The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist
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interrupted. ‘The Vale of Dreams?’
‘Traditionally that’s always been their first target. The Vale is the lushest farmland on Triagia and because of the constant warfare, sparsely populated. A colony of Keshian or Kingdom farmers there could double the region’s output of farm goods within two years, tenfold in five.’
Henry was silent, but he knew he had suddenly been propelled into something far more important than a pleasant social evening.
‘But this is something massive. On a far greater scale, perhaps, than we’ve ever seen. A fleet of perhaps as many as three hundred ships departed Hansulé recently, sailing south.’
Jommy looked confused. ‘South? Are they sailing to Novindus?’
‘My best guess is around the southern coast between the Lost Forest and the Island of Snakes and then up to Injune or Elarial. From there …?’ He shrugged.
‘If they mean to take the Vale,’ said Tad, ‘they could be supported out of Durbin. They’d need a fleet that big to keep the Quegans from getting involved as well as keeping the Kingdom’s Western Fleet in Port Vykor busy.’
‘They could go anywhere.’ He looked at Henry and said, ‘Including the Far Coast. The Prince of Krondor has called the Western Muster.’
Henry, Tal, and Ty knew this from two nights before, but Tad, Zane, and Jommy all looked surprised. ‘War footing on the Far Coast?’ asked Jommy. ‘Is it that dire?’
‘I think so.’ Jim pushed himself back from the table. ‘And I need to travel, so to the end of this night, let me add this.’ He looked at Tal. ‘While I’m gone, I would appreciate it if you would agree to aid these other three in their charge.’ Both men knew Jim wasn’t speaking of any political loyalties, but rather Tad, Zane, and Jommy’s responsibility to the Conclave of Shadows. ‘I know your relationship to our mutual friends is complicated, but I trust you implicitly.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Hawkins, and Jim knew that was as good as a promise.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said to the three foster-brothers, ‘I leave this to you. You’ve never failed me or the crowns of Isles or Roldem, and I expect you won’t now.’
Henry looked confused. ‘I’m not sure I understand. I’m not even sure why you asked me here.’
Jim moved around the table and put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. ‘These four men – and young Ty there – are going to take my place while I’m gone. In my absence you’re to consider them your protectors.’
‘We will do whatever is needed,’ said Zane.
‘Yes,’ agreed Tad.
‘I don’t understand. What is “whatever is needed”?’ asked Henry.
It was young Ty who answered. ‘Too much wine? You’re a little slow today, Hal. They’re going to keep you alive when Kesh sends assassins to kill you.’
• CHAPTER SIX •
MEN SHOUTED ORDERS.
Brendan and Martin sat their mounts beside their father, watching and learning as much as if they were also on the muster field. In the distance the archers were shooting at the butts, large piles of loosely-packed earth, each with a target before it. Unlike the King’s army, the Western Muster had no company of fletchers planing arrows, flocks of geese to cull for the arrow flights, or a score of blacksmiths turning out steel arrowheads. Each man of the muster would be given a freshly-made longbow, a score of arrows, and when he was home he’d be obliged to practise for an hour a morning on the butt he’d build alongside his hut, home, or barn. Should a man return with less than eighteen arrows intact, he would be fined a copper coin for each additional replacement beyond two.
Such was the state of military economy in the Western Realm of the Kingdom.
As soon as Reinman and his drunken weather magician had left Crydee, the Duke had begun the muster. This group was the second of three that would train here. It was difficult for the frontier duchy, for there were farmsteads scattered along the entirety of the Far Coast.
Martin looked over at the makeshift workshed where two experienced bowyers, with the help of their apprentices, showed five young men how to turn thick yew branches into bow staves. He remembered his own time in the shed and remembered the other woods that could be used: ash, some oaks, and elm, but yew wood was the finest. He recalled the delight he had felt when he had turned his first branch into a stave and the elder bowyer had studied it and proclaimed it well done, seeing how Martin had shaped it with the heartwood at the grip and along the rear spine, the sapwood in front, an ideal natural lamination that was the best a simple bow could be.
It was ironic, though Martin found no humour in it, that as much as he had enjoyed making that bow, he had been a terrible archer. Not really terrible, he amended as he gave himself some credit, but average. His younger brother and even Bethany were better archers. Having equalled his elder brother Hal didn’t placate the dour young man; Hal was the finest swordsman in Crydee, perhaps in the world if he won the Masters’ Court. Martin disliked constantly being second to others, though there was no one else in Crydee besides Hal who could best him.
Glancing to where Lady Bethany approached beside her father, he realized he was frowning and forced himself to a smile.
‘Robert!’ the Duke said, ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon. Lady Bethany, always a pleasure. Robert, did your wife not travel with you?’
‘She’s not one for long rides,’ said Earl Robert. ‘And I felt the need to come along quickly with some news.’
Duke Henry said, ‘Boys, keep the men at it. They’re lagging in the afternoon heat. No stopping until the supper bell rings.’
His sons indicated they would and watched as their father and Lord Robert rode off a short distance. Bethany rode up and turned her horse so that she was alongside Martin’s. ‘Well, I guess you didn’t expect to see me again so soon?’
Brendan’s eyes narrowed slightly. She had her head cocked as if she were looking past Martin at him, but her eyes were trained on Martin’s face, while he seemed intent on overseeing a sloppy drill of swordsmen banging away with practice swords against one another’s shields. Despite being made of wood, the swords and shields were actually heavier than their metal counterparts so that when the footmen went to battle, the equipment would be lighter than what had become familiar to them. The same was true of the heavy pikemen and spearmen running with their weapons across a distant field.
After a second too long, Martin glanced at her and said, ‘What? Oh, yes. Always a pleasure to see you, Bethany.’ But then something caught his eye and he shouted, ‘You, there!’ He put his heels to his horse’s sides and moved out, circling around the duelling footmen, then dismounted. Taking one man’s place he took his sword and shield and demonstrated how the combat practice was supposed to be conducted. A sergeant of the castle guard saw the young lord dismount and came over to see what was happening.
Martin threw himself into the drill and delivered two ringing blows that soon had his opponent stumbling backwards.
‘What do you think that’s about?’ asked Bethany. Brendan glanced her way and said, ‘I have no idea.’ Bethany started back to where her father and the Duke were finishing their private chat. As the youngest son watched her go, he saw her turn again to stare at Martin. With a sigh, he said to himself, ‘Then again, maybe I do.’
The evening meal was a mixture of light banter interspersed with moments of quiet as everyone seemed caught up in their own thoughts. Martin and Bethany appeared to make a point of ignoring one another and Brendan was troubled by it.
The four of them had been