The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘I thought we’d agreed not to involve ourselves in rumourmongering,’ Tom Garnett said quietly.

  ‘Well, it’s one thing not to talk about matters at court and nobody here knows the truth. But it’s another matter when we’ve got a man right here – and a freebooter, at that – who claims some sort of special status. What is that all about?’

  Durine didn’t answer, and after a moment Tom Garnett leaned forward. ‘There was some concern about the safety of Baron Morray, and the Earl thought it best that he should have his own bodyguard, for the time being. It’s not as though he’s the only baron to be brought into council with extra security, and I don’t think –’

  ‘Concern?’ Kelly’s brow furrowed. ‘You think that Tsurani attack in Mondegreen was aimed at Baron Morray personally?’

  ‘No, not really.’ Tom Garnett shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t make much sense. I can’t see how any Tsurani would know that Baron Morray would be with that patrol.’ He got a distant look for a moment. ‘We don’t know how they think, or if they understand what a calamitous turn it would be for us if we lost the Military Bursar for the army. Or how they’d know, if they did.’ Realizing he was digressing, he said, ‘But even if they did understand, for one thing, his going along on this was a last-moment decision by the Earl, just before he left for Yabon. And for another, it didn’t look that way to me. My guess is that if Morray was the target, they’d have killed him first, rather than spring the ambush as early as they did. I trusted Durine and his two friends to see to the Baron while I chased off the Tsurani. As they did, as they certainly did,’ he said. He looked up at Durine. ‘Did it seem to you that they were specifically hunting the Baron?’

  Durine shook his head slowly. ‘No, although the bastards did make for him first – but I reckoned that was just because they assumed that he was an officer, rather than anything … personal. To be honest, Captain, I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, not then.’

  Or later, for that matter – it had seemed to him to be an ordinary, even clumsy, sort of ambush. But trying to work out the purpose of an attack during a war always seemed to Durine to be like trying to work out which part of the body was getting wet when you plunged into a river.

  Besides, how could the Tsurani have come by the information? Who would they ask?

  The Tsurani captain, or Force Leader, or whatever the bastards called him – Durine just thought of him as the Tsurani captain – had been killed during the battle. Durine was sure that the captured Tsurani had been thoroughly questioned, and even more sure that they hadn’t been told anything. From what they had learned about the Tsurani since the invasion began, the common soldiers didn’t ask questions and their officers didn’t volunteer information. Besides, you could slowly feed most of them into a fire feet first and they’d just keep staring at you with hatred in their eyes until they died, without saying a word. Say what you would about the Tsurani, but they were tough bastards, Durine grudgingly was forced to admit. And those slaves of theirs had even less useful things to say, regardless of how docile or co-operative they were.

  Being told nothing beyond the immediate job at hand was a familiar feeling for Durine, until fairly lately, come to think of it. Not that he minded, not really; Durine liked to keep things simple. He wasn’t a strategist, and logistics and such just made his head spin. He preferred to leave such things to others, and do the one thing that he was good at: killing people.

  ‘But no,’ he said at last, shaking his head, ‘it didn’t seem that way.’

  Kelly wasn’t satisfied. ‘Then why all these rumours? And why the extra guards for Baron Morray?’

  Tom Garnett dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned about, not really. But with the Earl gone to Yabon, and the Hereditary Bursar ill, I can think of a few thousand small, golden reasons why it’s best to take extra precautions with the health of the Military Bursar, eh?’ He gestured toward the mud-room. ‘LaMut is already filled with baronial soldiers who don’t, at the moment, have the Tsurani around to remind them that we’re all on the same side, and forget about rivalries between their liege lords. And when you add the mercenaries, just about the worst thing I can think could happen would be the inability of the Earl of LaMut to actually pay his debts, even temporarily.’ He shook his head. ‘Damn lousy day when you’d want an attack by the Bugs and Tsurani to distract the men of Morray and Verheyen from the fact that one group of them are likely to be soldiers of the Earl within a few years, living the high life in LaMut, while others are going to go back to their baronies, sooner rather than later.’

  ‘The Earl?’ The words were out of Durine’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

  Tom Garnett nodded. ‘I don’t think it’s any secret that Earl Vandros is likely to marry Felina and end up as the Duke, do you? Any of you?’ He grinned as he looked from face to face, from nod to nod. ‘And no matter how energetic their wedding night might be, I doubt that they’d be able to produce an heir quickly enough.’ He shook his head. ‘If you ask me, the next Earl of LaMut is likely in this castle right now – probably in conversation just across the room – and I’d not care to wager who it might be, although if I had to guess, I’d guess either Morray or Verheyen.’

  Kelly shook his head. ‘I would have guessed that Mondegreen was the obvious choice myself, particularly as he’s childless – he could hold the office until Vandros has sons – although he wouldn’t be my favourite candidate.’

  Most of the other captains frowned at that, but Tom Garnett just smiled. ‘You’d prefer, say, Baron Erik Folson as the Earl, I take it?’

  Kelly spread his hands. “Well, of course I would, given my own position, but I can honestly swear that there would be far worse choices.’ He stared at the fire and sipped at his coffee. ‘But, alas, I think it unlikely, given that the Baron has two adult sons – and both battle-proven, I’m proud to say, having trained them myself. Either of them would do as Baron, or, eventually, as Earl.’

  ‘And you think that would disqualify Baron Folson?’ Tom Garnett’s brow furrowed.

  ‘I think it might. When he’s Duke, Vandros might like to have a few years to produce a ducal heir, and then perhaps a younger brother to take the earldom, and might choose to put in Mondegreen as Earl, as sort of a place-holder. He couldn’t do that so easily with my baron, more’s the pity.’

  ‘Well, that’s not going to happen. Mondegreen will not be around long enough for that sort of thing.’ Tom Garnett shook his head. ‘Even if the marriage were to take place in Yabon today, Brucal to abdicate in Vandros’s favour tomorrow, and some wizard caused Felina to pop out twin sons the day after, Mondegreen is out of it. Which is a pity – he’s a good man, with a sharp mind, a steady hand and a very slow temper. He reminds me of the old Earl even more than Earl Vandros does; given they’re cousins, that’s not surprising.’

  Kelly puffed on his pipe. ‘Does anybody else think it more than passing strange that we’ve a couple of court barons here, as well? Could it be that, say, Viztria is being primed for the earldom?’

  ‘Viztria?’ Another captain snickered. ‘Not unless the main weapon of state of the new Earl of LaMut were to be a thorough tongue-lashing.’

  Several captains laughed, including Tom Garnett.

  ‘Harsh language has started more than one war, though.’ Tom stopped laughing and added, ‘Probably not him, no, but it might make sense for the new Duke to sweep the slate clean, so to speak, and appoint an earl from outside Yabon. There’s some precedent for that.’

  Kelly shook his head. ‘Precedent, perhaps, but I find myself not liking that idea at all, particularly considering the other court baron here. Langahan, I hear, is just a stalking-horse for the Viceroy, and there’s reason enough to believe that Guy du Bas-Tyra views the Western Realm of the Kingdom as just a reluctant cow to be milked, then left to forage for itself until it’s ready to be milked dry again.’

  ‘Yes, there is.’ Tom Garnett nodde
d. ‘Milked dry at best – if not bled utterly white to feed the East. But Guy du Bas-Tyra doesn’t rule in Yabon –’

  ‘Thankfully.’

  ‘– and I know Earl Vandros. I served under him, when he was the senior captain in rank, though not in age, when his father was Earl. I can’t see Duke Vandros appointing an earl from the East, no matter what the pressure from the Viceroy. As long as Duke Borric is in place in Crydee, Vandros would have a powerful ally in opposing any of Guy’s plots.’

  That made sense, actually. In some ways, Yabon was caught between the enmity of Borric conDoin, Duke of Crydee, and Guy du Bas-Tyra, and while there were dangers inherent in that, it also would make it more than a little difficult for the Viceroy, even if he were to succeed Prince Erland – even though he had already succeeded Prince Erland in fact if not in law, since being named Viceroy – to bring much pressure to bear on the Duke of Yabon, be it Brucal or Vandros. For while Guy had the King’s ear as his favourite advisor, Borric could count on the support of most of the lords of the West, and some in the East who were not kindly disposed to Guy, or who viewed any usurpation of ducal prerogative as a threat to their own rule. The King might rule, but the Congress of Lords was a force even the most reckless king could not long ignore. No, Guy might plot, but in the end, Vandros would appoint his own successor in LaMut.

  Tom Garnett puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. ‘But an outsider to LaMut – a reliable, Western outsider, not some effete Eastern sock-puppet who can’t speak without Guy du Bas-Tyra’s hairy arm up his arse – as the new Earl? That might make sense, and I can tell you that Vandros, earl or duke, will be more concerned about doing what makes sense than he will be in courting favour with anybody, including the Viceroy. Perhaps Alfren of Tyr-Sog’s second son …? You’ll forgive me if I can’t quite recall his name at the moment –’

  ‘Elfred,’ Kelly said. ‘Met him once. I wasn’t overly impressed.’ ‘– and choosing an outsider would have the advantage of the new Earl not coming into his estate with ancient enmities and rivalries, at least none here.’

  Durine didn’t think that Tom Garnett had forgotten about the accidents, but he had to admire how the Captain had neatly changed the subject, even though he had diverted the others into the sort of political gossip that they had disavowed, but which Durine had thought inevitable, given the situation. He wondered if the others were really distracted by talk of politics and succession. Durine wasn’t. Whether they were real accidents or just failed assassination attempts against Morray was another matter, but the point was that these accidents had caused the Earl to have the three of them assigned to protect Morray. The politics were, perhaps, interesting to others, but the job was what mattered to Durine. But if the Captain wasn’t going to mention it, neither was Durine.

  Still, it was something to think about. The only thing that could be construed as a near-accident while they were on the road had been the Tsurani ambush, after all.

  Unless, he thought, grinning to himself, that serving girl in Mondegreen had chosen a most unlikely way to drain the life from a man. Durine wouldn’t have minded that sort of attempt being repeatedly made on his own life by a woman so nicely shaped, as long as he had some time to rest up between attempts.

  ‘Yes, I can see the need for extra care.’ Kelly eyed Durine unblinkingly. ‘Particularly when there are men about who fight only for gold … and don’t fight all that well, so I’ve been told.’

  Durine waited for Tom Garnett to confront the other captain, but Garnett just smiled at Durine over the rim of his pipe, as though to say, Well, man, you’ve said you’re not under my command, so you’re not my responsibility, are you?

  Which was, after all, entirely fair. Durine would have preferred generosity to fairness, but he would settle for fairness, and be glad of the bargain.

  ‘I’ve fought well enough, Captain,’ Durine said. ‘Proof of that is that I’m still alive, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, the only thing it proves is that you’re lucky, as are we all.’ Kelly pushed himself out of his chair. ‘But, yes, that’s some evidence. But I can’t imagine that you’d mind providing a little more evidence, enough that might stack up to actual proof – with practice blades, say, on the training floor?’

  The parade ground next to the barracks was the usual place for training, but it didn’t make a lot of sense to Durine for them to go out into the storm, not for something like sword practice.

  Tom Garnett chuckled. ‘It seems to me that it’s rather brisk outside to be making any use of the parade ground, and I’m not sure that practising with snow up to your waist would do much more than freeze your privates.’

  ‘In which sense did you mean that?’ another captain added, with a smile.

  ‘Well, both, actually.’

  ‘We don’t need the parade ground,’ Kelly said. He gave a quick gesture to one of the other captains, who nodded, rose and walked from the room. ‘Let’s see how he does, here and now,’ he said, turning back to Tom Garnett. ‘Shall we?’

  Garnett thought it over for a moment, then looked up at Durine. The Captain nodded, the stem of his pipe still clamped between his teeth. ‘I can’t see why we can’t, at that.’

  Tom Garnett had taken the initiative in asking permission of the assembled nobles, and while Baron Viztria had made some disparaging comment about boys playing with swords, most of the others had either nodded in assent or, in the case of Lady Mondegreen, been openly enthusiastic at the idea, as had the Swordmaster, who had dispatched a boy to retrieve his own practice equipment.

  Nobody quite said why, but Durine wondered if the enthusiasm was really for some distraction from matters of state and the monotonous discomfort of being trapped indoors in a large, draughty castle that seemed more cramped and crowded by the hour. Durine wasn’t really sure about why someone might want relief from the former – as a soldier, he strongly preferred boredom to terror – but he was already beginning to feel as if the castle was, minute by minute, shrinking around him.

  Durine slipped the white, oversized practice trousers over his own and let Kethol tie them off at his ankles. He donned the white canvas practice jacket and belted it tightly around his thick waist.

  Captain Kelly had quickly donned his own practice gear and stood with his bulbous mesh helmet tucked under one arm, tapping his foot while another captain finished blackening his practice sword over a candle flame.

  Durine eyed the unfamiliar wire mesh helmet with scepticism. He was more used to the usual wooden masks, the narrow slit in them preventing the wide, blunt point of the practice sword from taking out an eye, and the way the wire flexed made him nervous.

  He poked at the mask with a thick finger. It gave a little, but not sharply; it would probably protect him. Blunted or not, a thrust from a practice sword could take out an eye almost as easily as a real weapon could; just as a vigorous enough blow to the skull could crack it.

  The best thing to do, of course, would be to block a thrust to the head and not have to worry about protection, but it was best not to dwell too long on protecting one part of your body over another. Durine had seen more than his share of men lying on the ground with unmarked faces, too dead to be concerned about their untouched eyes any more than they were about the yellowy, blood-covered snakes of intestines dirtying themselves on the ground. Besides, one could no more expect to come out of practice unbruised than one could count on coming out of a fight uncut. Best to not worry overly much about this or that, and just get on with it.

  He unbuckled his own sword, and handed the swordbelt to Kethol, accepting the practice blade in return.

  He hefted the mock broadsword. It fit his hand nicely, the brass-wound grip cold against his skin. Other than the fact that it couldn’t cut or stab, it looked and felt like a real sword, and was probably made from a blank by at least a journeyman sword maker. Nobles clearly got better practice weapons than ordinary soldiers did. The blade was every bit as wide as Durine’s own thumb, and heavy enough to cut to bone, h
ad the edges been properly sharpened, instead of being carefully rounded. Still, applied correctly, it could raise a healthy welt.

  He slid his thumb down the smooth surface, feeling at the shallow dents and slight nicks, then gave a quick tug at the bell-shaped guard, which held solidly. The point was blunt: capped with a concave steel bulb that even Durine’s fingers couldn’t loosen; it had been thoroughly welded on. Durine hoped that Kelly had made sure that his own weapon was as safe. It balanced a little too much to the hilt, but was only off by a little.

  Durine had faced a rapier before, but never in battle. His own preference was for the broadsword, longsword or, occasionally, the hand-and-a-half, which he considered an unusually versatile weapon. A rapier was a duelling weapon, and not all that effective against armour, but it was deadly from the point, which made it particularly nasty in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing. A broadsword’s point would hang up on a small bit of armour where a rapier’s point could seek out a small gap and rid you of an annoying opponent. But if you had to parry a two-handed sword, a rapier was about as useful as a kitchen broom.

  Pirojil had been busy blackening the practice dagger that Durine was going to use. He swapped it for the sword, and blackened that, handed it over, then settled the mesh helmet over Durine’s head.

  Durine walked over to the open area, and kicked off his borrowed slippers. While they definitely slowed him down, he would have preferred wearing his boots, but they were still drying out. The soft leather soles slipping and sliding on the dark marble had little appeal.

  The stone was bitterly cold beneath his feet.

  ‘Dagger, too, eh?’ Kelly more said than asked, taking up a ready stance.

  Durine nodded. ‘It’s what I’m used to,’ he said. ‘If you’ve no objection.’

  ‘No, not at all; go with what you prefer, man. I can hardly take the measure of you if you feel yourself half-armed, eh?’

  Sparring was one thing, but Durine had yet to be in a real fight where he hadn’t wanted to be able to lash out in more than one direction, or protect himself from more than one enemy. A shield was a fine thing, yes, but by personal philosophy, Durine preferred something in his left hand that could cut, and shields were most useful in a full battle line where you had men on all sides of you whom you could trust to hold fast as long as they lived. The three of them preferred skirmisher work for just that reason, which was how most of the mercenaries were used, at least most of the time.