Raymond Feist - Rage of a Demon King

Nakor laughed. ‘Your father is the most evil, dangerous man I’ve ever met. It’s a good thing he’s on our side.’

Arutha looked rueful. ‘You’ll get no argument from me in that regard. My life has never been my own.’

Nakor took the message as Arutha handed it across the desk. ‘You don’t seem particularly bothered by this,’ observed the gambler.

Arutha shrugged. ‘I had the usual rebellious nature most young men possess, but truth to tell, most of what my father had me do was interesting; challenging even. My sons, as you may have gathered, were a completely different case. My wife is quite a bit more forgiving of “adventuresome” natures than my mother was.’ He stood up as Nakor read the Duke’s message. ‘I have often thought what Father’s life must have been like, to be literally raised a thief in the sewers of Krondor.’ He glanced out a small window that overlooked the shoreline. ‘I’ve heard enough “Jimmy the Hand” stories to last a lifetime.’

‘I didn’t think your father was much on bragging,’ observed Sho Pi as Nakor continued to read.

‘Not from Father, but from others,’ said Arutha. ‘Father has changed the history of the Kingdom.’ He fell into a thoughtful silence. ‘It can be a difficult thing to be the son of a great man.’

Nakor said, ‘People expect much of a great man’s son.’ He put the document on the desk. ‘You want me to stay?’

‘For a while,’ said Arutha. ‘I need someone trustworthy here when this all breaks out. I need some reassurance that Chalmes and the others don’t react badly.’

‘Oh, they’ll react badly enough when they see what your father and Prince Erland have cooked up,’ said Nakor with a small laugh, ‘but I’ll make sure no one gets hurt.’

‘Good. I’ll leave next week, after I’ve seen to a few more necessary details.’

‘You need to return to Krondor?’ asked Nakor.

Arutha nodded. ‘I know my father.’

Nakor sighed. ‘I understand.’

Arutha said, ‘You have the same rooms as before, so rest and I’ll see you at dinner.’

Sensing they were being dismissed, Sho Pi rose and opened the door for Nakor.

After they had left the Earl’s office, Sho Pi said, ‘Master, what did you mean by asking Lord Arutha if he needed to return?’

‘His father ordered him to Rillanon, on a thin pretext of carrying messages to the King,’ said Nakor as they turned a corner leading to the suite of rooms set aside for them. Climbing a flight of stairs, Nakor continued, ‘Arutha knows his father is unlikely to leave Krondor when the fighting starts. He wants to see that his sons don’t stay with their grandfather.’

‘I know war is risky,’ said the former soldier, ‘but why should the Duke’s grandsons be at any greater risk than anyone else?’

‘Because it is unlikely that anyone who is in Krondor when the Queen’s fleet arrives will survive,’ Nakor answered flatly.

Sho Pi remained silent as they reached their quarters.

Erik signaled and the riders stopped. One of his scouts was riding back toward him. He had spent the better part of two months raiding the Border Barons for their best men, and now almost six hundred men rode in three columns spread out over twenty miles and a half behind him. It had been an exhausting ride, and Erik was cursing Calis with almost every mile of it, but he had his men.

Each Border Baron he had visited had read the King’s Warrant with a mix of disbelief and outrage. Each Baron was unique in that he was a vassal of the Crown, answerable to no Earl or Duke. To have a mere sergeant major of the Prince’s garrison walk in with orders to let him handpick men to be taken away, while promises of replacements were vague at best, was more than they could withstand.

Baron Northwarden had even considered attempting to hold Erik for confirmation of the order, but by then Erik had an armed company of nearly two hundred men with him and the Baron thought better of it.

At Highcastle, the Baron merely looked as if another weight had been added to his already abundant burden, and complied with a minimum of complaint. Erik suspected the company of four hundred men wearing the livery of Northwarden and Ironpass also convinced him.

They had ridden through the vast grasslands of the High Wold, home to nomadic tribesmen, herding their sheep and trading with the Barons and those small villages that survived this close to the Northlands. Several times they had found camps recently abandoned, as if the approach of so many armed men had caused bandits to flee into the hills.

After the third such camp had been encountered, Erik had ordered two of the men from Ironpass to ride advance scout. Erik found it slightly discomforting to think of any problems this far within the border of the Kingdom, but of all the lands between the Far Coast and the Kingdom Sea, those lands between the Teeth of the World – the great northern mountain range – and the boundary of the Dimwood were among the most hostile. Raiding parties of goblins and dark elves were known to have traveled as far south as Sethanon in the years before the Riftwar, and no matter the frequency of Kingdom patrols through these areas, they still remained wild and inhospitable.

They were presently riding through light woodlands, leading toward the far denser Dimwood, and now Erik had lost count of the ideal places for ambush he had ridden past.

The first scout reined in and said, ‘An armed camp, Sergeant Major. At least a hundred men.’

‘What?’ said Erik. ‘Did anyone see you?’

‘No, they post no scouts and seemed unconcerned about it; I believe they think themselves alone here.’

‘Could you mark them?’

‘No banner flew and they wore neither uniform nor tabard. They look like brigands.’

Erik dismissed the scout and turned to the man he had named acting Corporal, a sergeant from Ironpass named Garret. ‘I want a skirmish line behind us by fifty yards – half the men. At the first sound of trouble, I want them to sweep in from either side. The rest should ready themselves to hit hard up the middle if needed, by column of two. Get four of your best and ride with me.’

At least a decade Erik’s senior, the man showed no hesitation in taking orders from the younger man. Erik liked his attitude and his discipline and planned on making him a sergeant as soon as possible, because in Garret he sensed someone who’d keep his men alive.

That was the one thing about Calis’s plan Erik grudgingly approved of: the men he had been sent to fetch had been hardened by years of fighting goblins, dark elves, and bandits. Most of them were mountain fighters by experience, and it would take little to meld them into the force Erik already had under his command.

Like the trained soldiers they were, the first twenty men spread out behind Erik. He told Garret, ‘Get ready for trouble.’

Orders were passed, and Erik, Garret, and the four men he had chosen rode forward.

They slowly picked their way through the trees and came within sight of campfires. Close to eighty men lay about or stood talking in a clearing in the woods. A few dozen tents of various size were erected in haphazard fashion, and some men tended cooking fires and saw to provisions near the middle of the clearing. Erik saw baggage wagons and horses staked out near the far edge. To Garret he said, ‘This is no band of outlaws.’

The older soldier nodded silent agreement. ‘We better hit them hard.’ There was no question in his mind; they were heading for a fight. Erik wondered. While it was not quite midday, many of the men were sleeping. Erik held up his hand and spoke softly. ‘They’re waiting for someone.’

‘How do you know, Sergeant Major?’ asked Garret.

‘They’re bored and they’ve been here for at least a week.’ He pointed to a slit trench over to their right.