Raymond E. Feist - Serpentwar 2 - Rise of a Merchant Prince

VIP免费

2024-12-20 0 0 887.94KB 514 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

BOOK II

Wealth howsoevergot, in England makes

Lords of mechanics, gentlemen of rakes;

A niiquity and bitih are needless here,

Impudence and money makes a peer

-Daniel Defoe

THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN, PT. I

prologue

THE SOUL SCREAMED.

The demon turned, and as its gaping maw was set in a permanent

grin, the only hint of its increased delight was a slight widening

of its eyes, black orbs resembling those of a shark: flat and

lifeless. It studied the jar it held for a moment, its only possession.

This soul was especially active and the demon had been fortunate

to find it and keep it. Placing the jar under its chin, the

demon closed its eyes and felt the energy flow into it from the jar.

The creature's emotional makeup knew nothing that could be

called happiness, only lessened states of fear or anger, but the

surge of feeling within was as close to happiness as the creature

could know. Each time the soul within the jar struggled, the energy

created filled the little demon's mind with new ideas.

As if suddenly concerned its toy would be taken from it by one

of its more powerful brethren, the demon glanced around. The

hall was one of many in the grand palace of Cibul, capital of the

now destroyed Saaur race.

Then the demon remembered: destroyed save those who had

fled through a magic gate. It felt its anger return, and then the

emotion quickly fled. As a minor demon, it was not intelligent,

only cunning, and it didn't fully understand why the escape of a

small part of this nearly obliterated race was important. But it was,

for the Demon Lords were even now gathered upon the plains to

the east of the city of Cibul, inspecting the site of the now closed

rift through which the Saaur survivors had fled.

The Lords of the Fifth Circle had attempted once to open the

Raymond E. Feist

portal, managing to keep it open long enough to slip a tiny demon

through, before it collapsed upon itself, sealing the rift between the two

realms and stranding the tiny demon on the other side of the rift. There

was much consultation among the greater demons on reopening that

rift and gaining entrance to this new realm.

The demon wandered the halls, oblivious to the ravages around it.

Tapestries that had taken a generation to weave were torn from the

walls and trodden upon, soiled by dirt and blood. The demon cracked a

Saaur rib bone underfoot and absently kicked it aside. At last it came

to its secret room, the one it had claimed as its own while the Host of

the Fifth Circle resided on this cold planet. Leaving the demon realm

was a terrible experience, thought the young demon. This had been the

demon's first journey to this realm, and it wasn't sure it cared much for

the pain of transition.

The feasting had been glorious; never had it known such a wealth of

food, even though it was limited to scraps from the feasting pits,

thrown out by the mightiest of the host as they fed. But scraps or not,

the demon had devoured much and had grown. And that was creating

problems for itself.

It sat down, attempting to find a comfortable position as its body

changed. The feasting had continued for nearly a year and many of the

lesser demons had grown. This particular demon had grown faster than

most, though it still hadn't matured enough to have developed

significant intelligence or a sexual identity.

Looking down at the plaything, the demon laughed, a silent gaping of

jaws and sucking of wind. The mortal eye could not behold the thing

within the jar. The demon, who didn't have a name yet, had been most

fortunate to snare this particular soul. A great demon captain, almost a

lord, had fallen to mighty magic even as the great Tugor had crushed

and eaten the leader of the Saaur. One of the Saaur magic users, a

powerful one, had destroyed the demon captain, but at the cost of his

own life. The little demon might not be intelligent, but it was quick, and

without hesitation it had seized the fleeing soul force of the dead magic

user.

The demon inspected the device again, the soul jar, and poked at it.

The magic soul within rewarded it by thrashing, if something without a

body could be said to thrash.

The demon shifted its weight. It knew it was getting more powerful,

but the nearly nonstop feeding was at an end. The last of the Saaur

were dead and devoured, and now the demon host was

RISE OF A MERCHANT PRINCE

depending on lesser animals for food, animals with negligent soul

force. There were some client races, who would breed children, some

of which would go to the feasting pits, but that meant slow growth in

this realm. Its body would continue to mature, but not significantly until

the next realm had been entered.

Cold, the demon thought as it glanced around the large room,

ignorant of its original use: a bedroom for one of the Saaur leader's

many wives. The native realm was one of wild energies and pulsing

heat, where the demons of the Fifth Circle grew like wild things,

devouring one another, until strong enough to escape and serve the

Demon King and his lords and captains. This demon had but vague

recollections of its own beginning, remembering only anger and fear,

and an occasional moment of pleasure as it devoured something.

The demon settled down on the floor. With a changing body, it

couldn't seem to find a comfortable position. Its back itched, and with

certainty it knew wings would grow there soon, tiny at first, then

growing larger as it rose in power. The demon was clever enough to

know it would have to fight to gain rank, so it had better rest. It had

been lucky so far, as the critical periods in its growth had come during

the war on this world, and most of the host were too occupied with

devouring the inhabitants of this world. to contest in their own ranks.

Others were now fighting, and the losers would add strength to the

winners as they were devoured; any demon without enough rank was

a fair target for another save when a lord or captain demanded

obedience. It was simply the way of this race, and each who fell was

considered unworthy of a second thought. This demon considered that

there must be a better way to gain more strength than an open

challenge and outright attack. But it couldn't think of what it could be.

Glancing around what had once been a regal and richly apPointed

dwelling, the demon closed its eyes, but not before glancing one last

time at the soul jar. Feeding might cease awhile, and with it physical

growth, but it had learned during the war that physical growth, while

impressive, wasn't as important as knowing things. The contents of the

soul jar were a being rich in knowledge, and this little demon meant

to have that knowledge. The den-ion placed the jar against its

forehead and mentally prodded the soul, causing more thrashing, and

the energy that resulted

Raymond E. Feist

flowed into the demon. Powerful, like a drug to a mortal, the sensation

was among the most glorious known to demonkind. The

demon felt something new in its experience: satisfaction. Soon it

would be smarter, know things, and then it would be able to use

more than animal cunning to gain rank and a position of power.

And when the Demon Lords finally discovered a way to open

fully the gate that had been sealed behind the fleeing Saaur, then

the Demon Host of the Fifth Circle would follow and then there

would be ample opportunity to feed upon the Saaur and upon

whatever other intelligent, soul-bearing creatures lived upon the

world of Midkemia.

One

SHIP SWEPT INTO THE HARBOR.

Black and dangerous, it moved like a dark hunter bearing

down on its prey. Three tall masts, majestic under full sail, propelled

the warship into the harbor of a great city as other ships

gave way. Although she looked like a great pirate vessel from

the distant Sunset Islands, her foremast flew the Royal Ensign,

and all who saw the ship knew that the King's brother was returning

home.

High aloft that ship, a young man worked quickly, reefing the

mizzen topsail. Roo paused a moment as he tied the final reef

point, and looked across the harbor at the City of Krondor.

The Prince's city spread out along the docks, rose on hills to

the south, and spread out of sight to the north. The panorama

was impressive as the ship sped in from the sea. The young

Man-eighteen years of age at the next Midsummer's festival had

thought on numerous occasions over the past year and more

that he would never see the city again. Yet here he was, finishing

up his watch atop the mizzen mast of the Freeport Ranger, a

ship under the command of Admiral Nicholas, brother to the

King of the Kingdom of the Isles and uncle to the Prince of

Krondor.

Krondor was the second most important city in the Kingdom of

the Isles, the capital of the Western Realm and seat of power for

the Prince of Krondor, heir to the throne of the Isles. Roo could

see the multitude of small buildings scattered across the hills surrounding

the harbor, the vista dominated by the Prince's palace,

Raymond E. Feist

which sat atop a steep hill hard against the water. The majesty of

the palace was in stark contrast to the rude buildings that lined

the waterfront close by, warehouses and chandlers' shops, sail- and

rope-makers, carpenters and sailor's inns. Second only to the Poor

Quarter as a haven for thugs and thieves, the waterfront was

thrown by the proximity of the palace into an even more seedy

aspect.

Yet Roo was pleased to see Krondor, for now he was a free man.

He glanced one last time at his work, ensuring that the sail was

properly reefed, and moved quickly along the footrope with a sure

balance learned while crossing treacherous seas for nearly two

years.

Roo considered the oddity of facing his third spring in a row

without a winter. The topsy-turvy seasons of the land on the other

side of the world had contrived to provide Roo and his boyhood

friend, Erik, with such a situation, and Roo found the notion both

amusing and oddly disquieting.

He shimmied down a sheet, reaching the top of the mizzen-mast

ratline. Roo didn't particularly like top work, but as one of the

smaller and more nimble men in the crew, he was often told to

go aloft and unfurl or reef the royals and topgallants. He scampered

down the ratline and landed lightly on the deck.

Erik von Darkmoor, Roo's only friend as a boy, finished his task

of tying off a yard brace to a cleat, then hurried to the rail as they

sped past other ships in the harbor. A full two heads taller and

twice the bulk of his friend, Erik made with Roo as unlikely a pair

as any two boys could have been. While Erik was stronger than

any boy in their hometown of Ravensburg, Roo was among the

smallest. While Erik would never be called handsome, he wore an

open and friendly expression that others found likable; Roo had

no illusions about his own appearance. He was homely by any

standards, with a pinched face, eyes that were narrowed and darting

around as if constantly looking for threats, and a nearly permanent

expression that could only be called furtive. But on those

rare occasions when he smiled, or laughed, a warmth was revealed

that made him far from unattractive. It was that roguish humor and

willingness to brave trouble that had attracted Erik to Roo when

they were children.

Erik pointed and Roo nodded at those ships moving away from

RISE OF A MERCHANT PRINCE

their own as the Freeport Ranger was given right of way to the royal

docks below the palace. One of the older sailors laughed and Roo

turned to ask, "What?"

"Prince Nicky's going to irritate the Harbormaster again." Erik,

his hair almost bleached white by the sun, looked at the sailor,

who had blue eyes that stood out in stark contrast to his sunburned

face. "What do you mean?"

The sailor pointed. "There's the Harbormaster's launch." Roo

looked to where the man pointed. "He's not slowing to pick up a

pilot! "

The sailor laughed. "The Admiral is his teacher's student. Old

Admiral Trask used to do the same thing, but he'd at least allow

the pilot up on deck so he could personally irritate him by refusing

to take a tow into the dock. Admiral Nicky's the King's brother,

so he doesn't even bother with that formality."

Roo and Erik glanced upward and saw that old sailors were

standing by waiting to reef in the last sails on the Admiral's

command. Roo then looked to the poop deck and saw Nicholas,

formerly Prince of Krondor and presently Admiral of the King's

Fleet in the West, give the signal. Instantly the old hands pulled

up the heavy canvas and tied off. Within seconds Roo and the

others on the deck could feel the ship's speed begin to fall off

as they neared the royal docks located below the royal palace of

the Prince.

The Range,.-'s motion continued to drop off, but to Roo it felt as

if they were still moving into the docks too fast. The old sailor

spoke as if reading his mind. "We're pushing a lot of water into

the quay, and that'll push back as we come alongside the docks,

slowing us down to almost a full stop, though she'll make the cleats

groan a bit." He made ready to throw a line to those waiting on

the dock ahead. "Lend a hand!"

Roo and Erik each grabbed another line and waited for the command.

When Nicholas shouted, "Cast away!" Roo threw to a man

on the dockside, who caught the rope expertly and quickly made

it fast to a large iron cleat. As the old sailor said, when the line

went taut the iron cleats seemed to groan as the wooden docks

were flexed, but the bow wake returned from the stone quay and

the huge ship seemed to settle in with a single rocking motion, as

if it Sighed in relief that it was good to be home.

% Raymottd E. Feist

RISE OF A MERCHANT PRINCE

Erik turned to Roo. "Wonder what the Harbormaster will say to

the Admiral."

Roo glanced aft as the Admiral made his way to the main deck,

and considered the question. The first time Roo had seen the man

had been at Erik's and Roo's trial for the murder of Erik's half

brother, Stefan. The second time he had seen him had been when

the survivors of the mercenary company to which Roo and Erik

belonged had been rescued from a fishing smack outside the harbor

of the city of Maharta. Having served under the Admiral on

the voyage homeward, Roo's opinion was "He'll probably say

nothing, go home, and get drunk."

Erik laughed. He also knew that Nicholas was a man of calm

authority, who could embarrass a subordinate to the point of tears

with a stare and no words spoken, a trait he shared with Calis, the

Captain of Roo and Erik's company, the Crimson Eagles.

Of the original company, numbering in the hundreds, fewer than

fifty men survived-the six who had fled with Calis and some

stragglers who had found their way to the City of the Serpent

River before the Freeport Ranger had departed for Krondor. Nicholas'

s other ship, Trenchard's Revenge, had remained in the harbor at

the City of the Serpent River for an extra month, in case more

men from Calis's troop found their way there. Any who were not

there when she weighed anchor would be considered to be dead.

The gangplank was run out, and Roo and Erik watched as Nicholas

and Calis were the first to disembark. On the dock waite(l

Patrick, Prince of Krondor, his uncle Prince Erland-nephew and

brother respectively to Nicholas-and other members of the royal

court of Krondor.

Erik said, "Not much of a show, is it?"

Roo could only nod. A lot of men had died to bring back the

information Nicholas carried to his nephew, the Prince. And from,

what Roo knew, it was scant information at best. He turned his

attention to the royal family.

Nicholas, formerly Prince of Krondor until his nephew had come

from the capital of the Kingdom of the Isles to assume the office,

looked nothing like his brother. Erland's hair was mostly grey, but

there was enough red remaining to reveal its original hue. Nicholas,

likewise going grey, was a man of dark hair and intense features.

Patrick, the new Prince of Krondor, was somewhere between,

ii?

his two uncles in appearance,

darker of skin than both, but his hair

was, a middle brown in color. He seemed to have something of

Erland's powerful build and Nicholas's intensity.

"No," said Roo, "you're right; not much by way of ceremony."

Erik nodded. "Then again, by now they all know there's not

much glory in any of this. The Prince and his uncle are probably

both anxious to hear what news Calis and Nicholas have."

Roo sighed agreement. "None of it good. It's all bloody business

and it's going to get worse."

A friendly slap to the back caused both Roo and Erik to turn.

Robert de Loungville stood behind the two young men, grinning

in a way that up until recently made both men expect the worst,

but this time they knew he was merely showing the more affable

side of his nature. He kept his receding hair cropped close to his

skull, and he needed a shave. "Where to, lads?"

Roo jingled a purse of gold tucked into his tunic. "I think a

good glass of ale, the tender touch of a bad woman, and then I'll

worry about tomorrow, tomorrow."

Erik shrugged. "I've been thinking, and I want to take up your

offer, Sergeant."

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

BOOKIIWealthhowsoevergot,inEnglandmakesLordsofmechanics,gentlemenofrakes;Aniiquityandbitihareneedlesshere,Impudenceandmoneymakesapeer-DanielDefoeTHETRUE-BORNENGLISHMAN,PT.IprologueTHESOULSCREAMED.Thedemonturned,andasitsgapingmawwassetinapermanentgrin,theonlyhintofitsincreaseddelightwasaslightwidenin...

展开>> 收起<<

Raymond E. Feist - Serpentwar 2 - Rise of a Merchant Prince.pdf

共514页,预览103页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Raymond E. Feist - Serpentwar 2 - Rise of a Merchant Prince

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: