Raymond Feist - Shards of a Broken Crown

Jimmy rode closer and Erik and Akee left the shelter of the woods and rode toward him. Jimmy reined in until he recognized the two familiar figures, then he raised his hand in greeting.

As they stopped before him, Erik nodded, and Akee said, “You look as if you’ve been through something unpleasant.”

“It could have been worse,” said Jimmy.

Erik asked, “Dash?”

Jimmy shook his head. “He was captured for a while, but he got away. I don’t know if he’s somewhere in the city, or if he got loose. If he’s loose, he’s on his way back here. If he’s in the city and is caught, I’ve got assurances he won’t be harmed.”

“Assurances?” said Erik.

“It’s a long story. One I need to tell Prince Patrick, or at the least Owen Greylock.”

“You’re in luck,” said Erik. “I’m heading back toward Ravensburg, where Owen has his forward command. The Prince is still in Darkmoor, but the roads are ours between here and there, almost as peaceful as before the war. You can reach the Prince in less than a week.”

Jimmy said, “Good. I have grown very tired of the road and would love nothing more than a hot meal, a bath, and a soft bed.”

Erik nodded and said to Akee, “Have your scouts move west for another day and report back.”

Jimmy said, “There’s no need. General Duko is recalling all his patrols. The only thing you need fear are bandits and some bored mercenaries camped under the walls. You can move your entire command to the outlying estates and build your camps there, less than a day’s ride from the city.”

Erik looked curious, but he only said, “I think I had better ride back with you, Jimmy.”

“Where’s your camp?”

“A few miles ahead.” Erik waved good-bye to Akee, and turned his horse around as Jimmy urged his back to a walk. Erik moved his hand in a half-circle and said, “We have control of all the woods for miles on each side of the highway.”

“You haven’t had a lot of problems in the last few weeks, have you?”

“No, actually. A few bandits, some deserters, and a couple of run-ins with some mercenaries from our neighbors to the south, but we’ve seen little of Fadawah’s forces for a while.”

“Duko’s looking to cut a deal with Patrick.”

“He’s willing to turn coat?” asked Erik. Erik had served two tours across the sea and was familiar with the Novindus mercenaries’ tradition of serving the highest bidder. The dependence on such forces was one of the reasons, Erik was convinced, that no one had successfully built an empire down there, until the Emerald Queen had started her conquests.

“Not exactly,” said Jimmy, filling in Erik on Duko’s proposal.

Erik whistled. “I don’t think Patrick is going to be pleased with this one. From what Greylock’s told me and what I saw before I left Darkmoor, the Prince is spoiling for a fight, Kesh, invaders, he doesn’t care who.”

Jimmy said, “I’ll leave it to my father and Owen to convince him. It’s too good a turn of the cards for him to not agree. He saves thousands of lives and accelerates the retaking of the Western Realm by a year if he agrees.”

Erik said nothing, but considering what he had seen of the hot-tempered young Prince, he was not convinced Patrick would see it that way.

Dash regarded the boots, trousers, and jacket that had been secured for him by the Mockers. They were serviceable, but nothing remotely as good as the ones taken from him by his captors.

Lysle Riggers, the Upright Man, looked at him as he rose to leave. “Not yet, boy.” The old man waved away Trina and the others of his company in the room, leaving Dash alone with his great-uncle. When the door was shut behind Trina, the old man said, “You must understand something. I don’t think you’re going to get your amnesty for us, so this conversation may have no meaning. If you do not, shortly I will die. Healing priests can only do so much, and I am an old man, anyway. Another will come forward to take the office I hold. Who he will be I cannot know, though I have a couple of guesses. John Tuppin might take the office – he’s strong and shrewd and many are afraid of him. Trina might, if she’s smart and silent, which she is, and can keep behind the scenes. But whoever it is, the agreements you and I reach will not be binding upon him. As I said, if you can’t get the Prince to agree to giving us pardon for past crimes, it doesn’t matter.

“But if you return with promises, they had best be kept, for if you are forsworn to the Mockers, no matter how high you rise, where you live, or what great office comes to you, eventually one of our brotherhood will find you in the night and your life will end. Do you understand?”

Dash said, “I understand.”

“Know this as well, Dashel Jamison: once you step through that door you have taken blood oath not, by word or deed, to betray what you have seen here, nor may you bear witness against any who you’ve met. It is an oath made by silence, for you may not live to leave Mother’s without such oath.”

Dash didn’t like being threatened, but he had heard enough stories about the Mockers from his grandfather to have no doubt that what Lysle was saying was not an idle threat. Dash said, “I know the rules as well as anyone born here.”

“No doubt you do. My younger brother struck me as being a man with little modesty. I suspect you know as much about the workings of the Mockers as my own men.” The Upright Man waved a bony scarred hand at Dash. “Before he came to my little shop, years ago, to tell me how the land lay and how I would be required to conduct the business of the Mockers, I would have wagered our ways and secrets were inviolate. In moments I learned that Jimmy the Hand had been watching us as we had been watching him, more, he had others watch us while he was not about. In the end, he was a far better Duke than I was leader of the Mockers.”

Dash shrugged. “If Patrick does as I request, it all ends, anyway.”

The old man laughed. “Think you that a pardon will take this ragged brotherhood of ours and set our feet upon the straight and narrow path? Within minutes of such pardon some of our more reckless youth will be cutting purses in the market square or breaking into warehouse cellars, young Dash. The dodgy path is as much a part of who we are as it is a choice in life.

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