Even his marriage to Miranda had been hastily conducted, as if any delay might steal moments away from them. Pug and his new wife had spent as much time together as possible, dealing with the revelations of their past lives and the need to discuss their future. Yet every moment together, no matter how joyous, was overshadowed by the sense of loss, the sense of work yet undone, and the sense that nothing could ever return to them that which was lost.
Pug nodded at his grandson’s words. He sighed. “Arutha, you and I have never had the opportunity to be close. After my first wife’s death I distanced myself from your mother. Watching her grow old was a fate I tried to avoid.” He looked deep into his grandson’s eyes. “There is much of both your parents in you. I know your father trained you from birth to serve, and your life was never your own, but I also know he would have found a less demanding role for you had he found you lacking; you would not be allowed to follow after him had you been less a man than what you are. So, again I say, you must step forward. Patrick may prove a worthy ruler someday, but that day is not here yet. And it has often been our history that one in the role of advisor limited the choices placed before the rulers.” Remembering the rule of mad King Roderic, Pug said, “Perhaps we could have used more of such men in the past.”
Arutha said, “I’ll try, Grandfather.”
Miranda said, “I don’t presume to advise, as I’ve never done well with obeying rulers in my day, but you’ll have to do more than try before we’re done.”
Arutha looked as if he was ready to wilt. “I know.”
A servant announced supper was ready, and they adjourned to the next room. As Pug preceded his grandson, he knew one of the reasons Arutha was so fatigued: from worry over the whereabouts of his own sons.
Jimmy looked around. A series of patrols had been coming through the area for the last two days. They had tried to enter the city and discovered that no one was being allowed through the established checkpoints. Whoever was in charge inside Krondor, General Duko or someone else, had decided that Kingdom infiltration was a serious threat and had sealed the city.
Those mercenaries and traders who had gathered outside the city walls were not troubled, as long as they didn’t cause trouble. A brawl had erupted the night before at a large bonfire some distance away, over a gambling debt, woman, or insult, Jimmy didn’t know, but it had quickly been quelled by a detachment of warriors from the city who rode out and scattered everyone in sight. There had been nothing gentle or orderly about it, a simple raid to disperse, conducted with speed and efficiency. A half dozen men lay dead, while others were moaning and nursing injuries as the strike force returned to the city, but order had been restored. Most of the men outside the walls had come for booty, the opportunity to loot, or to gain steady pay, not to storm a well-fortified city.
Jimmy had judged the city fairly easy to retake should Patrick and his army be sitting outside die walls, but they weren’t. They were in Darkmoor or en route, and by the time they reached Krondor, the fortifications would be reaching daunting proportions. Workers—freemen or prisoners, Jimmy didn’t know which—were up each day at dawn, repairing the damage from the final assault on the city the previous summer.
He had chanced a leisurely ride past the main eastern gates, and saw that they had been successfully replaced. While not as grand as the originals, the new gates looked stout and well crafted. Accomplished carpenters were among those working for the invaders, as most every man of fighting age on the distant continent of Novindus had been pressed into the army.
It was nearly sundown on their second day when Malar asked, “Young sir, are we to find a safe place to sleep?”
Jimmy shook his head. “I think I’ve seen enough outside. It’s time to go inside the city.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but if each gate and breach is manned in the fashion we have observed so far, how do you propose to do this thing?”
Jimmy said, “There are more ways in and out of Krondor than are apparent. My grandfather knew them all, and he made sure Dash and I knew of every one of them before we left.”
“Is your brother likely to find a similar entrance?”
He motioned for his “servant” to follow him, and they walked slowly past a group of sullen-looking fighting men, getting ready to settle in for another cold night around a campfire with little food or prospects. “Knowing Dash, he’s already in the city.”
Dash sat with his back against the dirty stone wall. The other prisoners did likewise. Men crowded together on both sides, but he didn’t object; the weather was still cold and his captors spared no fuel to keep the slave pen heated. He wore only his undershirt and trousers. His boots, jacket, cloak, and all the other possessions he had carried were taken from him.