city. The invaders had closed the city to anyone not among their own forces and an odd truce existed along the eastern wall.
With many breaches in the walls, the peace was kept by patrols riding among those gathered outside the walls: a mix of Kingdom deserters, displaced farmers, workers, and mercenaries looking for employment. Among the invaders and Kingdom soldiers no small number of Keshians, Quegans, and fighters from the Free Cities of Natal were in evidence.
Dash had made the mistake of attempting to sneak into Krondor. If a man could enjoy freedom outside the walls, inside the walls only those who had served in General Duko’s army were freemen. He had managed to stay out of sight for a day, but had run into a patrol and while being chased had ducked into a seemingly empty building which in reality had housed a half-dozen armed soldiers who were off-watch. They held him until the patrol caught up and, without even asking his reasons for being in the city, had beaten, robbed, then incarcerated him.
That had been three days before. Dash was letting his bruised and aching body recover; he had no doubt that given half a chance he could escape, and this time he wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking the city was deserted. It wasn’t. In fact, it was turning into something far more lively than he would have thought from Jimmy’s report.
He had spent two days working on restoring a fortification on the north wall. He had tried to overhear the guards’ gossip, but the fact was he could barely understand them. His brother had the gift for language. Dash could speak passable Keshian and Roldem, after having both languages drilled into him as a boy in the King’s court in Rillanon.
But he had barely been exposed to the Quegan, Natalese, and Yabonese dialects which, although descended from Keshian, were almost other languages to his ear. And this common tongue of Novindus was even more removed from Kesh than those.
Still, he was able to judge that something odd was happening or about to happen. The soldiers on patrol and those inside the city seemed as concerned about what was taking place to the north as they were concerned about what might be coming from the east.
“Time to go,” said a voice next to Dash.
Dash nodded to the man as he stood. The man was named Gustaf Tinker, though his last name suggested a grandfather’s trade, for he had been a mercenary soldier from the Vale of Dreams. Dash had found out the first night that most of the prisoners were hapless locals, townspeople, fishermen, and farmers from nearby. Gustaf was something of an oddity, as the Kingdom soldiers had been segregated from the other prisoners. They didn’t get worked, but they weren’t executed either. Dash had no idea what General Duko thought he might do with them; use them for hostages, perhaps. But as a result of the segregation, Gustaf and perhaps one or two others among the fifty or so men herded nightly into a room designed for a half dozen might prove useful allies when Dash made his break for freedom.
Another of the men, Talwin, was almost certainly a thief, but Dash had avoided too much conversation with him. Once into the sewers of the city, a local thief might prove a useful guide, but as long as they shared a cell together, Talwin would just as likely turn Dash in to the guards as a Kingdom spy as not for an extra ration.
The door opened and the men gratefully left the cramped room and shuffled out into the hallway. They were housed in a half-burned tannery in the North Quarter of the city. Most of the rank-smelling businesses – slaughterhouses, dyers, fish mongers, among others – were clustered here, so the area provided two benefits to invaders: large relatively undamaged buildings, and a close proximity to an area of the wall which badly needed repair. In the East Quarter, Dash suspected the workers were being housed in abandoned stables and sheds.
The guard motioned and the first man in line moved out of the hall, into the cold morning light. As Dash came out into the light, he blinked, and was startled to discover the almost ever-present cloud cover had moved inland. The day promised to be warm, which was a mixed blessing. During the day he barely felt the cold, given the amount of work he was required to do, but at least the next night might be more forgiving.
He followed along and waited until the boy who took care of food and water appeared, and as anxious as his companions, he grabbed the single slab of bread offered. It was a coarse and unappetizing meal; the grain was so illground that men had been known to break teeth on husks or small pieces of gravel. The water ration had been cut with a small amount of wine. Some men had come down with the belly flux a day or two before Dash’s capture, and the invaders were certain a little wine kept it from spreading.
All too quickly the morning meal was over, and they were off to work. Dash joined four other men attempting to move a large wall stone that had fallen during the battle of Krondor. They were to get it over to a makeshift crane, built by an invading engineer more adept at engines of war than civil engineering. Yet Dash had seen the wooden contraption lift larger stones several times in the last two days and he was certain that it would continue to serve for a while.
Why was there so much urgency in the rebuilding of Krondor? For Duko to deny the city to Patrick made sense. For Duko to attempt to hold it for any length of time made little sense. Dash smelled a mystery, and as much as he wanted to escape, he also wanted to discover what exactly was taking place around here before doing so.
A man grunted and the stone was lifted; quickly a net was pulled under. Dash used the moment gained while the other men tied off the net to the crane to turn to Gustaf and ask, “You anxious to stick around?”
The soldier, a quiet man of middle build, showed the slight smile which was his most dramatic expression, and said, “Of course. There’s such an opportunity for advancement.”
Dash said, “Yes. Another dozen deaths and you’ll be first in line for bread and water in the morning.”
“What do you have in mind?” whispered Gustaf.
Noticing they were being watched by Talwin, Dash said, “I’ll tell you later.”
Gustaf nodded and made no comment as the crew moved over to repeat their labors with another large stone.
DASH FLINCHED.
The wind had turned cold again after the previous day’s springlike warmth and he was still sporting many bruises, which seemed to sting more when the cold hit them. Still, the exercise seemed to be keeping him from getting stiff. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Gustaf again since he had mentioned the possibility of escape. Talwin had taken to staying close by, a turn of events which worried Dash. He could only guess at the man’s motives; either he was also looking for escape and judged Dash and Gustaf likely allies in such a break, or he was an informer. Dash decided he could spend another day or two trying to discover which.
The guards shouted for the midday break, and the boys with the bread and watered wine hurried through the ranks, distributing their welcome fare. Dash sat down right where he worked, on the next large rock to be returned to the wall, while Gustaf sat with his back to the wall they were repairing. Dash took a bite and said, “Either I’m getting used to this or they’ve found a better baker.”
Gustaf said, “You’re getting used to it. Remember the old saying, ‘Hunger is the best sauce.’”
Dash studied the warrior from the Vale of Dreams. At first it had seemed his entire conversational repertoire consisted of head nods, grunts, and the occasional “yes” or “no.” But since last night he had opened up a little to Dash.
“How’d you get caught here?”
“I wasn’t,” said Gustaf, finishing his meager meal. He sipped his watery wine and said, “I was a guard on a caravan …” He glanced around. “It’s a long story. The short of it is we were intercepted and captured by Duko’s men and those of us who lived through the fight ended up here.”
“How long has it been?”
“Too damn long.” He frowned. “Must be a couple