Raymond E. Feist - The Serpentwar Saga

Erik said, ‘Why does she hate me so?’

Manfred said, ‘I don’t think she hates you, really. Fears you is more like it. It was our father she hated.’

Erik looked surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Father liked the ladies, and Mother always knew he had been forced into marrying her. From what I gathered, after I was born they were man and wife in name only. It was Mother who ensured we had only male servants or ugly women working in our castle; Father had an eye for pretty young girls. Even with Mother’s precautions, Father found every pretty woman within a day’s ride of the castle. Stefan was a lot like him in that respect. He really thought he’d hurt you if he took your girl and had his way with her.’

‘Rosalyn wasn’t my girl,’ said Erik. ‘She was more like a sister.’

‘Even better,’ said Manfred. ‘He would have delighted in knowing that. If he could have taken your mother while you watched, he’d have liked that even more.’ His voice lowered. ‘Stefan was an evil bastard, Erik, a mean-spirited pig who delighted in causing pain. I should know, because I was on the receiving end of it most of the time. It was only when I caught up with him in size and could defend myself that he left me alone.’ Almost whispering, he said, ‘When I first saw him dead, I was angry enough to have killed you myself that minute. After the shock wore off, I realized I felt relief that he was gone. You did the world a favor by killing him, but I’m afraid that fact won’t help you at all. Mother’s going to see you hung. I guess I’m here to tell you that at least one of your brothers doesn’t hate you.’

‘Brothers?’

‘You’re not father’s only bastard, Erik. You may have a score of brothers and sisters out there. But you were the oldest, and your mother made sure the world knew it. I guess that’s really the reason you are going to hang tomorrow.’

Erik tried to muster as much courage as he could. ‘We’ll still see what the Prince has to say.’

‘Of course,’ said Manfred. ‘If you do somehow come out of this without being hung, and after you’ve spent your time on the prison gang, send me a letter.’ He turned and walked away, then turned to look back at Erik. ‘But don’t enter Darkmoor if you wish to stay alive.’

Erik stood alone for a minute after Manfred left, then returned to his place next to the sleeping Roo.

Time dragged on and Erik found himself unable to sleep. Several others fell into fitful dozes, and only Biggo and the Isalani seemed able to sleep comfortably. A couple of the men sat in silent prayer.

At midnight, the door opened and a handful of priests entered, from various orders, and each stood across from the prisoner who wished to take comfort. This continued for an hour or more; then the priests left, and still no word from Lender.

Erik at last fell into a half-sleep, with panic waking him up several times, his heart pounding and his chest constricted, as he fought against the rising terror.

Suddenly a loud clang echoed in the otherwise silent cell block and Erik was on his feet as Sebastian Lender entered the room. Erik lightly kicked Roo awake, and the two hurried to the far end of the cell.

Erik looked at what Lender carried and his chest constricted in terror. A pair of boots, fashioned out of soft leather, with high tops that folded down, were clutched in the old man’s hands. They were a horseman’s boots, well made and artfully crafted, and Erik knew why Lender carried them.

Erik said, ‘We’re to die?’

Lender said, ‘Yes. The Prince gave the order less than an hour ago.’ Lender handed the boots through the bars to Erik. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I had built a persuasive brief, but the mother of the man you killed is the daughter of the Duke of Ran and has much influence in this court as well as the King’s. The King himself was consulted, and in the end you were both sentenced to death. There is nothing that can be done.’ He pointed to the boots that Erik now clutched before him. ‘These were your father’s last gift to you; I thought it would be unfitting for you not to have them at least for a few hours before …’

‘They hang us,’ whispered Roo.

Erik pushed the boots back through the bars. ‘Sell them, Master Lender. You said the gold he left me wouldn’t cover your fees.’

Lender pushed them back toward Erik. ‘No, I failed and I will give your gold to whoever you instruct me to. There is no fee, Erik.’

Erik said, ‘Then send the gold to my mother, at Ravensburg. She’s at the Inn of the Pintail and she has no one to care for her. Tell her to use the gold wisely, for it is all I will ever be able to give her.’

Lender nodded and said, ‘I pray the gods will be gentle with you, Erik, and you as well, Rupert. You have no evil in your hearts, even if you have done this violent thing.’

Lender looked close to tears as he turned away, leaving the two young men from Darkmoor alone in the far corner of the death cell.

Erik looked at his boyhood friend and said nothing. There was nothing to say. He sat and stripped off his common boots, and pulled on the rider’s boots. They fit as if they had been fashioned for him. High, to mid-calf, they were soft and clung like soft velvet instead of harsh hides. Erik knew that if he worked for a lifetime he would not have been able to afford their like.

He sighed. He would at least wear them for part of one day, from the cell to the gallows. He only regretted he didn’t have at least one opportunity to test them on horseback.

Roo sat on the floor, back against the bars. He looked at Erik, his eyes wide with fear, and whispered, ‘What do we do now?’

Erik tried to smile reassuringly at his friend, but the best he could manage was a crooked grimace. ‘We wait.’

Nothing more was said.

The door opened.

Erik blinked, surprised to discover he had dozed, in a numb, emotionally exhausted sleep. Guards, heavily armed against the possible rebellion of the condemned, entered. Last through the door was the strange man Robert de Loungville.

‘Listen, you dogs!’ he shouted, his gravelly voice striking them like a leather glove. With a twisted smile he said, ‘You come when bidden and die like men!’ He called six names, and the last of the six was Slippery Tom. Tom held back, as if somehow he could hide among the group who would be hung second. ‘Thomas Reed! Get out here!’ commanded de Loungville.

When Slippery Tom only crouched lower behind his friend Biggo, de Loungville sent in a pair of guards, swords drawn. The other prisoners stepped aside, and the two grappled with Tom a moment, then dragged him from the cell. He started to cry out for mercy and wailed the entire way to the gallows.

No one in the cell spoke. They all listened to the sound of Tom’s screaming as he was carried farther and farther from them, then turned as one to look out the cell window as the screaming grew again in volume. The first six prisoners were marched in line, save for Tom, who was still being dragged; his voice reached a near shriek in terror. Repeated cuffing from the guards who carried him only seemed to increase his panic, and short of knocking him senseless, they had no way to shut him up. If they were put off by the screaming, they showed no sign; Tom obviously wasn’t the first man they had dragged shrieking to his death; he would be silent soon enough.

Through the bars, Erik watched with a mixture of revulsion and fascination as the first five men plodded up the six wooden steps that led to the gallows. In some distant corner of his mind he knew he would soon be following them, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept that reality in his heart. This was all happening to someone else, not to him.