Shards of a Broken Crown. Raymond E. Feist

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      “I believe you would be in need of a healing priest if it did. You would obviously be bereft of your senses.”

      “When does this campaign begin?” asked Dash.

      “When you hear the first sound of ice breaking in the West, start packing.”

      Dash said, “I heard ice break this morning.”

      “Well, get packing,” said Erik. “We leave for Krondor within the week.”

      Dash nodded. “Very good, Captain.”

      As Dash turned away, Erik said, “One other thing.”

      “What, sir?” asked Dash.

      “Your office as Court Baron does you no good in the army, so you and James are both being given the rank of Knight-Lieutenants.”

      “Thank you, I think,” said Dash.

      “Tomorrow head down to the quartermaster and draw uniforms for yourself and James.”

      “Sir,” said Dash with a weak salute, then he turned and walked toward his own quarters. Muttering to himself, he said, “Damn. I’m in the army.”

      Jimmy tugged at his ill-fitting black tunic. “Damn. I’m in the army.”

      Dash laughed. He gently elbowed his brother, indicating the Prince was about to speak.

      “My lords, gentlemen,” he began, addressing the gathering in his audience hall, formerly the Baron von Darkmoor’s. “The King requires the presence of most of the Army of the East along the Keshian border and to the east. That leaves it to what is left of the Armies of the West to drive the remaining invaders from our shores.”

      Dash whispered to his brother, “Perhaps we shouldn’t have sunk all their ships. It makes the trip home so much more difficult.”

      Arutha, Duke of Krondor, threw his younger son a dark look, and Dash fell silent, while Jimmy attempted not to laugh aloud. One thing James admired about his younger brother was an ability to find something funny in almost any situation, no matter how bleak.

      Prince Patrick said, “Of course it does,” looking directly at Dash.

      Dash had the good grace to blush before his Prince.

      “But we can arrange to transport them home at a later time. First they must surrender.”

      Dash tried to wish himself invisible.

      Patrick continued. “Intelligence confirms that this General Fadawah is seizing the opportunity created by the Emerald Queen’s defeat to fashion a little Empire for himself.”

      He walked to a map and took a pointer and indicated the area between Krondor and Ylith. “From Sarth to Ylith, Fadawah’s forces are in complete control.” The pointer swept to the east. “They control the forests up to the mountains, and most of the passes to Nightmare Ridge. We have a stable front along the ridge.

      “To the north” – the pointer moved north of Ylith – “he’s run into some stern opposition at LaMut. Earl Takari’s holding the city, but barely. Only the harsh winter kept Fadawah from taking the city.” Looking at Arutha, he said, “Tell me of Duke Carl.”

      Arutha said, “The Duke is a boy. He’s barely seventeen. Earl Takari is only three years older.”

      The men in the room knew the fathers of the two nobles mentioned had died in the invasion. Arutha continued, “But Takari is Tsurani stock, and has been studying under his Swordmaster since he could walk. He’ll hold LaMut until the last man if needs be.

      “Carl may be a boy, but he’s surrounded by a strong, if small, army.” Arutha nodded to a man standing behind Erik von Darkmoor, a tall, dark-haired man wearing a kilt and sporting a longsword hung over his back. Dash and Jimmy knew him to be the leader of a company of Hadati hillmen from Yabon, by name of Akee.

      Akee said, “Most of my people are serving in Yabon. Fadawah will not take Yabon.”

      Almost to himself Patrick said, “But come spring he’ll be inside the walls of LaMut, and all the Tsurani honor in that city won’t keep him from doing it.” Patrick was silent a moment, then said, “Can Duke Carl’s forces save LaMut?”

      “Yes,” said Owen. “If we can assume we’ll have no trouble from the Brotherhood of the Dark Path” – he used the common term for the moredhel, the dark elves who lived to the north – “and count on the elves and dwarves, and the Free Cities keeping the western front stable, then Carl can strip his garrison, leaving what he must along his eastern flank, and move the bulk of his men south to LaMut. He should be able to hold Fadawah under those circumstancs.”

      “If he does, can he then retake Ylith?” asked Patrick.

      Akee glanced at Erik and Arutha, both of whom nodded to him. Akee looked at Patrick and said, “No, he cannot. He would need three times the number of swords he has at his call to stand a chance of retaking Ylith. He can hold where he is, unless this General Fadawah turns his entire force northward – which he won’t do if he’s moving soldiers south to hold Krondor – but Duke Carl cannot retake Ylith.”

      “My lords and gentlemen,” said the Prince, “LaMut is, by necessity, the anvil.” He looked at Owen Greylock and said, “My Lord Marshal, your army must by needs be the hammer.”

      Owen said, “It’s a small hammer, Patrick.”

      The Prince said, “Indeed, but Kesh is arrayed in force along our southern border, what’s left of our fleet is keeping Queg and the Durbin pirates at bay, and some of the eastern kings are getting ambitious. You’ll have to make do with your current force.”

      Owen said, “That’s barely twenty thousand men, against how many? A hundred thousand?”

      Patrick said, “We can’t just let them keep what they’ve taken until we resolve these other issues, can we?”

      His question was greeted by silence.

      Patrick looked from face to face in the room. “I’m not ignorant of the flaws of my own ancestors. We took every inch of land from somebody else to make the Western Realm. Only Yabon joined the Kingdom willingly, and that because we saved them from the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, else they would have fallen.

      “But the only reason there’s a Baron von Darkmoor in the first place is the bandit ancestor of your own Captain Erik was too tough a nut to crack, and it was easier to make him a Kingdom noble and let him keep the land he had already taken than it was to kill him and put some king’s idiot nephew here in his place.” Patrick’s voice began to rise. “And several other accommodations have been made over the years, allowing former enemies to become valued vassals.” Now his voice was raised to the point of yelling. “But I’ll be damned to the Seventh Hell if I let some murdering bastard set himself up as ‘King of the Bitter Sea’ and rule over my Principality. If Fadawah does, it will be with one foot on my dead body!”

      Dash and James exchanged glances. They didn’t need to say anything. The message was clear. Owen Greylock and Erik von Darkmoor, and what remained of the Armies of the West, would have to retake the Principality without any СКАЧАТЬ