular staircase cantilevered into the wall of what appeared to be a tower. Pug judged it would rise into that large edifice he had seen behind the city’s southernmost wall.

      ‘You are regarded here with some degree of animosity, despite our understanding why you destroyed so many of our brethren. Especially the eggs in the crèches. Some of them most likely would have been more like those who you see here than the Priesthood. We mourn their loss above all.’

      Pug could only nod.

      ‘As I have said,’ continued Tak’ka, as he led them upward, ‘we have diverged from our kin.’ He led them to a large landing at the top of the stairs, sheltered from the elements by a tall dome, with an open door facing into what appeared to be an immense garden.

      Pug took only a single step outside: confronting him was a completely unexpected sight. Six tall pillars of light in a diamond configuration stood in the middle of the garden. From each a faint humming, almost musical, could be heard.

      ‘Sven-ga’ri,’ said Pug.

      • CHAPTER FIVE •

      Fugitive

      THREE CLOAKED FIGURES HURRIED THROUGH THE DARK ALLEY.

      For the fourth time in three months, Hal and Ty found themselves being moved from one of Lady Franciezka Sorboz’s safe houses to another. The two young men had fallen into the routine of simply picking up their meagre belongings and quickly following whoever came for them without question.

      This time there seemed to be more urgency, more need to move quickly and not be seen. Hal wasn’t sure why it felt that way, but in the months he had been hiding with Ty he had come to rely more and more on his hunter’s skills, adapted to an urban setting. Alleys and streets were no more or less treacherous than trails and paths, and the predators in Roldem made up for their lack of fang and talon with guile and weapons.

      It was early in the morning, perhaps an hour before sunrise, so the sight of three men skulking would certainly raise a hue and cry, given that the curfew inflicted on the population weeks before was enforced with severity by the roving gangs of marshals appointed by Lord Worthington.

      Little word had reached them from their benefactor: Lady Franciezka had only visited them once in the last three weeks, and then had been tight-lipped. Something was afoot that she felt was best kept from the two young men, but both Hal and Ty could see that she was deeply troubled by whatever it was.

      Since then they had been forced to endure isolation. For the frontier-bred Hal, used to wandering at will, it was more torture than he had endured in his life. He had combated it with a regimen of reading anything he could find – the lady had a prodigious library in every house she owned – and vigorous exercise, which he discovered not only enabled him to keep his weight under control, but reduced his worry and helped him sleep. And he spent hours practising his swordplay with Ty.

      Ty was easily the most gifted swordsman Hal had ever faced. But in those hours of sparring, he had come to recognize patterns and weaknesses, and eventually he had begun to score his share of touches. Hal doubted he would ever be Ty’s equal, but it was likely he’d never face another swordsman better than himself.

      Their guide held up his hand and they stopped. He peered around a corner and motioned for them to stay close and together they hugged the storefronts that were deepest in shadow as the dawn light shone into the city. As in most ports, there was a morning mist that would burn off early in the day, but for the moment it served their purposes in shrouding their passage.

      They took a circuitous route but at last found themselves at the corner of an alley and a narrow street with high buildings of two and three storeys turning it into a dark canyon.

      Hurrying along, they reached a door and were inside before anyone might spy them. Inside, two armed men waited and when the three threw back their hoods, sword-points were lowered. ‘Good,’ said one of the two who waited. ‘This way.’

      They followed their new guide down a short hall to the house’s back stairs – the servants’ passage – and ascended. On the third floor they entered a small room, used by the maid to prepare the service of meals.

      The guide and the two armed men were unknown to Hal and Ty. All the two young men knew was they were working for Lady Franciezka Sorboz. All three looked dangerous. If nothing else had convinced them that the lady was important to the Crown of Roldem, the seemingly endless number of these capable men at her beck and call confirmed it.

      One, tall and heavily muscled, wearing the short-sleeved, close-fitting shirt and bell-bottomed trousers of a sailor said, ‘A pledge, gentlemen. Lady Franciezka asks you to swear that what you are about to see remains with you and no matter what may occur in the future, you will hold your silence. Agreed?’

      Hal and Ty exchanged quick glances. Then both said, ‘Agreed.’

      Their escort pushed open the door to the large master suite and the two young men entered. Three women sat quietly waiting inside a finely appointed parlour.

      Lady Franciezka rose and waved with her hand for Hal and Ty to enter. They hesitated for a moment, for the second woman in the room – girl really – was Princess Stephané, the King’s daughter. The third woman was unknown to either of them, but she was as striking a beauty as the other two.

      ‘Your Highness, Lord Harold of Crydee and Tyrone Hawkins.’

      Stephané smiled and both young men felt their stomachs tighten, as they had the first time they had been presented to the royal family after their duel at the Masters’ Court. Ty had won the Championship after Hal had been forced to withdraw due to a muscle pull during the final match.

      The Princess was clad in a travelling dress, dark blue cut straight across the bodice and three-quarter-length sleeves, with a hem at mid-thigh and matching leggings. Her boots were plain and serviceable, suitable for hiking or walking. She wore no jewellery