“Possibly. Certainly he was desperate to get back the amulet that Bear wore, and I suspect he gave it to Bear in the first place.”
“What dark agency do we face?” asked Arutha.
James said, “That question, Highness, plagues me as well.” Arutha was silent as he rose from his desk and crossed to the window overlooking the marshaling yard below. Soldiers were at drill, and he saw young William hurrying to the bachelor officers’ barracks. “William did well,” said the prince.
“He’ll be Knight-Marshal of Krondor some day,” said James, “if you ever decide to let Gardan retire.”
The prince turned and faced him with what could only be called a grin, an expression James had not seen from Arutha more than a few times in the ten years and more during which he’d served him. “He told me the next time he’s just going to walk out, and take ship to Crydee. Then let me send soldiers to fetch him back.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Let him serve a bit longer, then recall Locklear and give him the position.”
“Locklear, Knight-Marshal?”
“You yourself have told me that as long as I run the army I should use an administrator. Locklear certainly has the knack for that job.”
“Indeed,” agreed James. “Never had much use for accounts, myself.”
“I’m going to let him sit for one more winter with Baron Moyet, then I’ll fetch him back and send Gardan home.”
“For real this time?”
Arutha laughed. “Yes, I’ll let him return to Crydee and sit on Martin’s dock fishing, if that’s what he really desires.”
James stood. “I have a few things I need to do before tonight, Highness. With your leave?”
Arutha waved James from the room. “Until tonight.”
James said, “Highness,” and showed himself out of the room.
Arutha, Prince of Krondor and second most powerful man in the Kingdom of the Isles, stood at his window in a reflective mood. A young man when he had taken command at the Siege of Crydee during the Riftwar, he was now middle-aged.
He had many years before him, if the gods were kind, but he felt a calm reassurance knowing that the fate of his kingdom rested in the competent hands of younger men and women, men and women like James, Jazhara, and William. He allowed himself the luxury of one more peaceful moment, then returned to his desk and the reports that begged for his attention.
James hurried through the palace. He needed to send word to Jonathan Means, and two of his other agents, to let them know that he was back in Krondor. Then he needed to duck into the streets for a quick visit to one of his informants who was keeping an eye out for signs of activity by the Crawler and his gang. Now that the matter of the Tear of the Gods was settled, James was determined to turn his attention to this would-be crime lord and find out once and for all who he was. Then he would rid the city of his presence.
James counted down the things he needed to do. If he hurried, he would just have time to return for a bath and change of clothing before the Prince’s celebration.
He was tired, but there would be time to sleep tomorrow. At this moment he was doing what he wanted to do more than anything: serving his Prince. And he was where he wanted to be more than anywhere in the world: Krondor.
EPILOGUE - Challenge
The solitary figure dripped water as it slogged along the dark corridor of the long tunnel. The air reeked of smoke and dead bodies.
Sidi found that the small fire he had started that morning was still burning. He fetched a torch from a wall-sconce. Lighting it, he continued his journey.
Finally, he reached the room in which the dead liche lay, its body quickly turning to dust. “Idiot!” he shouted again at the unhearing form.
He moved behind the throne and found the secret latch. He tripped it and a section of wall moved aside. He entered a room even the liche hadn’t known of, one Sidi used exclusively for himself.
As he entered, a voice said, “You’ve lost.”
“No, I haven’t, old woman!” he shouted to the voice in the air. He stripped off his dripping tunic.
“You didn’t find the amulet.” There was mockery in her voice.
“I’ll keep looking. It’s only been four days.”
“Even if you find it, what will you do? You have no servants or allies.”
“Talking to the air is tedious. Show yourself.”
A faint figure appeared, translucent and without much color, but recognizable as a woman of middle age. Stripping off his trousers, the magician reached for a blanket and wrapped it around himself. “I tire of cold and damp places . . . what are you calling yourself these days?”
“Hilda, most recently.”
“Yes, Hilda. I am tired of this place. Servants I can get with gold. That I have in abundance. Allies are almost as easy, once I discover what they desire.” He looked at the pale image. “You know, I sensed you’ve been close by for some years now, but didn’t think I needed to ferret you out.”