LITMIR.BIZ

       • CHAPTER THREE •

       Crydee

      THE SHIP DROPPED ANCHOR.

      Crydee bustled with midday activity as the dock crew made the Royal Eagle secure. Nicholas examined his new home, drinking in the novelty of it. His bouts of homesickness had returned during the long voyage, only vanishing while passing through the dangerous Straits of Darkness, which had taken an eventful day and a half. Then northward past Tulan and Carse, and now to Crydee.

      The town had grown in the last twenty years, with signs of expansion everywhere. As they had sailed northward, Amos had pointed out where a fishing village had grown up south of the promontory he named Sailor’s Grief. New buildings were visible high upon a distant hillside to the southeast as the ship entered the harbor. Nicholas squinted against the bright sun reflected off the white façades of the buildings. He saw two carriages and a pair of wagons draw up and halt before a building bedecked by a large royal standard, which proclaimed it the customs house. Servants sitting atop the rear of the carriages leaped from their stations and opened the doors. From the first emerged a tall woman, followed by a taller man. Nicholas recognized them as his aunt and uncle. A flurry of activity followed as the other vehicles came to a halt.

      Amos ordered the gangway run out. Nicholas and Harry stood nearby waiting to disembark. Duke Martin, Duchess Briana, and their court stood ready to welcome the Royal Prince and his companions. Amos saw the reception below and said, ‘Well, we know at least one pigeon made it from Ylith.’

      For the twenty-eight years since the Riftwar, a relay of messengers between Krondor and the Far Coast had been kept intact, including fast horses and carrier pigeons. With the sudden decision to send Nicholas made only the day before he departed, word of his impending arrival reached Crydee just days before they came into sight of the harbor.

      As the sailors made ready, Harry said, ‘Who are those girls?’

      Nicholas had noticed the two young girls who had accompanied the Duke and said, ‘I expect one of them is my cousin Margaret. I don’t know who the other one is.’

      Harry grinned. ‘I’ll find out.’

      When the gangway was out, Amos turned to Nicholas and formally said, ‘Your Highness?’ – indicating that Nicholas was expected to be the first one off the ship.

      Harry stepped forward, to discover Amos’s hand planted firmly on his chest. ‘By rank, Squire,’ he said pointedly.

      Harry blushed and took a step back.

      Nicholas descended to the quay and a tall man stepped forward. Martin, Duke of Crydee, smiled warmly as he bowed to his nephew. ‘Your Highness, we are most pleased to welcome you to Crydee.’ Martin resembled Arutha slightly, but was taller and heavier. His hair was nearly all grey, and his face was lined by sun and age, yet there was an air of strength about him that was clear for anyone to see. This was no sedentary noble who spent his days drinking wine and issuing orders to servants. This was a man who despite his age still spend nights sleeping on the ground under star-filled skies and who carried game home upon his back.

      Nicholas smiled, a little embarrassed at the ceremony, and said, ‘Uncle, I am pleased to be here.’

      Amos was second off the ship, and said, ‘Your Grace,’ as he clapped Martin roughly on the shoulder.

      All formality evaporated as Martin threw his arms around Amos. ‘You old pirate,’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s been too many years.’ They slapped each other on the back and shook hands. Amos inclined his head toward Nicholas.

      Martin returned his attention to the Prince. ‘Your Highness. May I present my wife, the Duchess Briana.’ Nicholas had not seen her since he was a toddler, and his memories of her were vague. It was like meeting her for the first time. A tall woman inclined her head toward Nicholas. Her hair, grey with a startling white streak at the left temple, flowed back from a high brow. There was nothing pretty about the Duchess, but she was a striking woman. Blue eyes set with lines from weather and age regarded the Prince from a face otherwise free of any mark of aging, though she was past fifty. She wore a very practical-looking outfit of leather vest over a silk shirt and trousers tucked into high boots. ‘M’lady,’ said Nicholas, taking her extended hand and squeezing it slightly in greeting. The grip he received was strong, and Nicholas knew the tales of his uncle’s strange lady were mostly true. From the fallen city of Armengar – where women were soldiers alongside the men – Lady Briana could ride, hunt, and fight better than most men, from all reports. Looking at her, Nicholas didn’t doubt it.

      Martin continued the introductions. ‘This is my son, Marcus.’ Nicholas turned to his cousin and hesitated; there was something vaguely familiar about him. Brown eyes and brown hair: Nicholas judged he must resemble someone back in Krondor. The same height as Nicholas, Marcus wore his hair the same length as the Prince. But Marcus was almost two years senior to Nicholas and slightly heavier in build. Marcus gave Nicholas a stiff bow and stepped back.

      Nicholas said, ‘Cousin,’ and nodded.

      Amos came up to stand behind Nicholas and said to Martin, ‘Remember when I first gleaned that you were Arutha’s brother?’

      Martin said, ‘How could I forget? That was my first voyage, and you almost drowned us all.’

      ‘Saved your worthless skin with my masterful sailing, you mean,’ answered Amos. Waving a hand at Nicholas and Marcus, he said, ‘But if the world ever needed proof of your parentage, there it stands revealed.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I think we’ll have to paint one of them green so we can tell them apart.’

      Nicholas looked at Amos in confusion, but Marcus’s face was an unreadable mask. Amos said, ‘The resemblance.’

      Nicholas said, ‘What resemblance?’

      ‘To each other,’ answered the admiral.

      Nicholas turned to regard his cousin. ‘Do you think …?’

      Marcus shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t see it … Highness.’

      Amos laughed and said, ‘You never will.’

      Martin continued the introductions. ‘Highness, this is my daughter, Margaret.’

      One of the two young girls curtsied. Her hair was dark like her brother’s, but she resembled her mother. Nature had given her a straight nose and high cheekbones, but with a less severe cast than Briana’s. She wore her hair long to her shoulders, like her mother, without any adornment. Dark eyes glanced up at the Prince as he said, ‘A pleasure, cousin.’ She smiled at the greeting, and instantly she was lovely.

      Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the young woman at Margaret’s side, and he felt his chest tighten. Cornflower-blue eyes that seemed the largest he had ever encountered regarded him. Suddenly he felt clumsy and unsure of himself. Margaret said, ‘This is my companion, the Lady Abigail, daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse.’ The

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