Raymond Feist - Rage of a Demon King

Erik glanced at Roo, who shrugged. On the return voyage, the two boyhood friends had caught up with each other’s news. Erik had been half-amused, half-astonished to discover that his best friend had, in less than two years, contrived to become one of Krondor’s preeminent merchants and one of the Kingdom’s richest men. But as he saw the ship’s master and crew snap to every order Roo gave, he realized that Rupert Avery, barely more than a common thief as a child, and hardly more than a boy now, truly owned that ship.

Erik had told Roo of what he and the others had discovered, and he needed no embellishment to convey the horror and disgust he felt at fighting through the Pantathian birthing halls. Of those who had not traveled to Novindus with Calis on his most recent journey, Roo, Nakor, and Sho Pi had been there previously, and knew what the others faced. Slowly, over the voyage, Erik had provided enough grisly details about the slaughter of Pantathian females and infants, as well as about the mysterious ‘third player’ who had accomplished more carnage than Calis’s raiders ever could have done. Unless there were birthing crèches located elsewhere – and it seemed unlikely – the only living Pantathians were those close to the Emerald Queen. If they were finally defeated in the coming battle, the Pantathian serpent priests would cease to exist, a fate most fervently hoped for by the two boyhood friends from Darkmoor.

Roo and Erik had parted almost as soon as the ship had berthed, as Roo had businesses to oversee. Two days later, Erik had left on maneuvers, evaluating the training Jadow Shati had inflicted upon the men in training while Calis had been gone. Erik was pleased that the new men under his command for the last week were as disciplined and reliable as those he had trained with when he had been a common soldier.

Entering the palace, Erik was again uncomfortable at finding himself in the halls of power and in the presence of the great of the Kingdom. He had served for a year in Krondor before leaving with Calis on the last voyage, but had confined himself to the training grounds most of the time. He came to the palace proper only when summoned or to borrow a book on tactics or some other aspect of warcraft from Knight-Marshal William. He was never comfortable with the supreme commander of the King’s Armies of the West, but he finally grew used to spending hours over ale or wine discussing what he had read and how it would bear on the armies he was helping to fashion. But, given a choice, Erik would rather be in the drilling yard, working with the armorers around the forge, or tending to the horses, or most of all, out in the field, where life was too demanding to think much about the larger consequences of the coming war.

In the Prince’s private chamber – actually, Erik thought, a small hall – other men waited, including Lord James, Duke of Krondor, and Jadow Shati, the other sergeant in Calis’s company. Erik expected Jadow would be promoted to Sergeant Major to replace Bobby. Upon the table a lavish board of cheeses, meats, fruit, bread, and vegetables had been laid out. Ale, wine, and frosted pitchers of fruit juices were also waiting.

‘Set to,’ said the Prince of Krondor, removing his ceremonial crown and mantle and handing them to waiting pages. Calis picked up an apple and bit into it while others moved around the table.

Erik motioned to Roo, who came over to him.

‘How did you find things at home?’ Erik asked.

Roo said, ‘The children are … amazing. They’ve grown so much in the months I was gone I scarcely recognize them.’ His face creased in a thoughtful expression. ‘My business endured my absence well enough, though not as well as I expected. Jacob Esterbrook had the better of me three times while I was gone. One transaction cost me a small fortune.’

‘I thought you and he were friends,’ said Erik, taking a bite of bread and cheese.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Roo. He had thought better of mentioning his relationship to Sylvia Esterbrook, Jacob’s daughter, given that Erik tended to have a narrow view of family and vows of faithfulness. ‘“Friendly competitors” would be a more accurate description. He has a stranglehold on trade to Kesh and seems reluctant to relinquish even a small part of it.’

Calis came up to them and said, ‘Roo, will you excuse us a moment?’

Rupert nodded, said, ‘Of course, Captain,’ and walked over to the table to take advantage of the fare.

Calis waited until they were out of earshot before he asked, ‘Erik, has Marshal William had a chance to talk to you today?’

Erik shook his head. ‘No, Captain. I was busy getting back into the rhythm of things with Jadow … now that Bobby’s no longer here …’ He shrugged.

‘I understand.’ Calis turned and motioned for the Knight-Marshal, who joined them. Calis looked at Erik. ‘You’ve got a choice.’

William, a short, slender man whom Erik knew to be one of the best riders and swordsmen in the Kingdom despite his advancing age, said, ‘Calis and I have talked about you, youngster. With things … as they are, we have more opportunities than we have men with talent.’

Erik knew what William had meant by ‘things as they are,’ for he knew that a terrible army was massing across the sea and would be invading in less than two years’ time. ‘Choice?’

‘I’d like to offer you a staff position,’ said William. ‘You’d hold the rank of Knight-Lieutenant in the Prince’s army, and I’d put you in charge of the Krondorian Heavy Lance. Your skill with horses – well, I can’t think of a better man for the job.’

Erik glanced at Calis. ‘Sir?’

‘I’d like you to stay with the Crimson Eagles,’ said Calis in a flat tone.

‘Then I’ll stay,’ said Erik without hesitation. ‘I made a promise.’

William smiled ruefully. ‘I thought as much, but I had to ask.’

‘Thank you for asking, m’lord,’ said Erik. ‘I’m flattered.’

William grinned at Calis. ‘You must use magic. He’s halfway to being the best tactician I’ve ever met – and if he keeps studying he will be the best – and you want to waste him as a bully sergeant.’

Calis smiled slightly, an expression of wry amusement Erik had come to know well. The half-elven Captain said, ‘We have more need of bully sergeants to train soldiers right now than we do tacticians, Willy. Besides, my bully sergeants are not the same as yours.’

William shrugged. ‘You’re right, of course, but when they come, each of us is going to want the best we can find at our side.’

‘I can’t argue that.’

William left and Calis said, ‘Erik, thank you.’

Erik repeated, ‘I made a promise.’

‘To Bobby?’ asked Calis.

Erik nodded.

Calis’s expression darkened. ‘Well, knowing Bobby, I’d best tell you now, I need a sergeant major, not a nursemaid. You kept me alive once, Erik von Darkmoor, so consider your promise to Bobby de Loungville discharged in full. If it comes to a choice between my life and the survival of the Kingdom, I want you to make the right choice.’

It took Erik a moment to comprehend what had just been said. ‘Sergeant major?’

‘You’re taking Bobby’s place,’ said Calis.

‘But Jadow has been with you longer –’ Erik began.

‘But you have the knack,’ interrupted Calis. ‘Jadow doesn’t. He’ll do fine as a sergeant – you saw how the new men are shaping up – but promoting him any higher would put him in a situation where he would be a liability instead of an asset.’ He studied Erik’s face a moment. ‘William wasn’t overstating the case about your abilities as a tactician. We’ll need to work on your comprehension of strategy as well. You know what’s coming and you know that once the struggle begins, you may find yourself out there with hundreds of men looking to you to keep them alive. An ancient Isalani general called it the “fog of battle,” and men who can keep other men alive while chaos erupts around them are rare.’