Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, said, “Very well. What did you find?”
Jimmy finished his first sip of the hot drink, and said, “It’s far worse than we feared.”
Patrick had detailed five men to ride into the West, toward Krondor, his capital city, and only three of them had returned so far. The picture he was having painted for him could be called nothing but bleak. “Go on.”
Jimmy put his cup down on the table and started removing his heavy cloak as he said, “I got to Krondor. It took some doing, but most of the remaining soldiers between here and there are nothing more than bandits. After a couple of months of snow, rain, and sleet, they are dug in, hugging their fires and trying hard to stay alive.”
“What of Krondor?” Patrick asked.
Jimmy said, “It’s almost deserted. There were a few people around, but no one wanted to talk to me, and frankly, I wasn’t anxious to strike up many conversations myself. Most of those I caught a glimpse of were soldiers, foraging for what they could find in the rubble.”
Jimmy stretched, as if tired. He took another sip of coffee. “Though what they could possibly find is beyond me.” He looked at Patrick. “Highness, Krondor looks like nothing I’ve seen before or could dream of in my worst nightmare. Every stone blackened, and almost no board unburned. The smell of char still lingers in the air and it’s been months since the fires. Rain and snow have yet to cleanse the city.
“The palace—”
“What of the palace?” asked Patrick, his voice anxious.
“Gone. The outer walls stand in place, but great breaches exist. The inner palace is little more than a huge pile of blackened rubble – the fire was so hot the timbers burned through and some inner walls collapsed. Only the ancient keep still stands, if you use the term ‘stands’ generously. It’s a blackened shell of stones. I climbed the stone steps inside, for no wood remains untouched, and reached the roof. From there I could see the entire city and some distance to the north and west.
“The harbor is a sea of sunken ships, their masts blackened and rotting. The docks are gone. Most of the first street after the docks has been leveled. All the buildings in the western third of the city have been gutted or reduced to rubble, as if the fires burned the hottest there.”
Arutha, Duke of Krondor, nodded. His father, Lord James, who had preceded him in his office, had fired the city to trap the invaders inside the flames, and had died, along with his mother, in doing so. Arutha knew the placement of Quegan fire oil in the sewers below the city would have concentrated the damage where his father would have judged it most appropriate, at the docks, near the ships unloading troops, then throughout the maze that had been the poor quarter of the city, then the merchant quarter.
“The central third of the city is seriously damaged, but there may be a building or two that can be salvaged on every street. The rest will have to be razed before any construction can begin. The easternmost third is also heavily damaged, but many of the buildings there can be restored.”
“What of the outlying estates?” asked Erik, thinking of his friend Rupert’s large house, a day’s ride to the east of Krondor.
“Many burned to the ground; others were sacked and left empty. A few of them were being used as headquarters for what I took to be companies of the invaders, so I didn’t get too close,” answered Jimmy. He sipped at his coffee.
“I was about to leave when things turned interesting.” Patrick and Arutha looked at Jimmy expectantly. Jimmy took another sip of coffee, then continued. “A command of at least a hundred men rode past where I was camped—” He glanced at his brother. “That little inn up the street from Weavers’ Road, where you got into that fight?” Dash nodded. Looking back at the Prince, Jimmy continued, “It’s atop a little rise, and had an intact roof, which was welcome, and best yet, provided an unobstructed view of High Street and Palace Road, as well as several other byways from the north gate.”
“The men?” prompted Owen Greylock.
“If I understand the markings used by the mercenary companies, General Duko is now on his way to Krondor or is already there.”
Erik swore. Then he glanced at Patrick and said, “Sorry, Highness.”
Patrick said, “I understand. All the reports I’ve read tell me Duko is a worthy foe.”
Erik said, “He’s more than a handful. He kept constant pressure on our northern flank along Nightmare Ridge, without wasting soldiers. He’s the closest thing the invaders have to a Kingdom general in his knowledge of tactics and deployment.”
Owen nodded. “If he’s in Krondor, and ordered to hold it, our job just became a great deal more difficult.”
Patrick looked worried but stayed silent a moment. Then he said, “Why would they move into Krondor in strength? There’s nothing left, they don’t need it to protect their southern flank. Could they know of our new base down at Port Vykor?”
“Perhaps,” said Owen. “Or they simply wish to keep us from using Krondor as a forward base.”
Patrick suddenly looked tired, and worried, thought Jimmy. After another long silence, the Prince said, “We need more information than we have.”
The brothers exchanged glances, each acknowledging what the other knew: they were among those most likely to be sent ahead to get that information.
Patrick asked James, “How long did you stay?”
“Long enough to see them start to secure the area, so I made for the eastern gate to get free before they spotted me. I got out of the city, but ran right into a patrol between Krondor and Ravensburg. I managed to get loose from them in the woods, but they killed my horse.”
Patrick said, “Patrol? That far east?”
Owen nodded and said, “Erik?”
Erik’s expression showed he was as perplexed as anyone else in the room. “We’ve gotten reports from refugees that General Fadawah might be pushing south again, or at least is making his presence known. If Duko’s in Krondor, those rumors are true. But to have patrols already that far east means they’re quickly deploying to welcome us should we march home.”
Patrick said, “It’s icy hell out there. What’s he up to?”
“If we knew that,” said Dash dryly, “we wouldn’t have to go slogging about in that icy hell.”
Owen smiled. Duke Arutha tried to hide his own amusement, but failed.
Patrick said, “True,” ignoring the breach of protocol. The winter shared in close quarters had turned this group into a fairly informal band of friends when court wasn’t in session.
The invaders had been defeated at the Battle of Nightmare Ridge, but the destruction done to the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was unimaginable. As spring approached, and with it the ability to move his forces, Patrick was desperately trying to imagine what had happened to his principality.
Patrick turned to Greylock. “How soon can you move?”
“Highness?” asked Owen.
“How soon before you can move to retake the city?”
Owen said, “I can marshal the men and have them ready to march in under a week. We’ve got some of the garrison scattered along the ridge and down toward the Vale of Dreams, but most are near enough to muster, though from what I’ve seen, we’ll need better information than we have to know what strength we’ll face.”
Patrick sat back. “I was hoping for better intelligence.”
Jimmy glanced at his father, who shook his head slightly, warning him from making any comment. Dash allowed his brother the confirmation that what the Prince had just said was thoughtless by raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.
Patrick said, “We’ve got a massive front