King of Foxes

by Raymond E. Feist

  everyone who had taken a near-dead boy from the Orosini Mountains and turned him into what he was today, Baron of the Court Talwin Hawkins, anointed World’s Greatest Swordsman, culinary and wine afi-cionado, musician, painter, linguist, dancer, and dandy.

  Bitterly he thought, And add to that list liar, spy, and assassin. And servant of his most hated enemy.

  Then he reflected, did he truly hate Kaspar? He hated Kaspar and Captain Havrevulen for what they had done.

  The Captain he felt no affinity for; given the type of man he was, he did little to earn affection. And his obvious jealousy over Lady Natalia’s preference for Tal’s company kept things cold between the two men. But Kaspar, Kaspar was a different matter.

  Kaspar had qualities Tal found attractive; he was brilliant, with perhaps the most complex mind Tal had ever encountered. He had an unusual sense of humor and often took delight in the most mundane and trivial details of life. He was ruthless and without scruple, yet he was caring and generous to those who served him.

  Tal would destroy Kaspar without hesitation, revenging the wrong done his people, but he now wondered how Kaspar had come to be this dangerous, ambitious man.

  Not for the first time, Tal wondered where Kaspar’s crimes ended and Leso Varen’s influences began.

  Tal decided it was time to send a message to the Conclave. He found his writing instruments, in a leather carrying pouch, set out by Amafi on the table in his _______________

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  bedroom. He unrolled a piece of silken paper, very expensive, but durable and nearly impervious to water once the indelible ink had dried. He recorded on it what he had seen at the citadel, with as much detail as possible. He recounted every recognizable item on Varen’s table, drew what he could remember of symbols he had seen, and listed the titles he recalled of the volumes on the bookshelves. He spent a short paragraph speculating on what influence Varen had over Kaspar. He kept the names of Varen and Kaspar out of the message, referring to them only as “the magician” and “the nobleman,” and at the end, he signed it simply “Talon.”

  He folded the paper, sealed it with wax, but did not impress it with his ring. Then he addressed it to The Squire of Forest Deep. When Amafi returned, he informed Tal of a nearby bathhouse of sufficient quality to warrant Tal’s patronage. Tal gave him the message, asking if he knew his way to the Vine and Cask. Amafi knew of the place, and Tal instructed him to go there and deliver the message to the owner without comment or waiting for a response, then to meet him at the bathhouse with a full change of clothing.

  Amafi ran off, and Tal went downstairs to interview Magary and the cook, who had returned from the market.

  Tal said, “You must be Lucien.”

  The cook was a young man, just a few years older than the girl by the look of him, and was trying to look confident. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, you’re going to have an easy time of things, I think. I don’t dine at home much, and I rarely entertain.

  So, mostly you’ll be cooking in the mornings, and perhaps making up a meal at midday.”

  “Very good, Squire.”

  Tal detected an accent. “Where are you from?”

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  “Bas-Tyra originally, sir. A small town called Genoui, not too far from the city.”

  “Ah,” said Tal with delight. “The food of Bas-Tyra is famous. What are your specialties?”

  Lucien launched into a list of dishes he favored, and Tal interrupted to ask him how he prepared one in particular. As Lucien started to describe the preparation, Tal asked questions, often offering alternative spices or herbs, and quickly the cook seemed to light up. “You know your food, sir.”

  “I worked in a kitchen once,” said Tal noncommittally.

  “I am not what you would call a rich squire,” he said when Lucien and Magary looked at him in surprise. Tal laughed. “Poor squires have to eat, too.”

  He saw the way glances passed between them, so then he asked, “Are you married?”

  Magary was a pale girl with light brown hair, but her color changed to a deep red as she blushed. “No, sir . . .

  not yet, but we would like to someday.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Tal. “I was planning on dining out tonight, and for social reasons I must, but tomorrow why don’t you prepare some of your specialties? I don’t care if you make too much for me to eat—you two and Amafi can finish off what I don’t try, but I would like to see if you cook as well as you talk about cooking.”

  “You won’t be disappointed, sir.”

  Tal said, “Well, I’m off for a bath and massage. I’ll expect to eat an hour after first light . . . wait, make that two hours. It may be a late night. By the way, where are your sleeping quarters?”

  “In the basement, sir. We have a tiny room we share, and there’s a bed for your manservant there, as well.”

  “That won’t be necessary. He’s also my bodyguard and _______________

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  will sleep in the small room upstairs next to mine. You can keep your privacy.”

  Magary looked relieved, and Lucian positively beamed. “Yes, Squire!”

  Tal left the house and started his walk to the bathhouse. Looking around the city, he realized that he had missed Salador. What is becoming of me? he wondered. I am not sentimental by nature, yet now I feel as I’ve come back to a place that’s dear to me.

  Then he realized the place wasn’t dear to him, it was the memory of the time he had spent here that was dear.

  He and Caleb had studied together, got drunk together, and even whored together. He had learned about wine, food, and the arts in Salador. He had learned to play music and to dance, to paint, and to be charming and seduce women of quality. It had been the only time he had felt free of the dark urgency that was revenge, and he had not thought about his future, living only in the moment.

  Now he found he missed Caleb, and he longed to save Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal. And most surprising of all, he found he missed Natalia.

  __

  The meal was stupendous. He looked up at Lucien, and said, “I’ve had better meals.” The cook’s face started to sag a little, but then Tal said, “But not many. You do honor to your craft.”

  “Thank you, Squire.”

  Tal considered. He knew his tenure in Salador would be brief, despite the fact they were making it appear as if he was settling in. The weather was turning cold, and soon people would begin preparing for the Midwinter _______________

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  Festival. Duke Rodoski would be in the city in slightly more than a month. But he would like to do something to help this young couple.

  “What are your long-term plans, Lucien?”

  The young man shrugged. “Plans, sir? I don’t know. I am rather fortunate to have this employment. There are more cooks than jobs in Salador these days. It would be nice to have steady work with someone who took advantage of my ability, sir, such as yourself,” he finished up in a rush.

  Tal laughed. “Have you thought of perhaps finding someone to back you in establishing your own place?”

  “A tavern?”

  “In Roldem, private dining clubs are all the rage.” Tal described Dawson’s, The Metropol, and a few others.

  “The very best cooks, or what you in Bas-Tyra would call g ran chefs, are men of stature, and very rich.”

  Magary, who had been looking on, said, “Oh, sir, that would be a wonderful thing.”

  “I’ll be doing some entertaining. Let me see if I might find you a backer.”

  “Sir, that would be . . . beyond imagining,” said Lucien.

  “Well, just keep cooking like this, and we’ll both be happy.” Tal pushed himself away from the table. “But I will say the pudding could have used a touch more ginger.”

  Lucien seemed ready to argue, but he caught him
self in time. “Perhaps you’re right, Squire.”

  Tal laughed. “The pudding was just fine. I was seeing if you could keep your mouth shut. Arguing with chefs is like trying to hold back the tide.”

  Lucien and Magary both laughed and looked embarrassed.

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  Tal said, “That will be all for tonight.” To Amafi, who had stood at his shoulder throughout the meal, he said,

  “Grab a bite for yourself. It’s quite good. Then meet me down at the club called Ruthia’s Palace. It’s time for Salador to remember me.”

  He had dined at a small tavern the night before, and gambled at an establishment close to the city square, but in neither place had he seen one person he knew from his previous tenure in Salador. He had introduced himself to the owners of both establishments, ensuring word of his return would eventually spread, but he decided he needed a more dramatic return. Ruthia’s Palace was the most popular gaming hall in the city, and he was well-known there.

  “Yes, Magnificence. I will follow as soon as I have eaten.”

  Tal headed out into the night, and the entire way to the gambling hall he wrestled with his emotions. Since that night in the citadel, everything had changed. Now he felt as if he had somehow been trapped within a box, made of thoughts and feelings, not of wood, but confining nevertheless.

  He felt constantly on the verge of anger, so strong was his desire to walk away from what had become his reason for existence, the desire to revenge his people.

  Now he suddenly felt ensnared, caught by forces pulling him this way, then that. He ached for a moment at the thought of Eye of the Blue Winged Teal suffering one more day of hardship, and he longed for the simple joy a man like Lucien had at being told his work was good.

  He stopped, leaning against the wall by a miller’s shop, shuttered for the night, and felt as if he couldn’t take another step. The pit of his stomach seemed to drop away, _______________

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  and his chest constricted. Suddenly, without warning, he wept. Pain he thought long forgotten came welling up from somewhere deep within; then anger at what the gods had visited upon him, then sadness for all he had lost. For nearly half an hour he stayed at this quiet place, ignoring the occasional passerby who cast him a glance, thinking him intoxicated or perhaps mad.

  Then he recognized the trap his own mind was setting for him. This way lay only destruction, he reminded himself. He could not leave Kaspar’s service, nor recant his oath. He could only endure until such time as he was free, or he could die. But to survive while in Kaspar’s service he must be as immovable as a mountain, as cold as ice, as hard as steel. Emotions could destroy him faster than the most dangerous swordsman.

  He looked up, seeing a few stars peering from behind clouds as they swept along the coastline. He felt the breeze off the harbor, and its cold bite reminded him: he was only as weak as he let himself become. His feelings of sadness, anger, and remorse were all honestly earned, paid for with the blood of others, and he need not apologize to anyone, least of all himself for them. But they could not be embraced. They must be acknowledged, then let go; for to cling to them, to keep them alive in his heart, would be to doom himself and make meaningless everything he had done so far.

  If he survived, and if he destroyed Kaspar, then he could wonder at what fate the gods would have for him for his dark deeds. If he survived, perhaps then he could find Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal and free her from her captivity. If he survived, perhaps he could find a true home in one of the cities he had known. If he survived, perhaps he could finance an eating establishment, with a young chef like Lucien. Perhaps he could find love again.

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  Perhaps someday he could be a husband and father. If he survived.

  He took a deep breath and drew himself upright. He must never let his feelings overwhelm him again in such a way. It was only through the kindness of fate it happened in so benign a spot. In the citadel or in any number of other places, it would have meant his death.

  Step by step, he resolved to grow stronger, to use every mental discipline he had learned to protect himself from himself. Remorse, anger, fear, and hate would only undo him, and he must remember that always.

  By the time he reached Ruthia’s Palace, he was back within himself, strong and ready, and had vowed that never again would he betray himself.

  __

  Ruthia, the Goddess of Luck, favored Tal again. He put down his cards with a smile and said, “All cups, gentlemen.”

  Five cards of the same suit was the best hand at the table, and Tal gathered in the gold coins on the table, while the other five players threw down their cards.

  Squire John Mowbry of the Duke of Salador’s court was a young man, perhaps no more than seventeen or eighteen years of age. He shook his head and said, “You must be an honorable man, Squire Hawkins, for with luck like yours, who needs to cheat?”

  Suddenly those at the table went silent. Realizing he had come close to deadly insult, the young squire said,

  “Apologies, sir. I was merely making a jest. Apparently a bad one.”

  Tal glanced at the boy and smiled. “Not that bad, really,” he said, then he laughed. “Actually, now that I think of it, quite good.”

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  He passed the cards to the young man. “But you win the deal.”

  The young squire, obviously relieved that no insult had been taken, shuffled the cards.

  “How long are you with us, Squire Hawkins?” asked a trader named Ruben of Ravensburgh.

  Tal shrugged. “Indefinitely. I have traveled and find I like Salador very much. I studied here some years ago and enjoyed my stay. I am at liberty presently and decided to return here to see what the future holds.”

  Another man, an officer in the Duke’s guard named Dumont, laughed, and said, “And getting out of Roldem must have been good for your health.” He had been one of Tal’s regular gambling opponents when he had lived in Salador; he was, if not a friend, then an amiable acquaintance.

  Tal feigned a wince at the remark, but then smiled, and said, “There is that.”

  Squire John’s expression as he dealt the cards indicated that he didn’t understand, and Dumont said, “Our friend here managed to publicly humiliate Prince Matthew of Roldem in such a way that it was unlikely he’d ever be invited back to the palace for a gala.”

  “Really?” said another man at the table, a shipper named Vestla. “Tell us about it.”

  Tal picked up his cards, looked at them, then threw down his hand. “Nothing to draw to.” He sat back and said, “I’d rather not.”

  Dumont said, “What I heard was that our friend reduced the Prince to tears in public on the floor of the Masters’ Court. Literally spanked him with the flat of his sword, he did.”

  The men at the table laughed and Dumont added,

  “I’ve met the Prince once, and I’ll wager not a few of _______________

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  those watching were silently saying ‘bravo’ to you, Squire, for humbling that lout.”

  Tal shrugged. “I’ve been traveling. What’s the news?”

  The others laughed as they made their bets. Dumont said, “Well, enough. We’ll drop the story of your bout with the Prince. As for news, not much. Old Duke Duncan rules wisely. His son Laurie is a chap who is well regarded by all, and will be a good ruler in his own right someday. We are at peace with Great Kesh, and last time I heard, the Western Realm was quiet, so it is a time for soldiers like myself to grow lazy and fat.” He put down his cards and said, “Three nines.”

  No one could beat the hand, so Dumont pulled in the coins. “Oh, and Duke Rodoski of Roldem will be visiting for the Midwinter Festival.”

  Tal feigned surprise. “Varian’s coming to
visit the Duke?”

  “An old friend?” asked Ruben.

  “An acquaintance from the Masters’ Court.”

  “Given your contretemps in Roldem with the Prince,”

  said Dumont, “don’t expect to be invited to the Duke’s gala.”

  “I wouldn’t, normally,” said Tal, as the cards were dealt again.

  “Don’t underestimate yourself, Tal,” said Dumont.

  “When last we met you were merely a minor squire from the west. Very minor,” he added, and the others laughed.

  “But now you are Champion of the Masters’ Court, and that is no mean thing.”

  Tal picked up his cards and organized them. The bet was made, and he replaced two of them. “Well, perhaps some other time I’ll earn the pleasure of an introduction to His Grace, Duke Duncan, but for the moment, I’m content to spend Midwinter’s Day crawling from one tavern to the next in search of a convivial wench or two.”

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  The others laughed. “Well said.” Tal won the hand, and Dumont declared, “I must get back to the castle. I have duty in the morning.” He glanced at Squire John.

  The boy rose, saying, “I as well. Good night, gentlemen.”

  Tal turned to the other three men. “Shall we continue?”

  Ruben stood up. “I’ve lost enough for one night, Tal.

  It was good to meet you.”

  The other players also left, and Tal rose. There was another game in the corner, with an open chair, but he felt he had played enough cards for the night. There were other games as well, dice and the wheel, but he felt he couldn’t raise the enthusiasm for them. The goal of his visit had been achieved; while Dumont might mention him to only a few at the Duke’s castle, young Squire John was almost certain to tell everyone he had gambled with the Champion of the Masters’ Court.

  Tal had drunk little that night, sipping at his drink and watching other players succumb to drunkenness. But he felt the need for one more before leaving. He glanced to the far corner of the room where Amafi stood silently, holding the same flagon of ale he had nursed throughout the night. Tal had insisted that when he was gambling, the bodyguard should keep his distance. Tal needed to know who watched him, and Amafi was his second set of eyes.