Raymond Feist - Into a Dark Realm

Erik nodded. ‘I understand why he chose to separate himself from the Crown.’ He took another drink of wine, and handed the empty cup to his squire. When the lad made to fill it again, Erik waved him away. ‘But did he have to embarrass the royal personage of the Prince of Krondor in doing so? Publicly? In front of the army of Great Kesh?’

‘Old business, Erik.’

‘I wish it were so,’ said Erik. He lowered his voice further. ‘You will know this if you don’t already. Prince Robert has been recalled.’

‘This is bad,’ said Nakor, nodding.

‘We’ve had three princes in Krondor since I gained rank, and I am only Duke because King Ryan took Lord James with him to Rillanon. My temporary position has lasted nine years, and if I live long enough, will probably last another nine.’

‘Why was Robert recalled?’

‘You have a better chance of uncovering the truth than me,’ said Erik. After a long moment of silence during which he watched the evening sky darken, the Duke said, ‘Politics. Robert was never a popular man with the Congress of Lords. Lord James is a western noble, which rankles with many of those who wished to be first among the King’s advisors; James is a shrewd man, almost as shrewd as his grandfather.’ He glanced at Nakor. ‘There was a name to conjure with, Lord James of Krondor.’

Nakor grinned. ‘Jimmy was a handful before he became a duke. I know.’ He glanced up at the soldiers who were now ready, waiting for his signal to begin the climb. ‘Still, we tend to remember the greatness and forget the flaws; and Jimmy made his share of mistakes. If Robert will not serve, then who?’

‘There are other cousins to the King more able …’ He looked at Nakor and his expression was sad. ‘It may come to civil war if the King’s not careful. He’s directly descended from King Borric, but he has no sons of his own, and there are many cousins, most of them with a valid claim to the throne if he does not produce an heir.’

Nakor shrugged. ‘I’ve lived a long time, Erik. I’ve seen kings come and go in different lands. The nation will survive.’

‘But at what price, old friend?’

‘Who is to be the new Prince of Krondor?’

‘That is the question, isn’t it?’ said the Duke, standing up and signalling to his men to make ready. The sky was sufficiently dark: it was time to begin the assault on the keep. ‘Prince Edward is well-liked, intelligent, a good soldier, and someone who could forge consensus in the Congress.’

‘So the King will name someone else,’ said Nakor with a chuckle as Erik started forward along the draw.

Erik said nothing, but gestured once and two men hurried out from behind rocks below the keep, both with loops of cord around their shoulders. They started to climb the rockface, using only their hands and feet.

Nakor watched closely as the two men disappeared into the gloom above. They moved silently like spiders crawling up a wall. Nakor knew how dangerous it was to make that ascent, but he also knew that it was the only way to get a rope down for the soldiers below.

Turning to Nakor, Erik said, ‘I’m thinking Prince Henry will get the nod, for he can be easily enough replaced if Queen Anne bears a boy. If Edward sits in Krondor for any length of time, the King may not be able to replace him with a son in … a … few years …’ His voice trailed off as he watched the men reach the lip of the pool.

Nakor said, ‘Odd place for a bolt-hole, over a hundred feet above ground, isn’t it?’

‘I imagine the Nighthawks did some work around here some years back. My men report tool marks on the rockface. There was probably a path down to the floor of the run that was demolished.’ He sighed. ‘It’s time. Where’s your man?’

Nakor nodded behind them. ‘Sleeping, under the wagon.’

‘Get him, then,’ said Erik von Darkmoor.

Nakor hurried back to the luggage wagon, where the two boys responsible for looking after the stores from the town waited. They spoke in hushed tones, understanding how dangerous this mission was; even so, they were only boys and the waiting was making them restless. Underneath the wagon lay a solitary figure, who roused quickly when Nakor kicked lightly at his boots.

Ralan Bek wiggled out from under the wagon, then unfolded himself to tower over Nakor. The youth was six inches over six feet in height, and he loomed over the diminutive gambler. Nakor knew he was possessed by some aspect of the God of Evil, a tiny ‘sliver’ as Nakor thought of it; an infinitesimal portion of the god himself, and that made Bek extraordinarily dangerous. The only advantage Nakor possessed was years of experience and what he thought of as his ‘tricks’.

‘Time?’

Nakor nodded. ‘They’ll be up there in a moment. You know what to do.’

Bek nodded. He reached down and picked up his hat, a hat he had claimed as a prize from a man he had killed before Nakor’s eyes, and he wore it like a badge of honour. The broad-brimmed black felt hat, with its single long eagle’s feather hanging down from the hatband, gave the youth an almost rakish air, but Nakor knew that beneath the young man’s convivial exterior seethed a potential for harm, as well as preternatural strength and speed.

Bek trotted over to the face of the cliff, and waited. A coil of line was dropped quietly from above, followed a moment later by another. Soldiers quickly tied heavier rope to the lines, and this was pulled up. When the first rope was made secure, Ralan Bek unbuckled his scabbard belt and tied it over one shoulder, so that his sword now rested on his back. With powerful ease he pulled himself up the rope, feet firmly on the rockface, as if he had been climbing this way all his life. Other soldiers followed, but Bek’s speed up the rope was unmatchable.

Erik watched him ascend into the darkness. ‘Why are you so insistent he goes first, Nakor?’

‘He may not be invulnerable, Erik, but he’s a lot harder to kill than any of your men. Magnus will look out for those guarding the main entrance to the keep, but if there’s magic on this back door, Bek has the best chance of survival.’

‘Time was I would be the first one up the rope.’

Nakor gripped his friend’s arm. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve got smarter over the years, Erik.’

‘I notice you’re not volunteering to be up there, either.’

Nakor just grinned.

Bek waited, running his fingers over the door’s outline. It was a rock, like the others, and in the darkness he couldn’t see the crack his fingertips told him marked the edge of the entrance to the bolt-hole. He let his senses drift, for he had discovered early in life that sometimes he could anticipate things – an attack, an unexpected turn of the trail, the mood of a horse, or the fall of the dice. He thought of it as his ‘lucky feeling’.

Yes, he thought. There was something just beyond this door, something very interesting. Ralan Bek did not know what fear was. As Nakor had suggested to him, there was something very different, even alien, about the young man from Novindus. Glancing down to where the little man waited with the old soldier, he found he could barely make them out in the dark. ‘Lantern,’ he whispered, and a soldier behind him handed him a specially constructed, small, shuttered lantern. He pointed it at Nakor and Erik and opened it and shut it again quickly. That was the agreed-upon signal to proceed cautiously.

Not that Ralan truly understand caution. It was as alien to his thoughts as fear. He tried to understand a lot of things Nakor talked to him about, but sometimes he just nodded and pretended to understand the strange little man in order to keep him from repeating himself endlessly.

Ralan continued to run his fingers along the seam until he determined that the door was designed to be opened only from the inside. He shrugged. ‘Bar,’ he demanded, and a soldier stepped past him and inserted the crowbar where he pointed. The soldier struggled for a moment, until Bek said, ‘Let me.’