The Soldier Son Trilogy Bundle

by Robin Hobb

  I both smiled and frowned to hear Yaril sound so giddy and girlish again. I had left her with heavy responsibilities. Belatedly I thought we should have brought our uncle into our difficulties months ago. I was glad that Yaril could have some time free of worries and that my father was in good care.

  With a smile, I opened Epiny’s next letter. She missed me. Spink missed me. They both missed the children horribly. Solina missed Kara. Why had not I written back yet? Was all well? Gettys was in a state of flux again. It looked as if they would all be shifted back to Franner’s Bend to rejoin the rest of the regiment. She did not bother to tell me which regiment would be coming in to replace them. Instead, she was bubbling with the idea that Spink was very likely going to become a captain much sooner than they had expected. After several delays, the new rules of male succession had been approved by the Council of Lords and sanctioned by the priesthood of the good god. For a change, a church decision made sense to her. Now younger sons could be legitimately moved up to be heirs, for if the good god did know all, then he undoubtedly knew which heir sons would die young and had, in his wisdom, decreed that noble soldier sons could also serve as heirs. It would not affect Spink, of course, for which they were both grateful. He loved his elder brother far too much to wish to take his place. But it had affected a number of the officers in the regiment, and some of the older officers would be leaving the military to go home and assume the duty of being heirs. Spink had told her it greatly increased the chance that he would be promoted when the regiment was reunited, and oh, wasn’t the prospect of Franner’s Bend exciting? She’d be able to visit Yaril from time to time and get to know her properly. She, too, scolded me for not writing back more quickly.

  The next letter was from Yaril. She wrote that she had hoped to hear from me by now. Her next sentence apologized for what was undoubtedly going to seem to me like a transgression on my dignity. She assured me that Aunt Daraleen had first come up with the idea, and that she and Purissa had merely gone along with it. At first it had seemed to Yaril no more than a prank, but she hoped that I would agree that the ends justified the means.

  Aunt Daraleen had become a medium, and was currently the Queen’s favorite mystic advisor. The spirit of a Speck wisewoman spoke through Daraleen, telling the Queen many great secrets of their spirit world, and revealing to the Queen why the King’s Road had failed. Through Lady Burvelle, the secrets of the Speck ancestor trees were revealed to the Queen, as well as the spiritually enlightening properties of certain herbs and mushrooms and rich dishes. The Speck wisewoman revealed to the Queen the epic love story of how she had fallen in love with a noble soldier son, seduced him from his duty, and endeavored to have him join her forever in tree love.

  My ears burned red as I realized how much of my private life Yaril had become privy to, and that my sexual escapades with Olikea and Lisana were Daraleen’s fodder with which to titillate the Queen and her court ladies. No one at court knew the true identity of the “dashing young soldier,” but that was small consolation to me. Yaril and Purissa greatly enjoyed their supporting roles as they tended to the moaning and twitching Lady Burvelle when she fell into her trances. Aunt Daraleen had hired an ambitious and very handsome young man as her secretary. He attended on her daily, writing up her revelations as chapbooks. Each was published, chapter by lurid chapter. The printers could scarcely keep up with the demand. I could read between the lines that my uncle was horrified and humiliated by his wife’s dramatics, yet Daraleen finally had everything she had longed for. She was the Queen’s favorite and a woman of great power now in Old Thares. Not only was it likely that Purissa would become engaged to the Crown Prince, but that Yaril might choose whomever she wished for a husband from among both old and new nobility.

  I worked my way hastily through the remaining letters. Epiny had heard of her mother’s charlatanism and was both horrified at her antics and pleased that the King’s Road would progress no farther and that the sacred trees were now under the Queen’s own protection. Every other sentence seemed to be an apology to me that the secrets I’d entrusted to her and Spink were now the stuff of popular literature. Over and over, she assured me that the identity of the “mysterious young nobleman” was safe, and that there would be no tarnish on the Burvelle name.

  Yet her letter was laced with good news as well. The Queen had proclaimed that all kaembra trees were sacred. No more would ever be cut. The Queen herself was planning to visit the “holy grove of the mystical ancients” the next summer, to see if she and her “medium” could not make direct contact with the natural spirits of the great trees. I shuddered. How gullible could the woman be? Yet at the same time, the Queen seemed very shrewd to me, for she had also decreed that to protect the Specks and their otherworldly wisdom, the Crown would now monopolize the tobacco and fur trade with the Specks and that traders who wished to deal with them must purchase a license.

  I slid the last letter back into its envelope and leaned back in my chair. I contemplated the busy little town around me. A man hawking fresh bread passed me with his musical cant. A courier galloped past him and pulled his horse up sharply in front of the letter-writer’s shop, sending a plume of dust drifting. A wagon laden with a cage of squawking chickens went by in the other direction. So much life in motion, so many minor occurrences and coincidences, all intersecting in a strange and wonderful web.

  I bundled my letters and stared down the dusty street, thinking that the trees of the Specks were now safe. I wondered if this was what the magic had intended all along. Had I trodden that harsh road, tripping from circumstance to coincidence to near death to serve this very end? My words had gone from my aunt’s prying eyes to the Queen’s ear. Lisana’s tree would not fall. She and Soldier’s Boy would know a tree’s life of time together. I had given a rock to an annoying boy, and triggered a gold rush and the burgeoning fortune of my family.

  And here I sat, the conduit for vast changes in the world, and what did I have to show for it? I smiled sourly at the vagaries of fortune, and then gave myself a shake. Why, I had it all. My freedom. A woman who loved me. A home of my own making. I stood and stretched. Across the street, the letter-writer came out of his storefront and pointed at me. His eyes were very wide. The dusty courier said something to him and he nodded vigorously. Then he led the courier across the street to me. As I stood up, the letter-writer bowed to me. “An important man, I should have said. I should have known. Yes, sir, this is him, Lord Nevare Burvelle. I can vouch for him. I’ve received many posts for him.”

  The courier gave me an insouciant grin, as unimpressed as most couriers seemed to be with their missions. “Pleased to meet you, sir. I’ve a packet for you, one to be delivered directly into your hands.” With a bow, he offered me a large fat envelope made of calfskin. It had been laced shut, and the tied laces were secured with a large blob of hard red wax. I looked at the sigil pressed into it. A spond tree. It had been so long since I had looked upon my family crest that I felt a strange rush of emotion. Whatever was within this packet, it came from my father. The world rocked around me.

  “Sir? Sir?” I looked up, vaguely surprised to see the courier was still standing there. I felt as if a week had passed. “Sir, I was told that there might be a reply.”

  “Not…not immediately,” I told him weakly.

  He nodded, satisfied. “That’s as well. My beast and I could use a day or two of rest and food. When you want to find us, he’ll know where we are, and waiting solely upon your commission.” He tipped his head toward the letter-writer and grinned again. He turned his back on me and sauntered away to where his horse waited. At a glance from me, the letter-writer retreated and I was left alone with my packet.

  The label had been addressed in what looked like my uncle’s hand. I instantly feared the worst; my father had died, and this was my notification. It took some little time before I had the courage to break the hard wax and unlace the cords. The calfskin unfolded, revealing a stack of papers. On the top was a thick ivory
sheet of my father’s stationery. In a shaky hand, he had written in overly large letters, “Son. Please come home.” The signature at the bottom of the message was unintelligible. I lifted the page and stared at it for a long time before I could set it aside.

  Beneath it, again on my father’s stationery, was a letter dated less than ten days ago. “My dear nephew Nevare,” the letter began in my uncle Sefert’s firm, clear strokes.

  Please forgive me that it has taken me so long to communicate with you. I have delayed the sending of this letter until I was certain, both of the situation here and of your own circumstances.

  Before Yaril departed for Old Thares, she confided much to me. I have also been the reluctant and unwilling receiver of a great deal of information from your journal, via my prying wife’s tattling tongue. I must apologize to you again for her breach of what I regarded as a sacred confidence. And I fear I must also rebuke you, for not taking me into your confidence long ago. As strange as your experience has been and as harsh as your father’s treatment of you was, did it never occur to you to present the matter to me, especially since it seems so tangled with my own daughter’s life? But we will save that discussion for another time, for a late evening with good tobacco and old brandy, when all of us will find it much easier to forgive the others’ transgressions.

  I have been very concerned with my brother’s health and state of mind. You must know that your father’s health is failing him. As his elder brother, I find it painful to see the younger sibling that I expected to outlive me in such a state of decline. I have had three doctors in to see him, but they have offered me little hope. My own treatments of him with Bitter Springs water showed some promise, until his most recent stroke three days ago. My lad, I fear that he will never be the man he was and that soon he will no longer be capable of running his own affairs. Your Sergeant Duril has proven to be very capable as an overseer, but you cannot leave the family fortunes in the hands of a hired man and your young sister for too long. So, it is time you ended your wild adventure and came home. Not only your family duty demands this of you, but also the laws of your king.

  By now, I am sure you will have heard of the recent rulings on the uniformity of succession by birth order, a clarification by the priests of the good god’s scriptures about the foresight of the good god. I am also sure you must realize your new position. You are expected, of course, to serve as your father’s soldier son during his lifetime, but you are also expected to stand ready to assume your duties as his heir son upon his death or whenever he becomes incapable of managing his own affairs. I fear that that hour may soon be upon you. As the closest male offspring in our family’s line of descent, you in time will also inherit my title and estates. But not for some time yet, your fond uncle is selfish enough to hope. I will also tell you plainly that when that time comes, I hope you will find it in your heart to provide well for your aunt. As difficult a woman as she has sometimes been, she is still the mother of my children and I would wish her respected as such.

  In that regard, both Epiny and Yaril have informed me that there is a woman in your life. When I dared to ask if she was of good family and capable of being a loyal wife to you, I received a sermon from Epiny, several pages long, about the right of a man or woman to choose a lifelong mate without regard to such silly things as parental approval. I suppose I must be content that your choice has met with your cousin’s discerning approval. According to Epiny, you have chosen well indeed and I will look forward to meeting this illustrious person who apparently can meet any need of yours that Epiny can foresee you ever having.

  Enclosed you will find sufficient letters of credit and cash for you and your family to make the journey back to us. Epiny has insisted to me that it is only right that a commission be purchased for you, and has made a very strong case for you to join Spink’s regiment, pointing out that as it is currently stationed at Franner’s Bend, you could frequently be at home and near your father. Your father has expressed to me his fond hopes that you will, instead, wish to serve your king under the standard of his old regiment. And I have indulged myself by writing to Epiny a three-page sermon in which I have waxed eloquent about the right of a young man to choose the regiment that he wishes to join.

  As you can see, we have much to discuss. I will look forward to receiving your response via the courier I have dispatched to Mendy.

  With great fondness,

  Your uncle,

  Lord Sefert Burvelle of the West

  I sat for some time in stunned silence. I looked into the packet and found, as my uncle had promised, a letter of credit for a substantial amount, and beneath it, cash carefully packaged in an oilcloth bundle. I hefted it in my hand without opening it. I did not need to. I knew it contained more money than I’d ever held in my life. With shaking hands, I returned it to the calfskin folder. I put the letters back in as well, in the exact order they’d arrived, as if I were carefully restoring a grave I’d disturbed. My heart had begun to thunder in my ears. It was only when I tried to lace the packet shut again and could not that I realized how badly my hands were trembling.

  I checked my pockets to see if I had enough coins to buy a second cup of tea. Barely, and for a moment I chided myself for being a spendthrift. Then I laughed aloud, called the serving girl over and asked her to bring me another cup of tea. I glanced up to see Amzil and the children trudging down the street toward me. I hastily amended the order, telling her to bring a pot of tea and half a dozen of the brown rolls with raisins.

  Amzil swept up to me in a flurry of skirts and chattering children. Her smile was brimming with good news. She plopped Dia into my lap, and as she sat down, she said with satisfaction, “Our troubles are over. He was very impressed with my work, and said I could start as an assistant at his shop within the week! At twice the rate I’ve been making in Thicket! Now tell me, Nevare, could there be better news than that?”

  “Perhaps there could, my dear,” I told her. “Just perhaps.”

  About the Author

  ROBIN HOBB is the author of the Farseer, Liveship Traders, and Tawny Man trilogies. She has also written as Megan Lindholm. She currently resides in Tacoma, Washington.

  www.robinhobb.com

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Also by Robin Hobb

  THE SOLDIER SON TRILOGY

  Shaman’s Crossing

  Forest Mage

  THE FARSEER TRILOGY

  Assassin’s Apprentice

  Royal Assassin

  Assassin’s Quest

  THE LIVESHIP TRADERS TRILOGY

  Ship of Magic

  Mad Ship

  Ship of Destiny

  THE TAWNY MAN TRILOGY

  Fool’s Errand

  Golden Fool

  Fool’s Fate

  WRITING AS MEGAN LINDHOLM

  Harpy’s Flight

  The Limbreth Gate

  The Windsingers

  Luck of the Wheels

  Wizard of the Pigeons

  Reindeer People

  Wolf’s Brother

  Alien Earth

  Cloven Hooves

  The Gypsy (with Steven Brust)

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Soldier Son Trilogy Bundle Epub edition Copyright © JUNE 2012 ISBN: 9780062227089

  SHAMAN’S CROSSING. Copyright © 2005 by Megan Lindholm. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any me
ans, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub Edition © August 2005 ISBN 9780061793356

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

  ISBN-10: 0-06-075762-0

  ISBN-13: 978-0-06-075762-5

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FOREST MAGE. Copyright © 2006 by Robin Hobb. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Epub Edition AUGUST 2006 ISBN: 9780061797699

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.