Dash glanced in a looking-glass and judged his appearance acceptable for an interview with the Prince. “I don’t think it’s that. It’s more than gratitude.” He looked at Jimmy. “Is there anything you can imagine that would get you to break your vows to the crown?”
Jimmy stopped almost in midstride; the concept was too alien to imagine. “Turn traitor?” He stopped and said, “I can’t imagine what it could be. Perhaps some sort of perfect love . . .” He shook his head. “No, because I can’t imagine any woman who loved me turning against something I hold that dear.”
“Speaking of women, did I see a page hurry by wearing the livery of Silden?”
“Yes, you did,” said Jimmy with a grin.
“Is Francie here with her father?”
Jimmy nodded. “Yes.”
“And does she still have that crush on you?”
Jimmy’s grin widened. “I hope so.” He laughed. “We had lunch the other day. She’s turned out just as you might expect.”
Dash opened the door and said, “If memory serves she was obnoxious and beat you up with some regularity.”
“No,” said Jimmy, stepping through the door. “It was you she beat up. I was too big. Beside, she fancied herself in love with me.”
“Well, then, back to the point, is there something there?”
Jimmy walked down the hall with his brother. “Seriously, I don’t know. I suspect, however, I may have nothing to say in the matter, nor will Francie.”
“Patrick?”
“That’s the delay I spoke of. Suddenly Dukes are winging their way like birds in migration toward Darkmoor.”
“All with eligible daughters?”
Rounding a corner, moving past guards standing at their posts, Jimmy said, “I think the King worries that with war coming, another heir might prove valuable.”
They climbed the steps in the main hall that led to the Baronial great hall, where Patrick currently held court. “The curse of twins.”
“Erland would never do anything against his brother, we know that, but there’s more than one noble who might link his fate to one of Erland’s sons should a rival claim be possible. If Patrick doesn’t wed and beget a son. . .” He let the thought go unfinished as they reached the audience hall.
Nobles had been trickling into Darkmoor since the thaw, and now the modest Baronial hall was packed to the point of overcrowding. Dash said, “We’d better take Krondor back just so we can get into a hall big enough to hold this lot.”
Jimmy said, “Shhh.” He pointed to where their father stood next to the Prince. It was the most formal-looking court they had witnessed so far in Darkmoor, for Patrick wore his purple mantle, his ermine stole, and his circlet of gold. Arutha was likewise attired formally in a black tunic with golden trim, scarlet leggings, and his chain of office, with his Ducal seal hanging from it. At his side he wore the sword once borne by his namesake, carried by Erik von Darkmoor to Arutha.
The brothers waited at the rear of the hall as the Prince disposed of the day’s business. Then a young page announced, “This day’s court is at an end, my lords and ladies.”
Patrick stood and everyone in the room bowed. As the Prince departed, Arutha saw his sons and motioned for them to join him.
They crossed the still-crowded court, and when they reached the dais upon which the throne was placed, Arutha hugged his younger son. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.”
“Of course you can,” quipped Dash.
Arutha said, “Come, you must fill in the Prince on what you learned in Krondor.”
Dash followed his father and brother into the Prince’s private office.
Nakor said, “Do you think they’ll get tired of this?” Pug said, “Eventually, or they’ll run out of arrows.” Pug had erected a mystical barrier around the two when the Saaur had first closed on Nakor and him, as it was clear they weren’t coming to talk, but rather were charging with lances down. These appeared to be young Saaur warriors, eager to shed blood. Several of them had been seriously injured when their lances struck Pug’s invisible barrier and shattered, throwing them from their saddles. For almost a half day since, the Saaur had been content to take up position a dozen yards from the two men and fire arrows at them.
The chaos which followed seem to amuse Nakor, though Pug was disturbed by the attempt to kill them without conversation. They appeared two relatively helpless men, unarmed and alone. Their own horses had panicked at the onslaught of the Saaur riders, the massive horses bearing down like a rolling tide.
Pug had allowed his and Nakor’s mounts to flee before putting up his barrier, and now he regretted the decision. They were without the food and water in the saddlebags, with nothing for sustenance except for Nakor’s seemingly inexhaustible supply of oranges.
He produced one, split the skin, and began to devour it. “Want one?”
“No, thank you; maybe later,” said Pug. “This shield spell is more than adequate to keep them out, but I do have to spend a little energy keeping it intact.”
“It’s a good thing they don’t have any spellcasters along, isn’t it?”