As he rode through the city, Dash registered the rhythm of the place, becoming more familiar by the day. Krondor was reviving and it angered him to the point of irrationality that anyone, Keshian or Fadawah, might return to undo the work he had done. Rillanon had been his home until three years before, when his grandfather had brought Dash and his brother to Krondor. Since then he had worked for a while for Roo Avery, though he was always in his grandfather’s employ. And against any reasonable expectation he had made the city his own.
As he neared the palace, Dash conceded there was more of his grandfather in him than he might have once been willing to admit. Dash rode in past a pair of guards at the main gate who saluted the Sheriff. A groom hurried forward to take his horse. Dash moved quickly up the palace steps and past guards standing in the entrance hall.
He was hurrying to the point of almost running as he rounded the corner that would take him directly to the great hall. Instantly he knew something was wrong.
The great doors were open and a pair of guards stood just inside, as if inquiring over something. A servant was running from the hall, toward the rear of the palace, shouting something.
Dash ran. He pushed past the two guards at the door and saw people in agony or unconscious. The hall had been set up with a giant U-shaped table, allowing jugglers and entertainers to perform before the entire court. The Prince, Francie, Dukes Brian and Rufio were at the head table. Dash noted an empty chair at the far end on the Prince’s left.
The other two tables were occupied by the remaining nobles of the area and most of the important citizens of Krondor. Half of them appeared unconscious, slumped down in their chairs or on the floor, while a few others were attempting to stand, and one or two were sitting, a vacant disoriented expression on their faces.
Dash ran across the room to the head table and vaulted over it, swinging his legs over the prone form of Duke Brian. Francie was slumped over the table between her father and Patrick, and Duke Rufio had fallen to the floor and was lying on his back, eyes open and vacant. The Prince sat back in his chair gasping for air, his eyes wide and unfocused.
Dash stuck his finger into the Prince’s mouth, and Patrick vomited the contents of his stomach. He repeated the action with Francie, who also threw up what she had eaten. He turned to see startled-looking servants and guards standing around, unsure of what to do. “Make them vomit!” shouted Dash. “They’ve been poisoned!”
He reached Duke Silden and got him to gag up food, but far less than Dash would have liked. He reached Duke Rufio and could not force a response. The Duke’s breathing was shallow and his face was clammy to the touch.
Dash jumped up and saw that three of the servants were attempting to get those still conscious to throw up. He shouted to a guard, “Get a horse! Ride to Temple Square! Bring back any clerics you can find. We need healers!”
Dash organized the servants and had more come bringing fresh water. He had no idea what poison had been used, but he knew that some of them could be diluted. “Make those who can drink swallow as much as they can!” he shouted. “Don’t force those who can’t; you’ll drown them.”
Dash grabbed a sergeant of the guard and said, “Arrest everyone in the kitchen.”
Dash realized that whoever had poisoned the entire royal court was probably gone by now, but perhaps he had not had time to flee. He certainly hadn’t expected the Sheriff to be late and avoid being among those afflicted.
The room stank and Dash set some of the staff to cleaning up as others attended those ill. It took nearly a half hour for the first cleric to arrive, a priest of Astalon. He set about doing what he could do for the stricken, starting with the Prince.
Dash did a mental inventory of those in attendance: of the nobles in Krondor, only he had been absent from this meal. Every other titled lord from Duke to Squire in the area was at that table. Of the town’s wealthy and powerful merchants, only Roo Avery was absent, being out at his estate with his family.
Soon other priests of the various orders appeared, including Brother Dominic, the Ishapian who now served at Nakor’s temple. They tended those in the room throughout the night, and Dash interrogated the kitchen staff. Near sunrise he returned to the great hall, which now resembled an infirmary. Dominic was near the door and Dash called him over. “How do we stand?” he asked.
“It was a close thing,” said the monk. “Had you not acted as you had, you would be the only noble in the city still breathing.
“The Prince will live, though he will be sick for a long time, as will the Lady Francine.” He shook his head. “Her father is touch and go. I don’t know if he’ll pull through.”
Dash said, “Duke Rufio?”
Dominic shook his head in the negative. “It was the wine that was poisoned. He drank a great deal of it.”
Dash closed his eyes. “I tried to tell Patrick that if we had one spy in the palace . . .”
“Well,” said Dominic, “while the loss is terrible, at least the Prince will survive.”
“There is that.” Dash looked at those dead who were being carried away. “But we’ve lost too many already to have to endure this insult. It could have been worse, but not by much,” said the exhausted young Sheriff.
Then the alarm bell began to ring and Dash realized the city was under attack.
Twenty-Four - Attacks