The Complete Krondor’s Sons 2-Book Collection: Prince of the Blood, The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist
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voice was a bare whisper as he gasped, ‘How very kind of you.’
Borric shook his head to clear his thoughts, then quickly rolled backwards and came to his feet, ready to fight. ‘So then, there’s a point to this iteration on our family’s lack of a Royal Prince?’
‘Actually, so,’ agreed James. ‘With no male issue, the Prince of Krondor still is Heir.’
Erland’s voice returned in a strangled gasp. ‘The Prince of Krondor is always Royal Heir.’
‘And your father is Prince of Krondor,’ interjected Locklear.
With a clever feint with his left, Borric drove his right into the jaw of Sergeant Palmer and momentarily staggered the older man. Another blow to the body and the boxer was retreating. Borric grew confident and stepped in to deliver a finishing blow, and abruptly the world turned upside down.
Borric’s vision turned yellow then red for a long while, and while he hung in space, the floor came up to strike him in the back of the head. Then blackness crowded in at the edge of his vision and he saw a ring of faces looking down a deep well at him. They seemed friendly faces, and he thought he might know who they were, but he didn’t feel any need to worry on it, as he was so very comfortable sinking into the cool, dark of the well. Staring past the faces, he absently wondered if any of them might know who the artists of the frescos above might be.
As his eyes rolled up into his head, William upended a small bucket over Borric’s face. The elder twin came back to consciousness sputtering and spitting water.
Baron James was upon one knee and helped the Prince sit upright. ‘Are you still with me?’
Borric shook his head and his eyes focused. ‘I think so,’ he managed to gasp.
‘Good. For if your father is still Heir to the throne, you royal infant,’ he slapped Borric on the back of the head to emphasize what came next, ‘then you are still Heir Presumptive.’
Borric turned to study James’s face. The point of James’s message was still lost on the young Prince. ‘So?’
‘So, ninny, as it is unlikely that our good King – your uncle – will father any sons at this stage in his life, given the Queen’s age, should Arutha survive him, he will become King.’ Reaching out to aid Borric to his feet, he added, ‘And as the Goddess of Luck would have it,’ he slapped Borric playfully on the side of the face, ‘you almost certainly will outlive your father, which means that someday, you shall be King.’
‘May heaven forefend,’ interjected Locklear.
Borric looked around the room. The two Sergeants had stepped back, as the pretence of a boxing lesson was forgotten. ‘King?’
‘Yes, you stone-crowned dolt,’ said Locklear. ‘If we’re still alive, we’ll have to kneel before you and pretend you know what you’re doing.’
‘So,’ continued James, ‘your father has decided that it’s time for you to stop behaving like the spoiled child of a rich cattle merchant and start acting like a future King of the Isles.’
Erland came to stand beside his brother, leaning upon him slightly. ‘So why not just simply—’ he winced as he moved the wrong way, straining his re-injured side ‘—tell us what’s going on?’
James said, ‘I convinced your father the lesson needed to be … emphasized.’ He studied the two Princes. ‘You’ve been educated, taught by the best instructors your father could employ. You speak … what … six, seven languages? You can calculate like engineers at a siege. You can discourse on the teachings of the ancients. You have music and painting skills, and you know the etiquette of the court. You are skilled swordsmen and,’ he glanced at the two boxers, ‘you are somewhat gifted students of fisticuffs.’ He stepped away. ‘But during the nineteen years since your birth you’ve never given any indication that you’re anything other than spoiled, self-indulgent children. Not Princes of the realm!’ His voice rose and his tone turned angry. ‘And when we’re done with you, you’ll be performing the role of a Crown Prince instead of a spoiled child.’
Borric stood crestfallen. ‘Spoiled child?’
Erland grinned at his brother’s discomfort. ‘Well, that’s it, then, isn’t it? Borric shall have to mend his ways, and you and Father will be happy.’
James’s wicked grin turned on Erland. ‘As will you, my lovely! For if this child of a foolish and capricious nature should go and get his throat cut by the angry husband of a Keshian court lady, it’s you who’ll wear the conDoin crown in Rillanon someday. And should he not, you’ll still be heir until the unlikely event of your brother becoming a father. Even then, you’ll most likely end up a duke somewhere.’ Letting his voice drop a bit, he said, ‘So both of you must begin to learn your office.’
Borric said, ‘Yes, I know. First thing tomorrow. Come, let’s get some rest.’ Borric looked down and discovered a restraining hand upon his chest.
‘Not so fast,’ said James. ‘You haven’t finished your lesson.’
‘Ah, Uncle Jimmy—’ began Erland.
‘You’ve made your point,’ said Borric, simmering anger in his voice.
‘I think not,’ answered the Baron. ‘You’re still a pair of rude sods.’ Turning to the two Sergeants, he said, ‘If you please, continue.’
Baron James signalled for Locklear to accompany him as he quickly left the two young Princes readying themselves for a professionally administered beating. As the two nobles left the court, James motioned to Lieutenant William. ‘When they’ve had enough, get them to their quarters. Let them rest and see they eat, then ensure that they are up and ready to see His Highness by midafternoon.’
William saluted and turned to watch as both Princes tumbled to the canvas mat again. He shook his head. This wasn’t going to be a pretty sight.
THE BOY CRIED OUT.
Borric and Erland watched from the window of their parents’ private chamber as Swordmaster Sheldon pressed his attack on young Prince Nicholas. The boy shouted again in eager excitement as he executed a clever parry and counterthrust. The Swordmaster retreated.
Borric scratched at his cheek as he observed, ‘The boy can scamper about, for certain.’ The angry bruise from the morning’s boxing practice was darkening.
Erland agreed. ‘He’s inherited Father’s skills with a blade. And he manages to do right well despite his bad leg.’
Borric and Erland both turned as the door opened and their mother entered. Anita waved her ladies in waiting to the far corner of the room, where they commenced to discuss quietly whichever current piece of gossip was judged most interesting. The Princess of Krondor came to stand between her sons and peered through the window as a joyous Nicholas was lured into an overbalanced extension and found himself suddenly disarmed.
‘No, Nicky! You should have seen it coming,’ shouted Erland, though the glass window prevented his words from reaching his younger brother.
Anita laughed. ‘He tries so hard.’
Borric shrugged as they turned away. ‘Still, he does well enough for a boy. Not much worse than when we were his age.’
Erland agreed. ‘The monkey.’
Suddenly his mother turned on him and slapped him hard across the face. Instantly, the women in the other corner of the room ceased their whispers and stared in wide-eyed amazement at their Princess. Borric looked at his brother whose astonishment matched his own. Not once