Kulgan sighed. “Brucal will not waver. He hates Bas-Tyra as much as Borric did, though for less personal reasons. He sees Guy’s hand in every move to break the West. I think the Duke of Yabon would happily take Rodric’s head, but even so, Lyam may submit rather than risk a civil war and lose the West to the Tsurani. We shall have to see what passes.
“Which is all the more reason you must go to Crydee, Pug. If Lyam dies, then Arutha is heir to the crown. Once begun, the King cannot stop the killing until Arutha is dead. Even Martin—whose claim would be blemished by his illegitimacy—and Carline would be hunted down and killed. Perhaps Anita as well. Rodric would not risk a western heir to the throne. Upon Lyam’s death, the bloodletting will not end until either Rodric or Arutha sits the throne of the Kingdom uncontested. You are the most powerful magician in the Kingdom.” Pug started to protest “I know enough of the arts to know your skills from the events you related to us. And I remember your promise as a boy. You are capable of feats unmatched by any in our world. Arutha will have grave need of your aid, for he would not let his brother’s death go unpunished. Crydee, Carse, and Tulan will march once the Tsurani have been dealt with. Others, especially Brucal, would join them. Then we would have civil war.”
Meecham spat out of the tent. He froze, holding aside the tent flap for a moment, then said, “I think the argument is over. Look.”
They joined him at the opening. None had the franklin’s sharp eyesight, and at first they couldn’t see what he was pointing out. Then slowly they recognized the cloud of dust hanging in the air, far to the southeast. It spread across the horizon for miles, a dirty brown ribbon that ran below the blue of the sky.
The franklin turned to look at the others “The Armies of the East.”
They stood near the command pavilion, among a group of LaMutian soldiers. With Laurie, Kulgan, Pug, and Meecham was Earl Vandros of LaMut, the former cavalry officer who had commanded the raid through the valley years ago, when they had first seen the rift. He had gained the title upon his father’s death, less than a year after Pug’s capture, and had proven to be one of the Kingdom’s most able field commanders.
A company of nobles was riding up the hill toward the pavilion. The King and Brucal stood waiting for them. Next to each lord rode a standard-bearer, who held the banner of that noble Vandros announced the name of each army represented. “Rodez, Timons, Sadara, Ran, Cibon, they’re all here.” He turned to Kulgan. “I doubt there are a thousand soldiers left between here and Rillanon.” Laurie said, “There is one whose banner I don’t see. Bas-Tyra.” Vandros looked. “Salador, Deep Taunton, Pointer’s Head . . . no, you are right. The golden eagle on black is not among the standards.”
Meecham said, “Black Guy is no fool. He is already upon the throne of Krondor. Should Lyam be hanged, and Rodric fall in battle, it would be only a short step to the throne in Rillanon.”
Vandros looked back at the gathering nobles. “Nearly the entire Congress of Lords is present. Should they return to Krondor without the King, then Guy would be King in short order. Many of these are his men.”
Pug said, “Who is that under the banner of Salador? It is not Lord Kerus.”
Vandros spat upon the ground. “It is Richard, formerly Baron of Dolth, now Duke of Salador. The King hung Kerus, and his family fled to Kesh. Now Richard rules the third most powerful duchy in the East. He is one of Guy’s favorites.”
When the nobles, were assembled before the King, Richard of Salador, a red-faced bear of a man, said, “My liege, we are assembled. Where are we to camp?”
“Camp? We make no camp, my lord Duke We ride!” He turned to Lord Brucal. “Marshal the Armies of the West, Brucal.” The Duke gave the signal, and heralds ran through the camp, shouting the order to muster. The battle drums and war trumpets were shortly sounding throughout the western camp.
Vandros left to join his soldiers, and soon there were few observers nearby. Kulgan, Pug, and the others moved off to one side, keeping clear of the King’s gaze.
The King said to the assembled nobles, “We have had nine years of the western commander’s tender ways. I shall lead the attack that will drive the foe from out of our lands.” He turned to Brucal. “In deference to your advancing years, my lord Duke, I am giving command of the infantry to Duke Richard. You will stay here.”
The old Duke of Yabon, who was in the process of donning his armor, looked stung. He said nothing save, “Your Majesty,” his tone cold and strained. He stiffly turned and entered the command tent.
The King’s horse was brought, and Rodric mounted. A page handed up his crowned helm, and the King placed it upon his head. “The infantry shall follow as quickly as possible. Now we ride!”
The King spurred his horse down the hill, followed by the Royal Guard and the assembled nobles. When he was out of sight, Kulgan turned to the others and said, “Now we wait.”