Raymond Feist - Shards of a Broken Crown

Patrick sat back. “I was hoping for better intelligence.”

Jimmy glanced at his father, who shook his head slightly, warning him from making any comment. Dash allowed his brother the confirmation that what the Prince had just said was thoughtless by raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.

Patrick said, “We’ve got a massive front to the south, and all the major units of the Army of the East are ready to answer any invasion from Kesh, but we have limited resources to reclaim the Western Realm.”

Jimmy said nothing.

Finally the Prince noticed Jimmy, nodded and waved his hand. “Dismissed. Get some clean clothing and bathe. We’ll discuss this again at length after the evening meal.”

Jimmy left, finding his father and brother following him out of the room. They paused just outside the door. Arutha said, “I’ve got to get back inside, but I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“I’m fine,” said Jimmy, with a faint smile of appreciation for his father’s concern. With the death of their grandparents, Arutha’s features had taken on a drawn, haggard edge, from too much worry and too little sleep. “Just some cold toes.”

Arutha nodded, squeezed his son’s shoulder a moment. “Get some food and rest. This isn’t half over, and while Patrick may be ready to storm the enemy, we need a great deal more information.” He opened the door and returned inside to the Prince’s council. Dash said, “I’ll go with you to the kitchen.”

Jimmy said, “Fine.”

The two brothers walked down the long hall.

Erik entered the kitchen. He waved across the large stone room to Milo. The innkeeper from his hometown of Ravensburg had been put to work in the castle’s kitchen, along with his wife, so they could be close to their daughter, Rosalyn, mother of the next Baron of Darkmoor. She and her husband Rudolph the baker lived in the castle where they took care of the baby baron.

Erik’s own mother now lived in one of the buildings close by the castle – the long history of animosity between her and the Dowager Baroness made it prudent to keep the two women separated. The Baroness had been humiliated publicly for years by Erik’s mother Frieda over Erik being the illegitimate son of the late Baron Otto. Erik’s stepfather, Nathan, was furiously working in the Barony’s smithy, readying weapons and other iron goods for the coming spring campaign. It was a socially awkward situation at times, but Erik enjoyed having his family close by.

Erik sat. “You all right?” he asked Jimmy.

“Just tired. Came close to not making it once, but it’s not much of a story. I had just lost my horse and had to hide from a patrol for a while, and damn near froze hiding under a log. The snow was falling so they didn’t track me after I had crossed some rocks, but I could barely move when they finally left.”

“Frostbite?” asked Erik.

“Don’t know,” said Jimmy. “I haven’t taken my boots off. My fingers are fine.” He wiggled them.

“We have a healing priest here. The Temple of Dala, at Rillanon, sent one to provide advice to the Prince.”

Dash grinned. “You mean the King bullied them into having one close by in case Patrick was wounded.”

“Something like that,” admitted Erik as he returned the smile. “Have him look at your feet. It wouldn’t do to have you going toeless.”

Jimmy chewed, then swallowed. “Why am I suspicious you’re motivated more by my fitness for duty, Captain, than out of any concern for my well-being?”

Erik shrugged theatrically. “Because you have a reasonable comprehension of how things work in court?”

Jimmy suddenly looked very tired, as if letting down his mask. “How soon?” he asked.

Erik looked sympathetic. “The end of this week. Three, four more days.”

Jimmy nodded. He stood and said, “I’d better find that priest.”

“Down the hall from the Prince’s quarters, next to my own. His name is Herbert. Tell him who you are; you look like a rag-picker.”

Dash watched his brother leave and said, “As his feet thawed he could barely walk. I think that priest is going to earn his keep.”

Erik took a cup of coffee from Milo, said thanks, then turned to Dash. “He already has. I’ve got a score of men fit for duty who would still be laid up if it wasn’t for that priest. And Nakor.”

“Where is that scrawny lunatic?” asked Dash. “I haven’t seen him in a week.”

“He’s out in the city, gathering converts for his new faith.”

“How goes the summoning of the Blessed to spread the word of Good?”

Erik laughed. “Recruiting those willing to work on behalf of good in the midst of winter, after a war has reduced the population to near starvation, is nearly beyond even Nakor’s conniving ways.”

“Any takers?”

“A couple. One or two are earnest, the others looking for a meal.”

Dash nodded. “Is this next mission something I could do? Jimmy could use a rest.”

“We all could,” said Erik. Then he shook his head. “But you’re not being spared, my friend, for we’re all going.”

“Where?” asked Dash.

“Krondor. Patrick can’t sit here forever. And if what your brother has reported jibes with the other reports we’re getting, the longer we wait, the stronger Fadawah’s forces are going to get in Krondor. We may have to hit them with everything we have sooner than we’d like.

“With Kesh threatening our southern border, Patrick’s been reluctant to return the Armies of the East. Well, the King has ordered some elements back. Seems some of the Kingdom’s eastern neighbors are getting fractious now there isn’t a large standing army or huge fleet there to keep them in line. So Patrick’s in a hurry to retake Krondor before King Borric orders more soldiers home to the East.”

Dash said, “So how many of us are going to Krondor?”

“The Eagles,” said Erik, naming the special command of soldiers that had been gathered and trained by Dash and Jimmy’s grandfather Lord James, the late Duke of Krondor. “We’ll have some auxiliaries, Duga’s crew” – he named a large force of former mercenaries who had come over to the Kingdom’s side during the invasion – “and we’ll be working with Captain Subai’s Pathfinders.”

“That’s all?” asked Dash.

“That’s all to start,” said Erik. “We’re not trying to conquer all of the Principality in the first week.” He sipped at his coffee. “We were going to find a likely place to hold so we can stage, then we ride in and secure Krondor.”

“Sounds easy,” said Dash in a sarcastic tone. “If there wasn’t another army already there.” He studied Erik’s face. “There’s something else going on. Why is Patrick in such a hurry to secure the city? I can think of a half-dozen better places from which to stage a retaking of the West if I didn’t care about Krondor; we could cut it off and starve out whoever’s there, staging from a camp to the east.”

“I know,” said Erik, “but part of it is pride. It’s Patrick’s city, the capital of his realm. He was Prince of Krondor for only a short while before it was lost. And he followed a legend in that office.”

Dash nodded. “Growing up in Rillanon, Jimmy and I met Prince Arutha only a few times; when I was old enough to appreciate him, he was getting on in years. But what my father and others said about him made him impressive, even then.” He looked at Erik a moment, then said, “You think Patrick’s of the notion that Arutha would somehow have held the city?”

“Something like that,” said Erik. “The Prince doesn’t confide in me. But there’s more to it than just wounded pride. The other part of it is logistics. That harbor is going to be useless for years. If we had the manpower and equipment we had before the war in Krondor, all the workers, dredges, and a few cooperative magicians, even, it would still take a year to clear the harbor, maybe more. As it is now, I have no idea if Krondor will ever become the shipping center it once was.