“We’re just going to be hung?” asked Erik.
“Hardly,” said the man. He got up from his squatting position, groaning theatrically as he did so. “Knees aren’t what they used to be.” He moved to the cell door and motioned for the jailer to open it. “The new Prince of Krondor, like his father, is a very particular man when it comes to observing the law. We will have a trial; then we will hang you.” He passed through the door and it closed behind him.
A short time later the door opened again and an old man entered. He was dressed in richly fashioned clothing, but of plain cut, as if designed for one who was active despite his rank and years. The man’s hair was silver, he wore a closely trimmed beard, and his eyes were dark and penetrating. He studied the two prisoners carefully.
Kneeling before Erik, he said, “Tell me your name.”
“Erik von Darkmoor . . . sir.”
Then he turned to Roo. “You are Rupert Avery?”
Roo said, “Yes. And who are you?” His manner showed he took exception to being treated so roughly, and if he was going to be hung he might as well vent his temper on whoever was nearby, irrespective of rank.
The man smiled, amused by Roo’s sharp manner. “You may call me Lord James.”
Roo sat up and moved, as far as the length of chain that bound his leg shackles to the wall permitted, and peered upward through the small window. “Well, Lord James, how long do we rot here in the Krondor jail before we’re tried and hung?”
“You’re not in the Krondor jail, my abrupt young friend,” answered James. “You’re in the Prince’s palace and your trial will commence the day after tomorrow, as soon as Nicholas has taken his office. Unless you’re in a particular hurry, in which case I could ask the King to preside this afternoon.”
“Well, by all means,” snapped Roo. “If His Majesty isn’t too busy, I’m sure we’d all just as soon get this over with. And he’d drop everything else just because you asked.”
James smiled and there was a dangerous quality to it. “I’m sure he would; I’m something of an uncle to the King,” he said. “I’m also the new Duke of Krondor.”
Standing, the Duke said, “Have you anyone to speak on your behalf?”
Erik said, “There is one man, at Barret’s Coffee House, by name Sebastian Lender. He might speak for me.”
The Duke nodded. “I know him by reputation. Tricky bastard. He may keep you from being hung. I’ll send for him and have him speak with you about your defense.” He moved toward the door. “Then I’ll see if the King’s free tomorrow,” he said pointedly to Roo. “But if I were you, I’d wait until Nicholas sits the Western Throne. He’s of more even temper than his brother, and His Majesty doesn’t take kindly to those who go around murdering his nobles.”
“Nobles?” said Roo. “Stefan may have had a father of rank, but he was still a swine.”
James smiled, again without humor. “Perhaps, but as his father had died less than an hour before him, for a very short time be was Baron of Darkmoor.”
The door was opened and Duke James left. Erik looked at Roo and said, “So much for the Sunset Islands.”
Roo sat back down, unable to see anything through the small window. “Yes, so much for the Sunset Islands.”
Erik and Roo were moved the next morning, without being told why. A squad of soldiers wearing the livery of the Prince of Krondor’s own Household Guards arrived and unchained Erik and Roo from the wall, leaving the shackles and cuffs on. They were escorted to a large cell with a long, barred wall, through which other cells with wooden doors could be seen. The cell was partially belowground. At head height, a long window, less than one foot high, ran the length of the cell, and both prisoners could see it allowed a view of a long gibbet erected at the far side of a large courtyard. A half-dozen nooses hung from a single long crossbeam, supported by heavy timbers between each noose.
Erik studied it briefly; it would be a simple enough execution. The prisoners would be marched up several steps at one end and made to step up on three-foot-high wooden boxes, which were kicked out from under their feet once the nooses were around their neck.