The King's Buccaneer by Raymond E. Feist
Calis sprinted from the woods across the road that ran along the boundary of the estate, little more than a blur in the moonlight unless someone was staring directly at him. He moved with unnatural silence, even for one elven-born and taught. When he halted behind a solitary oak that stood near the wall, his breathing was still slow and normal and there was no sign of the exertion that burst of speed had taken save for a slight sheen of dampness on his brow.
Calis inspected the wall and waited. He had inhuman patience and stayed in one place, unmoving, for more than a half hour. There was no sign of movement atop the crenellated wall. Ducking under a low-hanging branch, Calis hurried to the base of the wall. It loomed fifteen feet high and had little purchase for climbing. Calis had carried his bow in his hand; he now slung it over his back and bent deep at the knees. With all his power he jumped straight up and with both hands grabbed the top of the wall.
Silently he pulled himself up high enough to peek over the wall. The parapet was empty. He pulled himself up and over the outer edge, and crouched down on the rampart in the shadow of the chest-high merlon, so as not to become silhouetted against the night sky—even a few blocked stars might catch the notice of an alert guard, and the city’s distant light was directly behind him.
Studying the grounds below, he saw why there was no guard atop the wall. The estate was immense, with pathways leading between gardens and outbuildings. The central house was more than a quarter-mile away and had its own protective wall.
It was not in Calis’s nature to curse fate or demand anything of the gods. The search of these grounds would take many nights unless he was lucky. He also knew he had less than an hour left to explore before he needed to return to Marcus. Not that he worried about getting back across the river without the boat—he could swim the strong currents of the river as easily as he jumped to the top of the wall—but he was concerned about Marcus’s safety. Close to the same age as elves count such things, he was the only friend Calis had in many respects. Like Martin, Marcus had accepted Calis without reservation, while even his closest friends in Elvandar kept some distance. Calis felt no rancor or sadness—it was simply the elvish way. His father also had few friends in any real sense, but his father had the love of a wife and the respect granted a proven Warleader. Calis knew his fate was eventually to leave Elvandar, which had been one of the things prompting him to accompany Marcus on this voyage.
Calis marked the path through the garden below him, and saw how it meandered through several landscaped terraces before reaching the main compound. He jumped down lightly from the parapet and followed the path, listening for any sounds of anything approaching as he explored.
—
MARGARET AWOKE, PULLING herself upward through a murky cloud of disorientation. Her head ached with a strange thudding, and her mouth felt dry. Once, when first allowed to drink wine at her father’s table, she had felt this way, but she had not had any spirits with her meals.
The light was grey, as dawn was still not quite upon them. Forcing herself to sit up, she pulled a deep breath of air into her lungs and was aware of a strange spicy odor, not unpleasant or offputting, but alien.
In the gloom of the bedroom, she saw Abigail’s still form on the other bed, her breathing evident by the rise and fall of her breasts under the thin blanket. Abigail’s face was contorted, as if she was having a bad dream.
Then Margaret remembered: it had been a dream that had awakened her. She had seen herself being held motionless by creatures…she couldn’t remember them.
Then she saw movement as one of the two strange creatures stirred. It made a brushing motion with one hand, and Margaret felt a dull surprise, as if strong emotions were being damped by whatever was giving her the headache. The creature appeared to be brushing back its hair.
Margaret got out of the bed, forcing weak and unwilling legs to move. Heavily she plodded across the room to where the two creatures sat, their heads close together as if whispering. Margaret felt a distant stab of alarm. The creatures had changed. As grey light began to come in through the window, illuminating the room in tones of grey and black, she could see that the creatures’ skin was somehow smoother and lighter, and atop their heads hair was now sprouting. Margaret took a step back, her hand going to her mouth. One of the creatures had hair that matched Abigail’s blond locks, while the other’s was exactly the same shade as her own.
—
MARCUS DREW BACK his bow, though he was certain that it was Calis who approached. Few other men, perhaps only Marcus’s father and some among the Rangers of Natal, would have sensed his approach in the early morning gloom.
“Put away your bow,” Calis whispered.
Marcus was up and moving without being told. They were cutting it very fine if they were to get back across the river without being noticed. Once they were safely within the flow of river traffic they’d be just another boat, but anyone seen putting out from this side of the river this close to the Grand Adviser’s estate would be suspect.
Once in the boat, Marcus began rowing. He said, “Did you find anything?”
“Little useful. One oddity: there seem to be no guards and few servants.”
“For an estate that size?” said Marcus.
Calis shrugged. “My experience with human estates is limited.” With a wry grin showing in the predawn light, he added, “This is the first I’ve seen.”
Marcus said, “From the size of those walls and how far they stretch, I thought it would be a town within.”
“It’s not. Many gardens, empty buildings, and odd signs.”
“Signs?”
“Footprints like none I’ve seen before; smaller than a man’s but shaped somewhat manlike. Scratchmarks before the toes.”
Marcus didn’t need to be told that meant claws. “Serpent men?”
“I won’t know until I see one,” said Calis.
“You’re going back?”
“I must. There are many places I must explore if we are to find the captives and discover what is being undertaken there.” He smiled to reassure his friend. “I shall be careful, and methodical. I will explore the entire outer estate before I explore the inner. And I will explore that before I venture into the great house.”
Marcus didn’t feel reassured, but he knew Calis was fast and strong, calm and quick-witted. “How long?” he asked, meaning to finish the search.
“Three, maybe four more nights. Less if I find them before I go into the great house.”
Marcus sighed and said nothing as he rowed back toward the docks on the other side of the river.
19
EXPLORATIONS
A guide appeared.
Marcus had selected Amos and Ghuda to accompany him, while Harry and Brisa were out scouting the city for more clues to the prisoners’ fate. Calis’s report had troubled Nicholas; the absence of guards and servants was simply one more thing that made no sense. There were too many mysteries in all of this for the Prince’s liking. The only positive possibility was the track that might have been that of a Pantathian serpent priest, in which Nicholas found little comfort. He also wasn’t pleased at Calis’s plan to return, but he couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.
Anthony would remain at the inn with Praji, Vaja, and the other men, to listen and see what local gossip they could uncover. Praji and Vaja had elected to stay in exchange for a stiff payment from Nicholas, since he had still not told the local mercenaries all the facts of this journey, but just enough to satisfy them, apparently. Praji was certain at least a half-dozen agents of other companies, the mysterious Black Rose, and other clans were in the commons asking discreet questions.
Nicholas and his two companions left the hostel. The journey on foot took the better part of an hour, which gave Nicholas a good chance to examine further the City of the Serpent River.
The bazaar and the merchants’ quarters that surrounded it, as well as the docks, were something of a common ground, where men of all clans and alliances passed f
But once they left the commercial center of the city, it was clear they were entering something close to a war zone. Barricades had been erected at the ends of streets, forcing wagons and horsemen to make slow turns to get past them, so charges couldn’t be easily mounted. Men traveled in numbers. Women were never seen without armed escort. Many times passersby moved to the other side of the street rather than trust Nicholas and his friends to be harmless.
Nicholas had noticed that all who passed wore badges of one sort or another. The majority were the heads of animals, and these he understood were the clan badges of which both Tuka and Praji had spoken. The others wore mercenary badges, showing to which company they owed allegiance. Nicholas had thought about having badges made for his men, but hoped they’d be gone from the city on their way home before that step was necessary. He already felt they had been here too long.
When they had neared their host’s house, the hereditary home of the Lion Clan, Nicholas saw another example of just what sort of life those who lived in this city endured: it was an armed camp, and there were sentries for blocks before the house could be seen. The house was of three stories, with an observation turret atop the third floor. Archer platforms were manned and the outer wall was seven feet high. They entered the gate and Amos said, “A bailey!”
The clear area between the outer and inner wall stretched away and around the corners of the estate. An inner wall rose twelve feet high, and the distance between the two walls was thirty feet. The guide said, “Two hundred years ago the Rat Clan and their allies forced their way into the house itself. The Clan Chieftain at the time was exiled in shame; his successor built the two walls so that this might never happen again.”
Vaslaw Nacoyen met them at the entrance, with a dozen of his clan warriors in attendance. Nicholas was thankful they had met the Jeshandi before, as he now could see the relationship between these two peoples. The city-dwelling clansmen might wear robes of fine silk and bathe in perfumed waters, but they were still related in their dress and weapons. The men atop the roof carried the short horse bow; not one crossbow or longbow was in evidence. The men wore the same warrior’s topknot that Mikola had worn in his yurt, and most of them wore long, droopy mustaches or closely trimmed beards.
Vaslaw led them into a large room that looked as much like a council chamber as a dining hall. A long table stretched across it, set for dining, with servants waiting. Vaslaw motioned for Nicholas and his guests to sit. The old man made introductions to his one surviving son, Hatonis, and two daughters. Yngya, the elder, looked to be near the end of pregnancy, and she stood clutching the hand of a man Nicholas took to be her husband. The younger girl, Tashi, about fifteen years or so, blushed and kept her eyes lowered. Then Vaslaw introduced Regin, Yngya’s husband.
When they were all seated, servants began bringing an assortment of foods, small portions on numerous plates, and Nicholas assumed they were to sample a little of everything. A variety of wines were poured into goblets at the right hand of each diner, to be sampled with different dishes.
As they dined, Nicholas waited for his host to begin discussions. The old man was silent throughout the first portion of dinner. Then Regin asked, “You’ve traveled far, Captain?”
Nicholas nodded. “Very far. I am among the first of my people to visit this city, I suspect.”
“Are you from the Westlands?” asked Yngya.
The continent of Novindus was roughly divided into thirds. The Eastlands, where they had landed, was comprised of the Hotlands, as the desert was called, and the Great Steppes, the home of the Jeshandi, as well as the City of the Serpent River. The Riverlands comprised the heart of the continent, being the most heavily populated portion of Novindus. The Vedra River ran southeast from the Sothu Mountains through this rich farm belt. To the west of the river was the Plain of Djams, a relatively inhospitable grassland populated by nomads, more primitive than the Jeshandi. Beyond was a gigantic range of mountains, the Ratn’gary—the Pavilion of the Gods—which ran north from the sea to the mighty Forest of Irabek, which lay between the Ratn’gary and the Sothu mountains. It was beyond this north–south barrier of mountains and forest that the Westlands lay. The average residents of the Eastlands knew little about the Westlands and those who lived there. Even less was known of the Island Kingdom of Pa’jkamaka, which lay five hundred miles beyond. Only a handful of bold traders had ever visited those distant cities.
Ghuda asked, “When is your baby due?” freeing Nicholas from having to answer.
“Soon,” Yngya said with a smile.
As the first-course dishes were being cleared away, Nicholas said, “Vaslaw, you spoke last night of my need to understand some history.”
The old man nodded as he sucked out the last bit of a clam and put the shell on the plate so the servant could remove it. “Yes,” he said. “Do you know much about the city’s history?”
Nicholas told him what he had learned so far, and the old man nodded. “For centuries, after we disposed of the Kings, the council of chieftains ruled well and the city was peaceful. Many old feuds were resolved, and we had many marriages between the clans, so that as time passed, we were forming a single people.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “We are a very traditional people. In our own tongue, we are called Pashandi, which means ‘Righteous People.’ ”
“You are kin to the Jeshandi,” observed Amos.
“That means Tree People.’ But we are, simply, Shandi, ‘the People.’ Old ways die hard for us. It is still important to be a hunter and warrior before all else. I am a trader of no small accomplishment, with ships and river caravans leaving and arriving year round. I’ve traded to the Westlands twice in my life, and once even reached the Kingdom of Pa’jkamaka, and to every city on the Vedra, but my wealth is of no importance in the council of my clan; it is my good eye and skill with a bow, my stalking and riding, my strength with a sword that earned me the right to rule.”
His son looked on with pride, as did his daughters and son-in-law. “But being first with a sword or bow or on horse does not mean a man is a wise ruler,” said Vaslaw. “Many chieftains over the years did foolish things for reasons of pride and honor, and many times their clans suffered. The council had final rule in the city, but only a chieftain could rule those within his clan.” He shook his head. “Then almost thirty years ago bad things began to happen.”
“Bad things?” asked Nicholas.
“Rivalries became feuds, and blood was spilled and open warfare erupted between clans. There are fourteen clans of the Pashandi, Nicholas. At the height of the fighting, six clans—Bear, Wolf, Raven, Lion, Tiger, and Dog—were locked in a struggle with five others—Jackal, Horse, Bull, Rat, and Eagle. The Elk, Buffalo, and Badger attempted to remain outside the struggle, but they were being drawn in.
“At the height of the fighting, a mercenary captain called Valgasha and his company seized the council building. He declared he was speaking for the non-clan people of the city and declared the bazaar and docks under his protection. He killed every clansman that came armed into those areas. He almost united the clans against him, but before we could mount our offensive, he sent couriers begging for truce. We met with him and he convinced myself and the other chieftains to end the fighting; he took the title Overlord. He’s acted as arbiter and peacemaker with the clans since then, though there have been many issues left unresolved over the years and the feuds continue.”
Nicholas said, “I was under the assumption he was the absolute ruler of the city.”
“He is, but at that time he seemed a more reasonable alternative to constant fighting. As peace returned to the city, his hold increased. First he turned his mercenary company into a city watch, patrolling the bazaar and docks, then the merchants’ quarter. Next he created a standing army, elevatin
“When did all this happen?” asked Amos.
“Twenty-seven years ago the trouble started; twenty-four years ago the Overlord became absolute.”
Nicholas glanced at Amos, who nodded. Nicholas said, “What about this raid we blundered across?”
Vaslaw nodded to his son-in-law. Regin said, “Some of the younger warriors seek to undermine the Overlord’s domination by sabotaging his treaty with a trading consortium to the north, and they acted without permission from their chieftains.”
The old man sighed. “It was a foolish thing, no matter how bravely they acted. Such a setback is little more than an irritation to Valgasha.”
Nicholas said, “I think we have common cause. As I said, I think the Overlord or someone high in his court was responsible for the death of your sons.” Nicholas retold the story he had told the night before, about the attack, the presence of the Red Slayer helm and the arrival of the Overlord’s personal soldiers, but with more detail.