Erik turned to Akee. ‘You’ll have to tell me how you did that.’
Akee shrugged, saying nothing.
To Alfred, Erik said, ‘These hillmen are coming with us. Take them down to the camp and let’s get back to Krondor.’
Alfred smiled, forgetting the tongue-lashing he was likely to receive from Erik when they were back at the garrison. ‘A hot meal,’ he said.
Erik was forced to agree it would be welcome. They had been out on maneuvers for a week, eating cold rations in the dark, and his men were tired and hungry. ‘Get moving’ was all he said.
Standing in the dark, Erik considered what was at stake in the impending war, and wondered if a hundred such exercises would prepare the men of the Kingdom for what was to come.
Tossing aside such concern, he conceded that probably nothing would prepare them fully, but what other choice did he have? He considered that Calis, Prince Patrick, Knight-Marshal William, and other commanders were operating throughout these mountains, conducting such exercises this week; at the end of the week a council would be held to tally what needed to be done.
Erik said to himself, ‘Everything, everything needs to be done,’ and he realized his black mood was due more to fatigue and hunger than to Alfred’s failing to avoid the Hadati ambush. Then he smiled. If the hillmen from northern Yabon had gotten up over that ridge that fast, it was a good thing they were going to be on the Kingdom’s side, and even better, thought Erik, under his command.
He turned toward the camp and decided he’d better join Greylock in mollifying the distressed Baron of Tyr-Sog.
The soldiers stood to attention as the courtyard resounded with the echo of their boot heels striking cobbles as one, and each man stood motionless while the Prince of Krondor made his appearance on the dais.
Roo looked at his friend Erik and said, ‘Nicely done.’
Erik shook his head, indicating that Roo should keep silent. Roo grinned but stayed quiet while Prince Patrick, ruler of Krondor, accepted a salute from the assembled garrison of the palace. Next to Erik stood Calis, Captain of the Prince’s special guards known as the Crimson Eagles.
Erik shifted his weight slightly, uncomfortable with the attention being drawn to him and the others. The survivors of the most recent expedition to the distant land of Novindus were being presented with awards for bravery, and Erik wasn’t sure what that entailed, but he knew he would prefer being back about his usual duties.
He had returned from the exercises in the mountains expecting a quick council, but Calis had informed Erik and the others that with Prince Erland’s return from a visit to his brother King Borric, a ceremony was scheduled and awards would be conferred, but beyond that, Erik knew little. He glanced sideways and saw his Captain, Calis, also looking impatient to see the fuss over with. Renaldo, one of the other survivors, turned to look at Micha. Both soldiers had accompanied Calis on their flight from the halls of the Pantathian serpent priests. Renaldo had his chest puffed out as the Prince of Krondor presented him with an award, the White Cord of Courage, which would be sewn to his tunic sleeve, marking him a man who displayed conspicuous bravery for King and Country.
Roo had sailed one of his largest ships to Novindus to bring the Kingdom soldiers home. Erik and his companions had rested and healed on the return journey. Their Captain, the enigmatic man reputed to be a half-elf, was almost completely recovered from injuries that would have killed any other man. Two old companions of his, Praji and Vaja, had died in the magical blast that had caught Calis, and half his body had been burned as if set on fire. Yet he hardly showed the slightest scar, his face and neck only marked by flesh just a little lighter in color than the rest of his sun-bronzed skin. Erik wondered if he would ever know the full truth about the man he served.
And thinking of enigmas, Erik regarded another of his companions over the last few years, the odd gambler, Nakor. He stood apart from those being honored, a half-mocking grin on his face as he watched the award ceremony. At his side stood Sho Pi, the former monk who now regarded himself as Nakor’s acolyte. They had been residing in the palace as the guests of the Duke of Krondor for the last month, Nakor showing little motivation to return to his usual occupation, fleecing the unsuspecting in card rooms across the Kingdom.
Erik let his mind wander as the Prince cited each man, and he wondered who would honor those who were left behind, particularly Bobby de Loungville, the iron-tough, unforgiving sergeant who, more than any other, had forged Erik into the soldier he had become. Erik felt a tear gather in his eye as he recalled holding Bobby in the ice cave in the mountains as his lungs filled with blood from a sword wound. Silently Erik said to himself, See, I got him out alive.
Blinking away the tear, Erik once again glanced at Calis and found the Captain watching him. With a barely perceptible nod, Calis seemed to say he knew what Erik was thinking, and was also remembering lost friends.
The ceremony dragged on, then suddenly it was over, the assembled garrison of the palace in Krondor dismissed. Knight-Marshal William, Military Commander of the Principality, motioned for Erik and the others to attend him. To Calis he said, ‘The Prince asks you all to join him in his private council room.’
Erik glanced at Roo, who shrugged. On the return voyage, the two boyhood friends had caught up with each other’s news. Erik had been half-amused, half-astonished to discover that his best friend had, in less than two years, contrived to become one of Krondor’s preeminent merchants and one of the Kingdom’s richest men. But as he saw the ship’s master and crew snap to every order Roo gave, he realized that Rupert Avery, barely more than a common thief as a child, and hardly more than a boy now, truly owned that ship.
Erik had told Roo of what he and the others had discovered, and he needed no embellishment to convey the horror and disgust he felt at fighting through the Pantathian birthing halls. Of those who had not traveled to Novindus with Calis on his most recent journey, Roo, Nakor, and Sho Pi had been there previously, and knew what the others faced. Slowly, over the voyage, Erik had provided enough grisly details about the slaughter of Pantathian females and infants, as well as about the mysterious ‘third player’ who had accomplished more carnage than Calis’s raiders ever could have done. Unless there were birthing crèches located elsewhere – and it seemed unlikely – the only living Pantathians were those close to the Emerald Queen. If they were finally defeated in the coming battle, the Pantathian serpent priests would cease to exist, a fate most fervently hoped for by the two boyhood friends from Darkmoor.
Roo and Erik had parted almost as soon as the ship had berthed, as Roo had businesses to oversee. Two days later, Erik had left on maneuvers, evaluating the training Jadow Shati had inflicted upon the men in training while Calis had been gone. Erik was pleased that the new men under his command for the last week were as disciplined and reliable as those he had trained with when he had been a common soldier.
Entering the palace, Erik was again uncomfortable at finding himself in the halls of power and in the presence of the great of the Kingdom. He had served for a year in Krondor before leaving with Calis on the last voyage, but had confined himself to the training grounds most of the time. He came to the palace proper only when summoned or to borrow a book on tactics or some other aspect of warcraft from Knight-Marshal William. He was never comfortable with the supreme commander of the King’s Armies of the West, but he finally grew used to spending hours over ale or wine discussing what he had read and how it would bear on the armies he was helping to fashion. But, given a choice, Erik would rather be in the drilling yard, working with the armorers around the forge, or tending to the horses, or most of all, out in the field, where life was too demanding to think much about the larger consequences of the coming war.
In the Prince’s private chamber – actually, Erik thought, a small hall – other men waited, including Lord James, Duke of Krondor, and Jadow Shati, the other