Raymond Feist - Shadow of a Dark Queen

‘We won’t come closer,’ shouted Erik, a note of desperation in his voice. ‘We just blundered into this mess and we don’t want any trouble.’

‘Who are you?’

Roo pulled on Erik’s sleeve. ‘We’re on our way to Krondor, looking for work. Who are you?’

‘Who I am is no one’s business but my own.’

Roo got a familiar look, one Erik knew meant Roo was planning something that usually got both of them in trouble. ‘Look, if you’re a merchant traveling alone, you’re an idiot,’ shouted Roo. He spoke now in a voice forced to ease. He looked green at the sight of the dead man. ‘If you’re out here, you must be a smuggler.’

‘I am no damn smuggler! I’m an honest trader!’

‘Who’s avoiding paying toll on the King’s Highway,’ replied Roo.

‘There’s no law against that,’ came the answer.

Roo grinned at Erik. ‘True, but it’s certainly a hard way to save some copper. Look, if we come out slowly, will you promise not to shoot?’

There was silence, then: ‘Come ahead. But I’ve got a bolt pointed at you.’

Roo and Erik moved slowly out of the woods into the clearing, hands held where they could be seen. Erik held the sword point down, because he had no scabbard in which to sheathe it, and he had the shield back on his arm so the man could see he was not hiding a weapon in the other hand.

‘You’re a couple of boys!’ said the man. He stepped out from behind the wagon, holding an old but obviously useful crossbow leveled at them. The man was gaunt and looked older than his years. Long dark hair fell to his shoulders, from beneath a felt cap with a tarnished badge on it. His clothing was old, and oft-mended, and he obviously cared nothing for fashion; his tunic was green, his leggings red, his boots brown, and his belt black. He wore a yellow scarf, and nothing about him was remotely appealing. His beard was grey, and his eyes were black.

Roo said, ‘Master merchant, you chose a brave course, but it almost proved your undoing.’

‘Likely you’re bandits like those other two,’ he answered, making a threatening gesture with the crossbow. ‘I should put a bolt through you just to be safe.’

Erik was out of patience with this talk and queasy from the bloodshed. ‘Well, shoot one of us, damn it! And the other will cut you in two!’

The man almost jumped back, but seeing Erik plant his sword point first in the dirt, he lowered his crossbow slightly. Roo said, ‘You’ve no driver?’

‘Drive myself,’ said the merchant.

‘You really keep your overhead down,’ observed Roo.

‘What do you know about overhead?’ asked the man.

‘I know a thing or two about business,’ said Roo in the insouciant tone Erik knew well: it meant Roo had almost no idea what he was talking about.

‘Who are you?’ repeated the man.

‘I am Rupert,’ answered Roo, ‘and my big friend’s name is –’

‘Karl,’ interrupted Erik, not wishing his identity known. Roo winced, as if he should have thought of that himself.

‘Rupert? Karl? Sounds Advarian to me.’

‘We’re from Darkmoor,’ said Roo, then winced again. ‘Lots of Advarian stock in Darkmoor. Rupert and Karl are common enough names.’

‘I’m Advarian,’ said the man, putting away his crossbow. ‘Helmut Grindle, merchant.’

‘Are you going west?’ asked Erik.

‘No,’ snapped Helmut. ‘I’ve just got the horses facing west for my amusement. They’re trained to walk backwards.’

Erik flushed. ‘Look, we’re bound for Krondor if you don’t mind company.’

‘I do mind,’ snapped the merchant. ‘I was doing fine until those two murderers tried to boost my cargo, and I would have killed the second one – I was just about to let fly into that brush when you killed him for me.’

Erik said, ‘I’m sure. Look, we’re going to Krondor, and it would profit us all if we stayed together.’

‘I don’t need guards and I won’t pay for mercenaries.’

Erik said, ‘Oh, wait. I don’t mean you need to pay us –’

Roo leaped in. ‘We’ll share guard duty with you for food. Besides, I can drive your team.’

‘You’re a teamster?’

‘I can drive up to six horses without a problem,’ Roo lied. His father had taught him to handle four.

Helmut thought about it. ‘Very well. I’ll feed you, but you’re standing night watch, and I sleep with my crossbow.’

Erik laughed. ‘No need to fear, Master Merchant. We may be murderers, but we’re not thieves.’ His bitter irony was lost on the man, who, grumbling, motioned for them to approach the wagon.

‘We’ve still got the better part of an hour’s light left, so there’s no sense in dawdling. Let’s get moving.’

Roo said, ‘Get started and I’ll catch up. That second man had another sword.’

‘See if he has any gold!’ shouted Helmut after him. Bending over, he said to Erik, ‘He’ll probably lie to us both if he finds any. It’s what I would do.’ Not waiting for a reply, he clambered up on the seat of the wagon and shouted at the horses as he shook the reins. Erik watched as the overworked and underfed animals pulled into the traces, and the wagon lurched forward.

The wagon halted.

Helmut Grindle pointed. ‘Krondor.’

Erik, sitting in the back of the wagon, turned and looked over the shoulders of Grindle and Roo, who had been driving. Erik had been impressed to discover that for once his friend really could back up his claim. He drove the team like an experienced teamster; obviously, Roo’s father had been good for something besides getting drunk and beating up on him.

Erik looked down the long winding road known as the King’s Highway. They had turned south after Grindle had passed the last toll station, entering the road near a town called Haverford. Twice before that patrols of armed soldiers had ridden past, but at no time did they even pause to look at Roo or Erik.

As Roo snapped the reins and the wagon started down the road toward the city, a patrol of city guardsmen rode toward them. Erik sat as calmly as he could in the rear, attempting to look as much like just another wagon guard as possible. Roo’s hands knotted on the reins and the rear left horse snorted at the tension in the line, not sure if she was asked to change pace or direction. Roo forced himself to relax and the two of them watched as the soldiers approached. Then, abruptly, the guards pulled up. ‘There’s a long wait,’ said the guard sergeant.

Grindle asked,’ ‘What’s the holdup?’

‘The King has entered the city. South gate by the palace is sealed off for his retinue. Everyone else is forced to use the north gates.’ he said, waving in the general direction Grindle’s wagon was headed. ‘And the gate watch is searching the wagons.’

Grindle swore as the guards rode off.

Roo and Erik exchanged glances. Roo shook his head slightly, indicating Erik should say nothing about the wagon search. In conversational tones, he said, ‘That’s some city.’

‘That she is,’ replied Grindle.

Krondor sprawled at the head of a large bay, beyond which an expanse of blue stretched off to the horizon: the Bitter Sea. The old city was walled, but an extensive foulburg – the part of the city outside the walls – had grown up over the years, until now it was much larger than the inner city. Inside the walls, the view was dominated by the palace of the Prince of Krondor, which sat atop a hill hard against the south side of the bay. Ships, looking like tiny white slips of paper, rested at anchor or sailed in and out of the bay.

Roo said, ‘Master Grindle, what do you think are the best commodities to ship from this city?’ Erik suppressed a groan as the merchant began his long answer. In the days since joining up with Grindle, Roo had been pestering the merchant for ideas on making money. At first the man was reluctant, as if Roo would somehow steal a thought from him and he’d be the poorer for it. Roo made several statements as if they were fact that got the old merchant going, telling the youth he was an idiot and would end up ruined before he was twenty years old. When challenged as to why, he’d open up with a sound argument. By cleverly asking questions, Roo would turn the conversation into an ongoing lecture on how to conduct business.