Borric’s tone softened a little as they walked up the steps leading from the garden. “I know you mean well, Lord Kerus, and there is only love of the realm in your heart. Have faith and pray, for I will do whatever I can to ensure the survival of the Kingdom.”
Kerus stood before the door back into the palace. “I fear we will all be in deep water soon, my lord Borric. I pray that this invasion you speak of will not be the wave that drowns us. In whatever way I can aid you, I will.” He turned toward the door, which was opened by a servant. Loudly he said, “I will bid you a good night, for I can see you’re all tired.”
The tension in the room was heavy as Borric, Arutha, and Pug re-entered, and the Duke’s mood one of dark reflection. Servants came to show the guests to their rooms, and Pug followed a boy near his own age, dressed in the Duke’s livery. Pug looked over his shoulder as they left the hall to see the Duke and his son standing together, speaking quietly to Kulgan.
Pug was shown to a small but elegant room and, ignoring the richness of the bed covers, fell across them still fully clothed. The servant boy said, “Do you need aid in undressing, Squire?”
Pug sat up and looked at the boy with such a frank expression of wonder that the servant backed away a step. “If that will be all, Squire?” he asked, obviously uncomfortable.
Pug just laughed. The boy stood uncertainly for an instant, then bowed and hurriedly left the room. Pug pulled off his clothing, wondering at the eastern nobles and servants who had to help them undress. He was too tired to fold his garments, simply letting them fall to the floor in a heap.
After blowing out the bedside candle, Pug lay for a time in the darkness, troubled by the evening’s discussion. He knew little of court intrigue, but knew that Kerus must have been deeply worried to speak as he did before strangers, in spite of Borric’s reputation as a man of high honor.
Pug thought of all the things that had taken place in the last months and knew that his dreams of the King answering the call of Crydee with banners flying were another boyish fancy shattered upon the hard rock of reality.
THIRTEEN - Rillanon
The ship sailed into the harbor.
The climate of the Kingdom Sea was more clement than that of the Bitter Sea, and the journey from Salador had proven uneventful. They’d had to beat a tack much of the way against a steady northeast wind, so three weeks had passed instead of two.
Pug stood on the foredeck of the ship, his cloak pulled tightly around him. The winter wind’s bitterness had given way to a softer cool, as if spring were but a few days in coming.
Rillanon was called the Jewel of the Kingdom, and Pug judged the name richly deserved. Unlike the squat cities of the West, Rillanon stood a mass of tall spires, gracefully arched bridges, and gently twisting roadways, scattered atop rolling hills in delightful confusion. Upon heroic towers, banners and pennons fluttered in the wind, as if the city celebrated the simple fact of its own existence. To Pug, even the ferrymen who worked the barges going to and from the ships at anchor in the harbor were more colorful for being within the enchantment of Rillanon.
The Duke of Salador had ordered a ducal banner sewn for Borric, and it now flew from the top of the ship’s mainmast, informing the officials of the royal city that the Duke of Crydee had arrived. Borric’s ship was given priority in docking by the city’s harbor pilot, and quickly the ship was being secured at the royal quay. The party disembarked and were met by a company of the Royal Household Guard. At the head of the guards was an old, grey-haired, but still erect man, who greeted Borric warmly.
The two men embraced, and the older man, dressed in the royal purple and gold of the guard but with a ducal signet over his heart, said, “Borric, it is good to see you once more. What has it been? Ten . . . eleven years?”
“Caldric, old friend. It has been thirteen.” Borric regarded him fondly. He had clear blue eyes and a short salt-and-pepper beard.
The man shook his head and smiled. “It has been much too long.” He looked at the others. Spying Pug, he said, “Is this your younger boy?”
Borric laughed. “No, though he would be no shame to me if he were.” He pointed out the lanky figure of Arutha. “This is my son. Arutha, come and greet your great-uncle.”
Arutha stepped forward, and the two embraced. Duke Caldric, Lord of Rillanon, Knight-General of the King’s Royal Household Guard, and Royal Chancellor, pushed Arutha back and regarded him at arm’s length. “You were but a boy when I last saw you. I should have known you, for though you have some of your father’s looks, you also resemble my dear brother—your mother’s father—greatly. You do honor to my family.”
Borric said, “Well, old war-horse, how is your city?”
Caldric said, “There is much to speak of, but not here. We shall bring you to the King’s palace and quarter you in comfort. We shall have much time to visit. What brings you here to Rillanon?”