Raymond E. Feist - The King’s Buccaneer

Nicholas said, ‘Someone stomped on my bad foot and I felt something break.’ His face was still drawn, and sweat streamed off it.

Anthony said, ‘The boot will have to come off.’

Nicholas nodded and gritted his teeth as they removed the boot. His head swam from the pain but he remained conscious.

Anthony examined the deformed foot and said, ‘I don’t think there are bones broken, but something’s dislocated. Look at this.’ Nicholas levered himself up on his elbows and saw what Anthony was pointing at: a nasty-looking purple bruise that covered fully half of the top of the foot. Anthony pushed his thumb firmly into the bruise, and Nicholas exclaimed in pain. The magician kept pushing. An audible popping sound was accompanied by a grunt of surprise from Nicholas. Then he moved his foot, wiggling his vestigial toes. Anthony set the foot gently down and Nicholas fell back with a great sigh.

Anthony said, ‘I’ll send one of the servants down to the harbor for a bucket of salt water. Soak in it for a half hour, then keep the foot elevated and warm for the rest of the evening. You’re going to be sore, but I think you’ll be able to get around. I’ll ask the Duke to excuse you from work tomorrow, and take things easy for a while. You’re going to have a nasty limp for a few days, my friend.’ The young magician stood up and said, ‘I’ll take a look in on you tomorrow, first thing.’

Harry said, ‘Are you the Duke’s healer, as well as adviser?’

Anthony nodded. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

Harry said, ‘I thought healers were priests.’

Anthony smiled. ‘Mostly, but some magicians are skilled at healing. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nicholas.’

As the magician moved toward the door, Nicholas said, ‘Anthony.’

The magician paused and looked down at Nicholas. ‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

For a moment Anthony paused, then he smiled, looking no older than either Nicholas or Harry. ‘I understand.’

After he left, Harry turned to his friend and said, ‘He understands what?’ He pulled over the little stool and sat. From somewhere in his tunic he produced an apple, which he broke in half, giving a piece to Nicholas.

Lying back as he chewed on the apple, Nicholas said, ‘He understands that Marcus and I are going to be knocking heads and thumping on each other for a while.’

‘That wasn’t a game out there, Nicky. That was war. You took more blows in one half today than I’ve seen you take in all last season, and that was thirteen matches. And I’ve never seen you throw as many elbows and shoulders either. You two weren’t playing ball, you were trying to kill each other.’

Nicholas sighed. ‘How did I get to this point?’

‘You had the bad manners to want the same girl as Marcus, and while you’re playing at Squire, he knows you’re a Royal Prince of the Kingdom and he’s only a Duke’s son.’

‘ Only a Duke’s son?’

Harry shook his head. ‘You can be thick at times, my friend.’ Waving his hand, he said, ‘If Marcus came sailing into any city but Krondor or Rillanon, the local girls would be falling all over him for attention. Here on the Far Coast, he’s the most eligible bachelor, related to the King and everything. But you, my bashful boy, are the most eligible lad north of the Empire of Kesh, now that your brothers are married, and you’re the brother of our next King.

‘The lovely Lady Abigail could be head over heels about Marcus, but the moment you walk in, she’s got to stop and take a long look.’ With a shrug, he added, ‘It’s the sort of thing people do.’

At mention of Abigail, Nicholas sighed. ‘Do you think she is?’

‘Is what?’

‘In love with Marcus.’

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Then, with a grin, he said, ‘But I can find out.’

Nicholas said, ‘No, don’t do anything. If you start poking around and asking questions, she’ll find out.’

‘Ha! You’re afraid she’ll find out you like her!’ Harry laughed at Nicholas’s discomfort. ‘Don’t worry about that, my friend. It’s too late.’

Nicholas groaned. ‘You think?’

Harry said, ‘Certain of it. You look like you’re going to faint every time you see her looking at you. How do you think Marcus knew? He’s not amused.’

‘He’s a cool one,’ said Nicholas, an observation that was half admiration, half dislike.

Harry nodded. ‘You two are a lot alike, but he keeps things closer in than you do.’

Nicholas said, ‘Well, everyone keeps saying we’re alike, but I don’t see it.’

Harry stood up. ‘Well, soak the foot and wrap it, and have a good night. I’ll bring you some food from the kitchen tonight.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m heading back to the garden to find Abigail.’

‘Not you too!’ groaned Nicholas.

Harry waved his hand. ‘Not a chance. I’m interested in Margaret.’

‘Why?’ said Nicholas as Harry paused by the door.

‘Well, for one thing, Marcus is her brother, and while marriages between royal cousins aren’t unheard of, in your case, I seriously doubt it. Besides, I think I love her.’

Nicholas’s eyebrows shot up in skeptical surprise. ‘Right.’

‘No, I mean it. She gives me a stomach ache.’ Saying no more, he left Nicholas alone.

Nicholas fell back, laughing, but soon his mirth fled, as he understood exactly what Harry was saying. Abigail gave him the most desperate twist in the stomach he had ever experienced.

N ICHOLAS WINCED.

He had been laid up all the previous day, and while his foot still hurt, he could move around. So before the sun rose, he was standing at his post outside the Duke’s door, almost motionless.

Marcus’s door opened and he emerged into the hall, motioning for Harry to follow. A moment later, Martin’s door opened and Briana and Martin came through. The Duchess said, ‘How is the foot, Nicholas?’

He managed a wry smile as he said, ‘I’ll live. It’s a little tender, my lady, but I can get around.’

Martin said, ‘Accidents happen. You’re not going to be much use for running errands; go back to the Housecarl and see if he can find something you’re suited for today.’

Nicholas said, ‘Your Grace,’ and limped off.

As he wandered through the halls toward the servants’ wing, where Samuel had his office, he felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. The Sixthday game had been a debacle. As he had brooded over it all day, lying on his pallet, he realized he had looked like a fool.

Over the years, being the youngest son of the Prince of Krondor had forced Nicholas into many situations where he would rather have held back; there was no escaping public scrutiny when protocol dictated one be upon the balcony at a festival, or in attendance at court. But in most areas, Nicholas preferred to let others, like Harry, take the lead. In football, Nicholas had developed a justified reputation as a wicked defender, able to steal a ball and pass it off before the other side knew what had happened, but when it came to scoring, he always let others take the glory. Two days before had been the first time he had ever propelled himself to the fore, demanded the ball at every opportunity, and attempted to dominate by force of will alone. And every step of the way Marcus had shadowed him.

There had been scant satisfaction in realizing that he had been as effective at blocking Marcus’s efforts as Marcus had been at blocking his; the game had been more or less a stalemate, save for the injury done his foot, which finally allowed Marcus to score.

As he gingerly moved down a flight of stairs, Nicholas was more sensitive to his birth defect than usual. Like most of those born with such a deformity, he had adapted to it and compensated for it without much thought. Being Arutha’s son had saved him from much of the childhood taunting children of lower rank would have had to endure, but he had still experienced some of it, as well as more than his share of stares and whispers. But today was the first day he felt as if his foot was a true handicap. Had it not been for that, he was certain, he would have bested Marcus. He swore softly, being angry with everyone, himself most of all.