Several times since leaving Zun, they had been challenged by soldiers. Each time they had presented the Chancellor’s warrant and were passed through. Now they approached the Duke’s camp.
The Tsurani Warlord had unleashed his major offensive. The Kingdom forces had held for a week, then collapsed, when ten thousand fresh Tsurani soldiers had come pouring through their lines, tipping the balance. The fighting had been bitter then, a raging, running battle lasting three days, before the Kingdom army was finally routed. When it was over, a large portion of the front had fallen, and the Tsurani had thrown up a salient out of the North Pass.
Now the elves and dwarves, as well as the castles of the Far Coast, were cut off from the main force of the Kingdom army. There was no communication of any sort, for the pigeons used to carry messages had been destroyed when the old camp had been overrun. The fate of the other fronts was unknown.
The Armies of the West were regrouping, and it took Laurie and Kasumi some time to find the headquarters camp. As they rode up to the command pavilion, they saw signs of bitter defeat on every side. It was the worst setback of the war for the Kingdom. Everywhere they looked they saw wounded or sick men, and those who showed no wounds had the look of despair.
A guard sergeant inspected their warrant and sent a guard with them to show them where the Duke’s tent stood. They reached the large command tent, and a lackey took their mounts from them as the guard went inside. A moment later a tall young man, blond-bearded and wearing the tabard of Crydee, came out. Behind him appeared a stout man with a grey beard—a magician by his garb—and another man, large, with a ragged scar down his face. Laurie wondered if they might be old friends Pug had spoken of, but quickly focused his attention on the young officer, who stopped before him. “I bring a message to Lord Borric.”
The young man smiled a bitter smile, then said, “You may give me the message, sir. I am Lyam, his son.”
Laurie said, “I mean no disrespect, Highness, but I must speak with the Duke in person. So I was instructed by Duke Caldric.”
At mention of the Royal Chancellor’s name, Lyam exchanged glances with his companions, then held aside the tent flap. Laurie and Kasumi entered, the others following. Inside, there was a small brazier burning and a large table with maps upon it. Lyam led them to another section of the huge tent, curtained off from the rest. He pulled back the hanging, and they saw a man lying upon a sleeping pallet.
He was a tall man, with dark hair streaked with grey. His face was drawn, drained of blood, his lips nearly blue. His breathing was ragged, each breath rattling loudly as he slept. He wore clean bed clothing, but heavy bandages could be seen beneath his loose collar.
Lyam put back the hanging as another man entered the tent. Old, with a near-white mane of hair, he was still erect and broad-shouldered. Softly he said, “What is this?”
Lyam answered, “These men bring messages for Father from Caldric.”
The old warrior stuck out his hand. “Give them to me.”
When Laurie hesitated, the man nearly barked, “Damn it, fellow, I’m Brucal. With Borric wounded, I’m commander of the Armies of the West.”
Laurie said, “I’ve no written message, Your Grace. Duke Caldric says to introduce my companion. This is Kasumi of the Shinzawai, emissary of the Emperor of Tsuranuanni, who carries an offering of peace to the King.”
Lyam said, “Is there to be peace at last?”
Laurie shook his head. “Sadly, no. The Duke also said to say this: the King is mad, and the Duke of Bas-Tyra has slain Prince Erland. He fears only Lord Borric can save the Kingdom.”
Brucal was visibly shaken by the news. To Lyam he quietly said, “Now we know the rumors to be true. Erland was Guy’s prisoner. Erland dead. I can scarcely believe it.” Shaking off his shock, he said, “Lyam, I know your mind is upon your father now, but you must bend thought to this: your father is near death; you will soon be Duke of Crydee. And with Erland dead, you will also be heir to the throne by right of birth.”
Brucal sat heavily upon a stool near the map table. “This is a heavy burden thrust upon you, Lyam, but others in the West will look to you for leadership as they once looked to your father. If there was ever any love between the two realms, it is now strained to the breaking point, with Guy upon the throne in Krondor. It is now clear for all to see, Bas-Tyra means to be King, for a mad Rodric cannot be allowed his throne much longer.” He fixed Lyam with a steady gaze. “You will soon have to decide what we in the West shall do. Upon your word, we have civil war.”
TWENTY-NINE - Decision
The Holy City was festive.