“Up the road,” said Jimmy.
“Good.” He handed the documents to one of his lieutenants, and said, “I will happily trade this garrison duty for some scrapping along the frontier. Some of my men are city men, who were carpenters or masons, fishermen and the like, back home, but I was always a soldier.” He looked around as if trying to see beyond the limits of his vision. “Duko’s a thinker; he talks about this nation of yours. He tells us this new pledge of loyalty is a good thing.” He looked at Jimmy. “I do not know of such things. I am trained to fight and kill and die if needed. But I trust Duko. He has been my leader for more than half my life, and he was not much more than a boy when I pledged service to him. So, if Duko says we are now servants of your Prince, and that we fight for this nation we tried to take last year, then we shall serve your Prince and fight for this nation. I don’t claim to understand it, but I will do as Duko orders, for he is my General.”
Jimmy nodded. “I understand. And for that reason, he will continue to be your General.” Then Jimmy smiled. “And perhaps someday he will have a son, who will grow up to also be your General.”
Boyse laughed. “That would be something, wouldn’t it, Baron James?” He turned his horse around and said, “Call your men. Let us ride into Krondor together.”
Jimmy signaled and Dash rode forward, and the column behind him also moved up. When they were formed up with Boyse and his companions, they started forward, and for the first time in almost a year, the agents of the Prince of Krondor were reclaiming his city for the crown.
Dash hurried along the street, dodging workers and peddlers. Life was returning to Krondor, and there were endless tasks before them. Several hundred mercenaries from outside the walls had been given employment and sent to the borders to the south. Others were being recruited for caravan escort and garrison duty in the area between Darkmoor and Shamata, replacing soldiers who were being sent to this front.
Workers, shopkeepers, and some minor nobles had returned in the last two weeks. Two messengers from Fadawah had been intercepted, and reassuring reports returned by other messengers, soldiers loyal to Duko who could be trusted to report only what Duko wanted Fadawah and Nordan to know.
Dash judged it would be only a matter of two or three weeks more before it was obvious to Fadawah and Nordan that Duko had turned coat. The story that a big wedding in Rillanon would keep the Prince away from the West for a year, and that Keshian agitation along the border would keep the Kingdom from attempting to retake Krondor, had been widely circulated. Duko’s latest message to Fadawah included a note that a Keshian agent had made preliminary contact with him inquiring about the possibility of formal treaty with the “King of the Bitter Sea,” which Duko hoped would keep Fadawah overconfident for a while longer.
Dash turned a corner, heading into a burned-out portion of the city that was far down the list to be rebuilt. The note he had received had been short and to the point. No signature had been affixed, but he had no doubt who had sent it.
Dash worried about the presence of Keshian agents in the city. The transfer of soldiers was taking place slowly. The logistics of getting those patrols to pre-determined locations, having those men switch clothing with Kingdom regulars, and change places, was very complex. To any casual observer, it appeared that a half-dozen or so patrols rode out throughout the day and returned later. What wasn’t apparent was that they were composed of different men. The one place Duko’s men remained was at two checkpoints south of Nordan’s position in Sarth. So far there had been no mistakes.
Dash reached the appropriate place and stepped inside the burned-out shell of a tavern. As soon as he was inside the fire-blackened walls, a voice in the shadows said, “You come alone, Puppy?”
Dash’s expression let Trina know what he thought of being called “Puppy.”
“I’m alone.”
She jerked her head to one side, indicating a door to a rear room. He moved toward it, and it opened. John Turpin stood in front of the doorway and said, “Sword.”
Dash removed his sword from its scabbard and handed it to him. “Through there,” he said, indicating another door.
Dash moved to that door, and when it didn’t open, he tripped the latch. Inside he found the Upright Man sitting at a table, a half-drunk flagon of water next to him.
“Nephew,” he said with dry humor. His voice was as raspy as Dash remembered.
“Uncle,” said Dash with the same dry humor.
“Have you news for me?”
Dash sighed. He sat in the second chair at the table without being asked. “As you can see, we were not in need of your help in taking the city. Duko gave it willingly.”
“At no small price, I hear,” said Lysle Riggers with a chuckle. “Duke of the Southern Marches.”