The Complete Krondor’s Sons 2-Book Collection: Prince of the Blood, The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist
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man, stout and short, yet powerful in the shoulders, was obviously impressed at his companion’s keen observation. His cherubic face appeared almost innocent as he said, ‘Don’t see many Princes in these parts, ’s true, Lafe.’
‘You’re a fool, Reese,’ answered the other in a gravelly voice. ‘There are those who would pay well to know this. Get to the Inn of the Twelve Chairs at the desert’s edge, they are almost certain to ride that route. You know who to ask for. Tell our Keshian friends that the Princes of Krondor and their company ride from Stardock, and travel not in state, but in stealth. Their numbers are small. And wait there for me at the inn. And don’t drink up all the money he’ll give you or I’ll cut your liver out!’
Reese looked at his companion as if such duplicity was unthinkable.
Lafe continued, ‘I’ll follow after them that’s here and if they change route, I’ll send word. They’re surely carrying gold and gifts to the Empress for her birthday. With no more than twenty men at arms, we can be rich for life once the bandits cut their throats and give us our share.’
Glancing around the deserted shore, the man named Reese said, ‘How can I get there, Lafe? The ferryman’s at the wedding.’
Hissing through teeth black with decay, the taller man said, ‘Steal a boat, stupid.’
A glimmer of delight at the obvious answer shone in Reese’s eyes. ‘Good. I’ll get some food, then—’
‘You’ll go now!’ ordered his companion, pushing him off to an uneasy trot toward the shore and the unguarded boats. ‘You can steal something in the town. With everyone dining here, that should be easy enough. But a few still linger, so be cautious.’ Reese turned and waved then scampered along the shore, looking for a boat small enough to manage alone.
Snorting in derision, the man called Lafe turned back toward the feasting. His hunger told him that Reese’s suggestion wasn’t all that bad, but his avarice made him alert to the every move of the wedding party.
The two Princes sat quietly at the dinner table, oblivious to the joy of the newlyweds. Each was intent on their own impatience to be on their way. James had been uncommunicative about when they were leaving, though Locklear had mentioned their stay wouldn’t be extended too long, despite the unexpected events of the last two days.
If the twins had been surprised by their mentor’s sudden encounter with love, they were equally unsurprised by the hasty permission from their father and the quick wedding. Little in their lives had allowed them to take anything for granted.
The twins lived in a world of the unexpected, where the tranquillity of the moment could be shattered at any time by disaster. Warfare, natural cataclysm, famine, and disease were constant threats, and they lived most of their young lives in the heart of the palace where they had observed their father dealing with such problems on a daily basis. From the most important border clash with Kesh to deciding if one guild or another had jurisdiction over a new trade, their father had dealt with problem after problem.
But as they had when watching their father, their present mood didn’t reflect the excitement of the moment. Rather they were bored.
Borric drank deep of a simple ale and said, ‘Is this the best they have?’
Erland nodded. ‘I expect so. From what I can see, ale isn’t a major concern around here. Let us see if there’s something better in the village.’ The brothers stood up from the bench, bowed slightly at the Baron and his new Baroness, who nodded briefly in return at the Princes leaving the table of honour.
As they passed by the other tables set up around the square, Borric asked, ‘Where are you heading?’
Erland said, ‘I don’t know. Around. There must be some fishermen’s daughters among all these people. I see a few pretty faces here and there. Every one of them can’t be married,’ he added, attempting a light tone.
Borric’s mood seemed to darken rather than improve. ‘What I really wish is to quit this nest of spellcasters and be on our way.’
Erland put his hand upon his brother’s shoulder as they walked and agreed in silence. With the steady lectures they had been getting about responsibility, they felt hemmed in and controlled, and both Princes were eager for anything that resembled movement, change, and the possibility of adventure. Life was just a bit too quiet for their liking.
THE GUARDS LAUGHED.
James turned to see what caused their mirth and saw the two Princes approaching. Erland was wearing an improbable-looking coat of heavy chain, weighing at least five times what his usual leather armour weighed, a bright red cloak tossed rakishly over his shoulder. But the laughter was primarily directed at his brother, who wore a robe which covered him from head to toe. It was a repulsive shade of purple with arcane symbols sewn in gold thread around the hood and sleeves, no doubt once the stunning centrepiece of some magician’s wardrobe, it had seen better days. An odd-looking wooden staff with a milky-white glass ball mounted atop it, hung in place of the usual sword at his side. On Kulgan or one of the Keshian magicians the robe would have seemed appropriate; on Borric the effect was entirely comic.
Locklear joined in the laughter as he came to James’s side. ‘What are they made up for?’
James sighed. ‘I have no idea.’ To the Princes he said, ‘What is this, then?’
Erland grinned. ‘We found a game of pokier – here they call it poker. Our luck was … uneven.’
James shrugged, absently wondering how long Gamina would keep him waiting. His bride was in her quarters, gathering the last of what she would bring with her to Kesh. The rest of her belongings would be sent to the palace in Krondor, in anticipation of her return there after the Empress’s Birthday Jubilee.
Borric said, ‘I lost my own cloak to a barge-man, and my sword to a fellow who most likely sold it for a bottle of wine. But then I found a magician who believed a little too much in luck and not enough in good card sense. Look at this.’
James cast a glance at the elder of the twins and saw him holding out the odd-looking staff. ‘All right. What is it?’
Borric took the staff out of its sheath and gave it to James to examine. ‘It’s a magic device. The crystal glows when it gets dark, so you needn’t bother with lamps or torches. We saw it work last night. It’s quite good.’
James nodded as if to say that was nice. ‘What else does it do?’
‘Nothing, except it’s a rather nice-looking walking stick, I think,’ answered Erland. To his brother, he added, ‘But I wager you’ll wish you had your sword back if someone comes running at you with a bloody great falchion in his hand.’
‘I expect,’ agreed Locklear.
‘Well, I’ll buy another sword when we reach civilization,’ said Borric.
James sighed. ‘And some new clothing. Those outfits look absurd.’
Locklear laughed. ‘You want to see absurd!’ To Borric he said, ‘Show him the boots.’
Grinning, Borric pulled up the hem of his robe, and James shook his head in astonishment. Borric wore boots of red leather, rising to mid-calf, each adorned with a yellow eagle. ‘I won these as well.’
‘I think the previous owner was pleased to see the losing hand when those were wagered,’ James said. ‘You look like you’re about to open a travelling carnival. Hide those, if you please. The colours are beyond belief,’ he added, indicating the clash between the red and yellow boots, and the purple robe. To Erland he added, ‘And you look like you’re about to invade Kesh single-handed.