Kitabı oku: «Prince of the Blood», sayfa 2

Nicky’s expression turned to one of distress. ‘Borric!’ he said, almost whining.

Borric glanced down. ‘Why, it’s …’ He turned to his brother. ‘What is it?’

Erland slowly walked around Nicky. ‘I’m not sure. It’s too small to be a goblin, yet too big to be a monkey – save perhaps a very tall monkey.’

‘Not broad enough in the shoulders to be a dwarf, and too finely tailored to be a beggar boy—’

Nicky’s face clouded over. Tears began to form in his eyes. ‘You promised!’ he said, his voice catching in his throat. He looked up at his brothers as they stood grinning down at him, then with tears upon his cheeks he kicked Borric in the shins, turned, and fled, his half-limping, rolling gait not slowing him as he scampered down the hall, the sound of his sobs following after.

Borric rubbed at the barked shin. ‘Ow. The boy can kick.’ He looked at Erland. ‘Promised?’

Erland rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Not to tease him anymore.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘He’s sure to run to Mother and she’ll speak to Father and—’

Borric winced. ‘And we’ll get another round of lectures.’

Then as one they said, ‘Father!’ and hurried toward Arutha’s private quarters. The guard stationed at the door, seeing the approaching brothers, opened the doors for them.

Once inside, the twins found their father seated in his favourite chair, an old thing of wood and leather, but which he preferred to any of the dozen others in the large conference hall. Standing slightly to his left were Barons James and Locklear. Arutha said, ‘Come in, you two.’

The twins came to stand before their father, Erland moving with a slight awkwardness, as his injured side had stiffened overnight. ‘Something wrong?’ asked Arutha.

Both sons smiled weakly. Their father missed little. Borric said, ‘He tried a beat and counter-lunge when he should have parried in six. The fellow got inside his guard.’

Arutha’s voice was cold. ‘Brawling again. I should have expected it, as Baron James obviously did.’ To James he said, ‘Anyone killed?’

James said, ‘No, but it was a bit close with the son of one of the city’s more influential shippers.’

Arutha’s anger surfaced as he slowly rose from his chair. A man able to hold emotions in check, the sight of such a display was rare, and for those who knew him well, unwelcome. He came to stand before the twins and for a moment appeared on the verge of striking them. He stared into the eyes of each. He bit off each word as he sought to regain control. ‘What can you two possibly have been thinking of?’

Erland said, ‘It was self-defence, Father. The man was trying to skewer me.’

Borric chimed in, ‘The man was cheating. He had an extra Blue Lady up his sleeve.’

Arutha almost spat as he said, ‘I don’t care if he had an extra deck up his sleeve. You aren’t common soldiers, damn it! You are my sons!’

Arutha walked around them, as if inspecting horses or reviewing his guard. Both boys endured the close perusal, knowing their father’s mood brooked no insolence.

At last he threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation and said, ‘These aren’t my sons.’ He walked past the twins to stand next to the two Barons. ‘They’ve got to be Lyam’s,’ he said, invoking the King’s name. Arutha’s brother had been known for his temper and brawling as a youth. ‘Somehow Anita married me, but bore the King’s ruffian brats.’ James could only nod in agreement. ‘It must be some divine plan I don’t understand.’

Returning his attention to his boys, he said, ‘If your grandfather still lived, he’d have you over a barrel, a leather strap in his hand, no matter your size or age. You’ve acted like children, once again, and should be treated like children.’

His voice rose as he walked back before them, ‘I sent orders for you two to come home at once! But do you obey? No! Instead of coming straight away to the palace, you vanish into the Poor Quarter. Two days later, Baron James finds you brawling in a tavern.’ He paused, then in a near shout, he exclaimed, ‘You could have been killed!’

Borric began to quip, ‘Only if that parry—’

‘Enough!’ cried Arutha, his temper frayed beyond his ability to control it. He gripped Borric’s tunic and pulled his son forward, off-balance. ‘You will not end this with a joke and smile! You have defied me for the last time.’ He punctuated this with a shove that sent Borric half-stumbling into his brother. Arutha’s manner showed he had no patience for the flippancies from his son he usually ignored. ‘I didn’t call you back because the court missed your peculiar sort of chaos. I think that another year or two on the border might have settled you down a bit, but I have no alternative. You have princely duties and you are needed now!’

Borric and Erland exchanged glances. Arutha’s moods were old business to them, and they had endured his anger – which was usually justified – before, but this time something serious was occurring. Borric said, ‘We’re sorry, Father. We didn’t realize it was a matter of duty that called us home.’

‘Because you are not expected to realize anything, you are expected to obey!’ shot back their father. Obviously out of patience with the entire exchange, he said, ‘I am done with you for now. I must compose myself for the business of dealing in private with the Keshian Ambassador this afternoon. Baron James will continue this conversation on my behalf!’ At the door, he paused, and said to James, ‘Whatever you need do, do! But I want these miscreants impressed with the gravity of things when I speak to them this afternoon.’ He closed the door without waiting for a response.

James and Locklear moved to either side of the young Princes, and James said, ‘If Your Highnesses would be so kind as to follow us.’

Borric and Erland both glanced at their life-long tutors and ‘uncles’ and then at each other. Both had an inkling of what was to come. Their father had never laid strap nor hand upon any of his children, to the profound relief of his wife, but that still didn’t prevent regular bouts of ‘fighting practice,’ when the boys were unruly, which was most of the time.

Waiting outside, Lieutenant William quietly fell into step with the twins and the Barons as they moved down the hall. He hurried to open the door, which led to Prince Arutha’s gymnasium, a large room where the royal family could practise their skills with sword, dagger, or hand-to-hand combat.

Baron James led the procession down the hall. At the door to the gymnasium, William again moved to open the door, for while he was second cousin to the twins, he was still merely a soldier in the company of nobles. Borric entered the room first, followed by Erland and James, with Locklear and William behind.

Inside the room, Borric nimbly turned and walked backwards, his hands raised in a boxer’s pose, as he said, ‘We’re a lot older and bigger, now, Uncle Jimmy. And you’re not going to sucker punch me behind the ear like you did last time.’

Erland leaned to the left, clutching his side in exaggeration and suddenly developed a limp. ‘And faster, too. Uncle Locky.’ Without warning, he threw an elbow at Locklear’s head. The Baron, a seasoned soldier of almost twenty years, dodged aside, allowing Erland to overbalance. He then turned him in a circle by hauling on one arm, and pushed him into the centre of the gymnasium with the sole of his boot.

The two Barons stood away as both brothers stood poised for a fight, fists upraised. With a wry grin, James raised his hands palms out and said, ‘Oh, you’re too young and fast for us, all right.’ The tone of sarcasm was not lost on the boys. ‘But as we have to be clear headed over the next few days, we thought we’d forego the pleasure of seeing how far you’ve come in the last two years.’ He hiked his thumb behind him, indicating a far corner. ‘Personally, that is.’

Two soldiers, stripped to breeches only, stood in the corner. Each had massive arms crossed over impressively muscled chests. Baron James waved for them to approach. As they did, the boys glanced at one another.

The two men moved with the fluid motion of a thoroughbred war horse, supple, but with power waiting. Each looked as if he was carved from stone, and Borric whispered, ‘They’re not human!’ Erland grinned, for both men had large jaws, suggesting the protruding mandible of mountain trolls.

‘These gentlemen are from your Uncle Lyam’s garrison,’ said Locklear. ‘We had a demonstration of the Royal Fist-Boxing Champions last week and asked them to stay with us a few extra days.’ The two men began to move away from each other, circling the boys in opposite directions.

Jimmy said, ‘The blond-haired fellow is Sergeant Obregon, from the Rodez garrison—’

Locklear injected, ‘He’s champion of all men under two hundred pounds. Ah, Erland should be your student, Obregon; his side is injured. Be gentle with him.’

‘—and the other,’ continued Jimmy, ‘is Sergeant Palmer, from Bas-Tyra.’

Borric’s eyes narrowed as he studied the approaching soldier. ‘Let me guess: he’s the champion of all men over two hundred pounds.’

‘Yes,’ said Baron James, with an evil smile.

Instantly, Borric’s field of vision was filled by an oncoming fist. He quickly tried to move away from it, but abruptly discovered another had found the side of his head. Then he was considering who painted the frescos on the ceiling of the room his father had converted to a gymnasium. He really should ask someone.

Shaking his head as he slowly sat up, he could hear James saying, ‘Your Father wanted us to impress upon you the importance of what you face tomorrow.’

‘And what might that be,’ said Borric, allowing Sergeant Palmer to help him to his feet. But the Sergeant didn’t release Borric’s right hand, but rather held it tightly as he brought his own right hand hard up into Borric’s stomach. Lieutenant William visibly winced as Borric’s breath exploded from his lungs and his eyes crossed as he sank to the floor once more. Erland began warily moving away from the other fist-boxer, who now was stalking him across the floor.

‘If it has escaped your notice, your uncle the King has sired only daughters since young Prince Randolph died.’

Borric waved off the offered hand of Sergeant Palmer and said, ‘Thanks. I’ll get up by myself.’ As he came to one knee, he said, ‘I hardly dwell on the fact of our cousin’s death, but I’m aware of it.’ Then as he started to stand, he drove a vicious blow into Sergeant Palmer’s stomach.

The older, harder fighter stood rock steady, forced himself to take a breath, then smiled in appreciation and said, ‘That was a good one. Highness.’

Borric’s eyes rolled heavenward. ‘Thank you.’ Then another fist filled his vision and once more he considered the wonderful craftsmanship displayed upon the ceiling. Why hadn’t he ever taken the opportunity to notice it before? he mused to himself.

Erland attempted to keep distance between himself and the approaching Sergeant Obregon. Suddenly, the young man was not backing up, but striking out with a flurry of blows. The Sergeant, rather than back away, raised his arms before his face and let the younger man strike his arms and shoulders. ‘Our uncle’s lack of an heir is a fact not unknown to us, Uncle Jimmy,’ observed Erland as his own arms began to tire while he futilely pounded upon the muscular sergeant. Abruptly, the Sergeant stepped inside Erland’s reach, and drove another blow into the youngster’s side. Erland’s face drained of colour and his eyes crossed, then unfocused.

Seeing the reaction. Sergeant Obregon said, ‘Pardon, Highness, I’d meant to strike the uninjured side.’

Erland’s voice was a bare whisper as he gasped, ‘How very kind of you.’

Borric shook his head to clear his thoughts, then quickly rolled backwards and came to his feet, ready to fight. ‘So then, there’s a point to this iteration on our family’s lack of a Royal Prince?’

‘Actually, so,’ agreed James. ‘With no male issue, the Prince of Krondor still is Heir.’

Erland’s voice returned in a strangled gasp. ‘The Prince of Krondor is always Royal Heir.’

‘And your father is Prince of Krondor,’ interjected Locklear.

With a clever feint with his left, Borric drove his right into the jaw of Sergeant Palmer and momentarily staggered the older man. Another blow to the body and the boxer was retreating. Borric grew confident and stepped in to deliver a finishing blow, and abruptly the world turned upside down.

Borric’s vision turned yellow then red for a long while, and while he hung in space, the floor came up to strike him in the back of the head. Then blackness crowded in at the edge of his vision and he saw a ring of faces looking down a deep well at him. They seemed friendly faces, and he thought he might know who they were, but he didn’t feel any need to worry on it, as he was so very comfortable sinking into the cool, dark of the well. Staring past the faces, he absently wondered if any of them might know who the artists of the frescos above might be.

As his eyes rolled up into his head, William upended a small bucket over Borric’s face. The elder twin came back to consciousness sputtering and spitting water.

Baron James was upon one knee and helped the Prince sit upright. ‘Are you still with me?’

Borric shook his head and his eyes focused. ‘I think so,’ he managed to gasp.

‘Good. For if your father is still Heir to the throne, you royal infant,’ he slapped Borric on the back of the head to emphasize what came next, ‘then you are still Heir Presumptive.’

Borric turned to study James’s face. The point of James’s message was still lost on the young Prince. ‘So?’

‘So, ninny, as it is unlikely that our good King – your uncle – will father any sons at this stage in his life, given the Queen’s age, should Arutha survive him, he will become King.’ Reaching out to aid Borric to his feet, he added, ‘And as the Goddess of Luck would have it,’ he slapped Borric playfully on the side of the face, ‘you almost certainly will outlive your father, which means that someday, you shall be King.’

‘May heaven forefend,’ interjected Locklear.

Borric looked around the room. The two Sergeants had stepped back, as the pretence of a boxing lesson was forgotten. ‘King?’

‘Yes, you stone-crowned dolt,’ said Locklear. ‘If we’re still alive, we’ll have to kneel before you and pretend you know what you’re doing.’

‘So,’ continued James, ‘your father has decided that it’s time for you to stop behaving like the spoiled child of a rich cattle merchant and start acting like a future King of the Isles.’

Erland came to stand beside his brother, leaning upon him slightly. ‘So why not just simply—’ he winced as he moved the wrong way, straining his re-injured side ‘—tell us what’s going on?’

James said, ‘I convinced your father the lesson needed to be … emphasized.’ He studied the two Princes. ‘You’ve been educated, taught by the best instructors your father could employ. You speak … what … six, seven languages? You can calculate like engineers at a siege. You can discourse on the teachings of the ancients. You have music and painting skills, and you know the etiquette of the court. You are skilled swordsmen and,’ he glanced at the two boxers, ‘you are somewhat gifted students of fisticuffs.’ He stepped away. ‘But during the nineteen years since your birth you’ve never given any indication that you’re anything other than spoiled, self-indulgent children. Not Princes of the realm!’ His voice rose and his tone turned angry. ‘And when we’re done with you, you’ll be performing the role of a Crown Prince instead of a spoiled child.’

Borric stood crestfallen. ‘Spoiled child?’

Erland grinned at his brother’s discomfort. ‘Well, that’s it, then, isn’t it? Borric shall have to mend his ways, and you and Father will be happy.’

James’s wicked grin turned on Erland. ‘As will you, my lovely! For if this child of a foolish and capricious nature should go and get his throat cut by the angry husband of a Keshian court lady, it’s you who’ll wear the conDoin crown in Rillanon someday. And should he not, you’ll still be heir until the unlikely event of your brother becoming a father. Even then, you’ll most likely end up a duke somewhere.’ Letting his voice drop a bit, he said, ‘So both of you must begin to learn your office.’

Borric said, ‘Yes, I know. First thing tomorrow. Come, let’s get some rest.’ Borric looked down and discovered a restraining hand upon his chest.

‘Not so fast,’ said James. ‘You haven’t finished your lesson.’

‘Ah, Uncle Jimmy—’ began Erland.

‘You’ve made your point,’ said Borric, simmering anger in his voice.

‘I think not,’ answered the Baron. ‘You’re still a pair of rude sods.’ Turning to the two Sergeants, he said, ‘If you please, continue.’

Baron James signalled for Locklear to accompany him as he quickly left the two young Princes readying themselves for a professionally administered beating. As the two nobles left the court, James motioned to Lieutenant William. ‘When they’ve had enough, get them to their quarters. Let them rest and see they eat, then ensure that they are up and ready to see His Highness by midafternoon.’

William saluted and turned to watch as both Princes tumbled to the canvas mat again. He shook his head. This wasn’t going to be a pretty sight.

• Chapter Two • Accusation

THE BOY CRIED OUT.

Borric and Erland watched from the window of their parents’ private chamber as Swordmaster Sheldon pressed his attack on young Prince Nicholas. The boy shouted again in eager excitement as he executed a clever parry and counterthrust. The Swordmaster retreated.

Borric scratched at his cheek as he observed, ‘The boy can scamper about, for certain.’ The angry bruise from the morning’s boxing practice was darkening.

Erland agreed. ‘He’s inherited Father’s skills with a blade. And he manages to do right well despite his bad leg.’

Borric and Erland both turned as the door opened and their mother entered. Anita waved her ladies in waiting to the far corner of the room, where they commenced to discuss quietly whichever current piece of gossip was judged most interesting. The Princess of Krondor came to stand between her sons and peered through the window as a joyous Nicholas was lured into an overbalanced extension and found himself suddenly disarmed.

‘No, Nicky! You should have seen it coming,’ shouted Erland, though the glass window prevented his words from reaching his younger brother.

Anita laughed. ‘He tries so hard.’

Borric shrugged as they turned away. ‘Still, he does well enough for a boy. Not much worse than when we were his age.’

Erland agreed. ‘The monkey.’

Suddenly his mother turned on him and slapped him hard across the face. Instantly, the women in the other corner of the room ceased their whispers and stared in wide-eyed amazement at their Princess. Borric looked at his brother whose astonishment matched his own. Not once in the nineteen years of their lives had their mother raised a hand to either boy. Erland was more stunned by the act than any pain from the slap. Anita’s green eyes revealed a mixture of anger and regret. ‘Never talk that way about your brother again.’ Her tone left no room for argument. ‘You have mocked him and caused him more pain than all the unkind whispers among the nobles together. He is a good boy and he loves you, and all you have for him is ridicule and torment. Your first day back in the palace and within five minutes of speaking with you he was in tears again.

‘Arutha was right. I’ve let you go unpunished for your trespasses too long.’ She turned as if to leave.

Borric, seeking to rescue his brother and himself from the embarrassment of the moment said, ‘Ah, Mother. You did send for us? Was there something else you wanted to discuss?’

Anita said, ‘I didn’t send for you.’

‘I did.’

The boys turned to see their father standing quietly at the small door that opened between his study and the family room, as Anita called his part of the royal apartment. The brothers glanced at one another and knew their father had been observing long enough to have witnessed the exchange between mother and sons.

After a long silence, Arutha said, ‘If you’ll excuse us, I would have a private word with our sons.’

Anita nodded and indicated to her ladies they should come with her. Quickly the room emptied, leaving Arutha with his sons. When the door was closed, Arutha said, ‘Are you all right?’

Erland made a display of stiff muscles and said, ‘Well, enough, Father, given the “instructions” we received this morning.’ He indicated his tender side was not further injured.

Arutha frowned and shook his head slightly. ‘I asked Jimmy not to tell me what he had in mind.’ He smiled a crooked smile. ‘I just requested he somehow impress upon you that there are serious consequences to not doing what is required of you.’

Erland nodded. Borric said, ‘Well, it is not entirely unexpected. You did order us directly home and we did stop to play a bit before coming to the palace.’

‘Play …’ Arutha said, his eyes searching his eldest son’s face. ‘I’m afraid there will be little time for play in the future.’

He motioned for the boys to approach and they came to him. He turned back into his study and they followed as he moved past his large writing table. Behind it was a special alcove, hidden by a clever locked stone, which he opened. He withdrew a parchment bearing the royal family crest and handed it to Borric. ‘Read the third paragraph.’

Borric read and his eyes widened. ‘This is sad news, indeed.’

Erland said, ‘What is it?’

‘A message from Lyam,’ Arutha said.

Borric handed it to his brother. ‘The royal chirurgeons and priests are certain the Queen will have no more children. There will not be a Royal Heir in Rillanon.’

Arutha moved to a door at the back of the royal chambers and said, ‘Come with me.’

He opened the door and moved up a flight of stairs. His sons followed quickly after, and soon all three stood on the top of an old tower, near the centre of the royal palace, overlooking the city of Krondor. Arutha spoke without looking to see if his sons had followed.

‘When I was about your age, I used to stand upon the parapets of the barbican of my father’s castle. I would look down over the town of Crydee and the harbour beyond. Such a small place, but so large in my memory.’

He glanced at Borric and Erland. ‘Your grandfather did much the same when he was a boy, or so our old swordmaster, Fannon, once told me.’ Arutha spent a moment lost in memory. ‘I was about your age when command of the garrison fell to me, boys.’ Both sons had heard tales of the Riftwar and their father’s part in it, but this wasn’t the same sort of old story they had heard swapped by their father and their uncle, Laurie, or Admiral Trask over dinner.

Arutha turned and sat in one of the merlons and said, ‘I never wanted to be Prince of Krondor, Borric.’ Erland moved to sit in the merlon next to his father, as he sensed that Arutha’s words were more for his older brother than himself. They had both heard often enough that their father had no wish to rule. ‘When I was a boy,’ Arutha continued, ‘I had no larger desire than to serve as a soldier, perhaps with the border lords.

‘It wasn’t until I met the old Baron Highcastle that I realized that boyhood dreams are often with us as adults. They are difficult to be shed of, and yet, to see things as they really are, we must lose that child’s eye view of things.’

He scanned the horizon. Their father had always been a direct man, given to direct speech and never at a loss for words to express himself. But he was obviously having difficulty saying what was on his mind. ‘Borric, when you were much younger, what did you think your life would be like now?’

Borric glanced over at Erland, then back at his father. A light breeze sprang up and his thick, ill-cut mane of reddish brown hair blew about his face. ‘I never gave it much thought. Father.’

Arutha sighed. ‘I think I have made a terrible mistake in the manner in which you were raised. When you were both very tiny you were very mischievous and upon one occasion you really upset me. It was a little thing, a spilled inkwell, but a long parchment was ruined and a scribe’s work for a day was lost. I swatted you upon the bottom, Borric.’ The elder brother grinned at the image. Arutha did not return the grin. ‘That day Anita made me promise that never again would I touch either one of you in anger. By doing so, I think I have coddled and ill-prepared you for the lives you are to lead.’

Erland couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. They’d been scolded often enough over the years, but rarely punished and, before this morning, never physically.

Arutha nodded. ‘You and I have little in common in the manner in which we were raised. Your uncle the King felt our father’s leather belt on more than one occasion when he was caught. I only took one beating as a boy. I quickly learned that when Father gave an order, he expected it to be obeyed without question.’ Arutha sighed, and in that sound both boys heard uncertainty from their father for the first time in their lives. ‘We all assumed Prince Randolph would be King someday. When he drowned, we assumed Lyam would have another son. Even as daughters arrived and the prospects for a Royal Heir in Rillanon lessened with the passing years, we still never considered that someday you—’ he put his finger on Borric’s chest ‘—would be ruler of this nation.’

He looked over at his other son and in an uncharacteristic gesture, reached out and placed his hand over Erland’s. ‘I am not given to speaking of strong feelings, but you are my sons and I love you both, though you try my patience to distraction.’

Both sons were suddenly uncomfortable with this atypical revelation. They loved their father but, like him, were discomforted by any attempt to express such feelings openly. ‘We understand,’ was all Borric could manage.

Looking Borric directly in the eyes, he said, ‘Do you? Do you really? Then understand that from this day forth you are no longer my sons alone, Borric. You are both now sons to the Kingdom. Each of you is a Royal. You are to be King someday, Borric. Wrap your mind around that fact, for it is so, and nothing this side of death will change that. And from this day on a father’s love of his son will no longer shield you from life’s harshness. To be a king is to hold men’s lives by a thread. A thoughtless gesture will end those lives as certainly as if you had chosen to tear the threads.’

To Erland, he said, ‘Twins pose a serious threat to peace in our Kingdom, for should old rivalries surface, you’ll find some claiming the birth order was reversed, some who will raise your cause without your consent, as an excuse to make war upon old foes.

‘You both have heard the story, of the First King Borric and how he was forced to slay his own brother, Jon the Pretender. And you have also heard, often enough, of how I stood with the King and our brother Martin in the hall of our ancestors, before the Congress of Lords, each of them with a just claim to the crown. By Martin’s signal act of nobility, Lyam wears his crown and no blood was shed.’ He held his thumb and forefinger a scant fraction of an inch apart. ‘Yet we were but this far from civil war that day.’

Borric said, ‘Father, why are you telling us this?’

Arutha stood, sighed, and put his hand upon his eldest son’s shoulder. ‘Because your boyhood is at an end, Borric. You are no longer the son of the Prince of Krondor. For I have decided that should I survive my brother, I will renounce my own claim upon the crown in favour of yours.’ Borric began to protest, but Arutha cut him off. ‘Lyam is a vigorous man. I may be an old one when he dies, if I don’t precede him. It is best if there is not a short rule between Lyam’s and your own. You will be the next King of the Isles.’

Glancing at Erland, he said, ‘And you will always stand in your brother’s shadow. You will forever be one step from the throne, yet never permitted to sit upon it. You will always be sought out for favour and position, but never your own; you will be seen as a stepping-stone to your brother. Can you accept such a fate?’

Erland shrugged. ‘It doesn’t seem too grave a fate, Father. I shall have estates and title, and responsibilities enough, I am certain.’

‘More, for you need stand with Borric in all things, even when you disagree with him in private. You will never have a public mind that you may call your own. It must be so. I cannot stress this enough. Never once in the future can you publicly oppose the King’s will.’ Moving a short way off, he turned and regarded them both. ‘You have never known anything but peace in our Kingdom. The raids along the border are trivial things.’

Erland said, ‘Not to those of us who fought those raiders! Men died, Father.’

Arutha said, ‘I speak of nations now, and dynasties, and the fate of generations. Yes, men died, so that this nation and its people may live in peace.

‘But there was a time when border skirmishes with Great Kesh and the Eastern Kingdoms were a monthly occurrence, when Quegan galleys took our ships at their leisure, and when invaders from the Tsurani world held part of your grandfather’s lands – for nine years!

‘You will be asked to give up many things, my sons. You will be asked to marry women who will most likely be strangers to you. You will be asked to relinquish many of the privileges lesser men know: the ability to enter a tavern and drink with strangers, to pick up and travel to another city, to marry for love and watch your children grow without fear of their being used for others’ designs.’ Gazing out over the city, he added, ‘To sit at day’s end with your wife and discuss the small matters of your life, to be at ease.’