The old man said something, and the woman said, “What do you know of Mother’s? You’re not one of us.”
“My grandfather,” said Dash, knowing that at this point he had nothing to lose and everything to gain with the truth.
“What about him? Who is your grandfather?”
“Was,” said Dash. “My grandfather was Jimmy the Hand.”
Several people spoke at once, and the old man signaled for silence. The young woman leaned over and then repeated his words. “Your name?”
“Dashel Jamison. My father is Arutha, Duke of Krondor.”
Without waiting, the girl said, “So you’ve come spying for the King.”
Dash attempted a grin. “Well, the Prince, actually. But yes, I’m here to scout out Duko’s defenses, so that Patrick can retake Krondor.”
The old man waved a badly burned hand and spoke to the woman, who said, “Come closer, Puppy.”
Dash did as he was told and came to stand before the old man and the young woman. The old man’s one good eye studied Dash’s face for a long moment as the woman held a lantern close to it, so every detail could be seen.
Finally, the old man spoke loud enough for all to hear. “Leave us.” His voice sounded close to ruined, dry gravel being scraped, a strangled sound.
Everyone but the woman did, instantly and without hesitation, and the old man said, “Well, then. It is a small world, boy.”
Dash leaned over to study the burned features before him and he said, “Do I know you, sir?”
“No,” said the old man slowly, as if every word hurt. “But I know you by name and lineage, Dashel, son of Arutha. “
“Am I to know your name, sir?”
The woman glanced at the old man, but his one good eye stayed fastened upon Dash. “I’m your great-uncle, boy, that’s who I am. I’m the Upright Man.”
Five - Confrontations
Arutha frowned.
Pug stood at the door studying the Duke of Krondor a moment, before he said softly, “May I speak with you a moment?”
Arutha glanced upward and waved him in. “Grandfather. Please.”
“You appear distracted,” said Pug, sitting in a chair across a large oak table Arutha used for work.
“I was.”
“Jimmy and Dash?”
Arutha nodded as he looked out a window at the warm spring afternoon. His eyes narrowed. They were deep sunk and had dark bags underneath, revealing the lack of sleep that had plagued him since sending his sons into harm’s way. There was grey in Arutha’s hair; Pug hadn’t seen so much just a month before.
Arutha looked at Pug and said, “You needed to see me?”
“We have a problem.”
Arutha nodded. “We have many. Which particular one are we discussing?”
“Patrick.”
Arutha stood and moved around the table to the door and glanced through. A pair of clerks outside were hunched over documents, reviewing reports and requests for supplies, lost in their work.
Arutha closed the door. He returned to his seat and said, “What do you propose?”
“I propose you send a message to the King.”
“And?” Arutha looked directly into the magician’s eyes.
“I think we need another commander in the West.”
Arutha sighed, and in that moment Pug could hear the fatigue, stress, worry, and doubt in the man, expressed in as eloquent a fashion as if an orator had spoken for an hour. Pug instantly knew the outcome of this discussion before Arutha said another word. Yet he allowed the Duke to continue. “History teaches us that we often do not get the best men for a particular job. It also teaches us that if the rest of us do ours, we’ll somehow manage.”
Pug leaned forward and said, “We are this close”—he held forefinger and thumb apart a scant portion of an inch— “to war with Great Kesh. Don’t you think it proper to finish the one we have before we start another?”
“What I think is immaterial,” said Arutha. “I counsel the Prince, but it’s his realm. I’m only allowed to manage it for him.”
Pug remained silent and stared at Arutha a long moment.
Suddenly Arutha allowed his temper to get the better of him, slamming his hand down on the table. “I am not my father, damn it!”
Pug remained silent for another moment, then said, “I never said you were . . . or that you should be.”
“No, but you were thinking, ‘How would James have dealt with this?’ “
Pug said, “It was your mother that read minds, Arutha, not I.”
Arutha leaned forward. “You’re my grandfather, yet I hardly know you.” He glanced upward toward the ceiling, as if collecting his thoughts, then said, “And that means you hardly know me.”
“You were raised on the other side of the Kingdom, Arutha. We saw each other from time to time . . .”
Arutha said, “It’s difficult growing up surrounded on all sides by legends. Did you know that?”
Pug shrugged. “I am not sure.”