Raymond E. Feist - The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy - Honoured Enemy, Murder in Lamut, Jimmy the Hand

‘You had an understanding with them, is that it?’

‘They never knew about this place.’ He paused, glaring at Dennis. ‘At least until yesterday. We stayed out of each other’s way. I guess all that’s changed.

‘You hear rumours and gossip. This isn’t the only human community north of the King’s law. I’ve heard stories of … well, some are pretty far-fetched. Lost cities and ancient gods. Mostly scams to sell lost treasure maps to the gullible, I suspect. But there are those rumours that seem to have a gleam of truth in them. The Dark Brothers don’t get close to the other side of those mountains, for a reason. Something keeps them away. I’m just as content not knowing what it is, rather than climbing over those icy crags to find out.

‘But until yesterday no Dark Brother ever stumbled across that entrance to the valley. How much trouble that’s going to bring, I don’t know. I guess it depends on how badly they want to dig you out of here. You could be safe for the winter, or maybe only for a few hours. I just don’t know.’

A gust of wind caused the snow to swirl back into their faces so that they turned, facing back towards the long house.

Men were beginning to stir, a few were out in the courtyard relieving themselves, a coil of smoke puffed up from the kitchen house carrying with it the scent of roasting meat.

‘How long are you staying?’ Wolfgar grumbled.

‘Depends – on what the Dark Brotherhood is doing, the weather. I don’t know.’

‘This storm keeps up you’ll be here a while. Damn, a hundred mouths to feed, I wasn’t planning on it.’

‘We can take care of ourselves. I’ll get hunting parties out before this storm really hits. I saw a lot of game signs; the valley seems rich.’

‘Best damn place in the world right now. At least it was till yesterday.’

Dennis saw Sergeant Barry coming out of the long house, a dozen men following him, bows slung over their shoulder, and with them, several local boys to act as guides. With a nod to Dennis they ventured out and started up the slope to the treeline, spreading out as they advanced until they were lost to view in the snow.

As he watched them leave he experienced another flash of memory: days like this, heading out with his father to hunt, the fresh snow helping them to track. His father was not the type to go out with a fanfare and a score of beaters to stir up the game for him, he much preferred the solitude and the opportunity to teach his son the ways of the woods on his own. If the weather was fair they’d go for as long as a fortnight, taking enough game to eat well, but no more, many times just tracking an elk for the pleasure of it, then leaving him alone.

He swung his gaze back to the trail. The light snow had lifted for a moment and a quarter of a mile off he caught a glimpse of Gregory and Tinuva, riding slowly, coming back in.

‘Good. They gave up the chase back at the canyon,’ Dennis said.

Wolfgar nodded, hawked, and spat again over the stockade wall. ‘That elf. Tinuva’s his name isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Just I’ve heard a few rumours, that’s all.’

‘Such as?’

Wolfgar smiled knowingly. ‘Remember the old saying, “never gossip about elves, for their ears are long and they hear all”?’

Dennis nodded.

‘It doesn’t bode well, that’s all.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Do you trust him?’

‘Yes,’ said Dennis.

‘Then he’ll tell you if it’s important for you to know.’

Dennis seemed unsatisfied by the answer.

‘You’re surrounded by death, Hartraft. But then again, your family usually was.’

The old man hawked and spat again. Pulling his fur cape tight, he turned and slowly hobbled down the steps, leaving Dennis alone with his thoughts.

Leaning back in his seat, Asayaga groaned and slapped his stomach.

He had never been one to pay particular notice to food the way some did, especially the effete lords who would spend hours debating the merits of a particular year’s vintage, or pay hundreds of gems, even thousands, for a slave that could create a unique sauce. Food was for the stopping of hunger, and the giving of strength so that one could continue to live.

This meal, however, would stay forever in his memory, for it was, without a doubt, the most satisfying and varied he had encountered since arriving in this gods-forsaken world.

The previous night all of them had been more concerned with sleep than anything else, but come dawn hunting parties had gone out in every direction. Hartraft had insisted that they provide their own food as much as possible so as not to burden their hosts and by mid-afternoon the Kingdom soldiers had yet again proven their skills in the forest: all of the hunting parties came back in heavily burdened, exclaiming about the unspoiled lands they had stalked through.

Asayaga’s men, as well, had contributed to the pot, spreading out along the streams, bringing in dozens of fish caught in makeshift nets, speared or simply grabbed and tossed out of the water, while others had laid traps for marmots and snagged half a dozen of them. Those who had not skills with either fishing or hunting had laboured throughout the day to bring in extra wood to heat the long house, worked in the kitchen butchering the meat, or helped tend to their wounded comrades resting quietly in the warm blacksmith’s shop.

By midday Wolfgar’s prediction of a rising storm had come to pass, and the last of the hunting and fishing parties had staggered in covered with snow. By late in the afternoon a blizzard was howling outside the long house and the mere thought of it made Asayaga shudder with dread. If they had been caught out in the storm all of them would be dead. Instead he was safe inside, a roaring blaze crackled in the two great fireplaces that warmed the feasting hall and all was well with the world.

As darkness settled, the first courses had emerged from the cook-house to be placed upon the great table. The hall was cramped with more than a hundred men jammed around the table, squeezed in together side by side, Wolfgar insisting that the two groups mix in.

By mutual agreement any who came into the hall had to set aside all weapons, even daggers, and at first the men had looked warily at each other, feeling naked without a trusted blade at their side or hidden in a boot top. It was one thing to march side by side with a dreaded enemy in close pursuit, or to lie side by side in exhausted sleep, but another once strength had returned, and with it a realization of just who might be sitting to your left or right – an enemy that might have killed an old comrade or kin.

Then the first platters had come out, heaped with steaming slabs of meat – venison, elk, wild boar – warm grease splattering on to the table, accompanied by bowls heaped with fried livers, tongues, roasted brains mixed with bread crumbs and delicious kidney pies followed by baked fish.

The marmots came last, stuffed and roasted in the manner the Tsurani adored, and though most of the Kingdom troops turned up their noses at this fare the Tsurani cried out with joy, and friendly squabbles broke out over who had the honour of consuming the hearts and livers.

More platters were spread out upon the table, laden with dried fruits, roasted potatoes, half a dozen different kinds of bread and even boiled eggs which the men greedily devoured.

At first Wolfgar had been tight-fisted with his drink but as the room heated up with the scent of cooked meat and warm bodies he finally relented and called for extra kegs of beer to be brought in and tapped. Foaming goblets, drinking horns, and leather flagons were quickly filled and passed around to eager hands, the men laughing and cheering, downing the frothy brew and leaning back to belch with comfortable delight.