Raymond E. Feist - Kingdom of the Isles 1 - Prince of the Bl

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contrast to the mood of most establishments of its ilk, this inn was nearly

somber. In murky corners, men spoke in hushed tones, discussing things

best not overheard by the uninvolved. A grunt of agreement to a whispered

proposal or a bitter laugh from a woman of negotiable virtue were the only

sounds to intrude upon the silence. The majority of the denizens of the inn

called the Sleeping Dockman were closely watching the game.

The game was pokiir, common to the Empire of Great Kesh to the south

and now replacing lin-lan and pashawa as the gambler's choice in the inns

and taverns of the Western Realm of the Kingdom. One player held his five

cards before him, his eyes narrowed in concentration. An off-duty soldier,

he kept alert for any sign of trouble in the room, and trouble was rapidly

approaching. He made a display of studying his cards, while discreetly

inspecting the five men who played at the table with him.

The first two on his left were rough men. Both were sunburned and the

hands holding their cards were heavily callused; faded linen shirts and

cotton trousers hung loosely on lank but muscular frames. Neither wore

boots or even sandals, barefoot despite the cool night air, a certain sign

they were sailors waiting for a new berth. Usually such men quickly lost

their pay and were bound again for sea, but from the way they had bet all

night, the soldier was certain they were working for the man who sat to the

soldier's right.

new cut-away design, a rather garish yellow, with white and silver brocade

at the wrists and collar. He was a typical dandy. And from the look of the

Rodezian slamanca hanging from the loose baldric across his shoulder, a

dangerous man. It was a sword only used by a master or someone seeking

a quick death—in the hands of an expert it was a fearsome weapon; in the

hands of the inexperienced it was suicide.

The man had probably lost large sums of money before and now sought

to recoup his previous losses by cheating at cards. One or the other of the

sailors would win an occasional hand, but the soldier was certain this was

planned to keep suspicion from falling upon the young dandy. The soldier

sighed, as if troubled by what choice to make. The other two players waited

patiently for him to make his play.

They were twin brothers, tall—two inches over six feet he judged—and

fit in appearance. Both came to the table armed with rapiers, again the

choice of experts or fools. Since Prince Arutha had come to the throne of

Krondor twenty years before, rapiers had become the choice of men who

wore weapons as a consideration of fashion rather than survival. But these

two didn't look the type to sport weapons as decorative baubles. They were

dressed as common mercenaries, just in from caravan duty from the look of

them. Dust still clung to their tunic and leather vest, while their red-brown

hair was lightly matted. Both needed a shave. Yet while their clothing was

The brothers had commenced the game with glee, ordering tankard

after tankard of ale, letting losses delight them as much as wins, but now

that the stakes of the game were rising, they had become somber. They

glanced at each other from time to time, and the soldier was certain they

shared silent communication the way twins often did.

The soldier shook his head. "Not me." He threw down his cards, one of

them flipping completely over for an instant before it came to rest upon the

table. "I've got duty in an hour; I'd best be back to the barracks."

What he really knew was that trouble was imminent and if he were still

around when it arrived, he'd never make muster. And the duty sergeant

was a man not given to receiving excuses kindly.

Now the dandy's eyes turned to the first of the two brothers. "Play?"

As the soldier reached the door of the inn, he took note of two men

standing quietly in the corner. They stood in great cloaks, faces obscured

slightly by the shadows of their hoods, despite the night being warm. Both

made a show of quietly watching the game, but they were taking in every

detail of the inn. They also looked familiar to the soldier, but he couldn't

place them. And there was something about the way they stood, as if ready

to leap to action, that reaffirmed the soldier's determination to reach the city

barracks early. He opened the door to the inn and stepped through, closing

it behind.

staying or folding?"

"Well," answered the young man, "this is something of a poser." He

looked at his brother. "Eriand, I would have sworn an oath to Astalon the

Judge that I saw a Blue Lady flip when that soldier tossed in his hand."

"Why," answered his twin with a twisted smile, "does that pose a

problem, Borric?"

"Because I also have a Blue Lady in my hand."

Men began to back away from the table as the tone of conversation

shifted. Discussion of what cards one held was not the norm. "I still see no

problem," observed Eriand, "as there are two Blue Ladies in the deck."

With a malicious grin, Borric said, "But you see, our friend over here," he

indicated the dandy, "also has a Blue Lady tucked just not quite far enough

back in his sleeve."

Instantly the room erupted into motion as men put as much distance as

possible between the combatants and themselves. Borric leaped from his

seat, gripping the edge of the table and overturning it, forcing the dandy

and his two henchmen back. Eriand had his rapier and a long dirk out as

the dandy drew his slamanca. .

One of the two sailors lost his footing and fell forward. As he tried to

rise, he found his chin met by the toe of Borric's boot. He collapsed into a

heap at the young mercenary's feet. The dandy leaped forward, executing

Borric disposed of the second sailor with little trouble and turned to

discover Eriand in a close struggle with the dandy. "Eriand! Could you use

a hand?"

Eriand shouted, "I think not. Besides, you always say I need the

practice."

"True," answered his brother with a grin. "But don't let him kill you. I'd

have to avenge you."

The dandy tried a combination attack, a high, low, then high series of

chops, and Eriand was forced to back away. In the night the sound of

whistles could be heard.

"Eriand," said Borric.

The hard-pressed younger twin said, "What?" as he dodged another

masterfully executed combination attack.

"The watch is coming. You'd better kill him quickly."

"I'm trying," said Eriand, "but this fellow isn't being very cooperative." As

he spoke, his boot heel struck a pool of spilled ale and he lost his footing.

Suddenly he was falling backward, his defense gone.

Borric was moving as the dandy lunged at his brother. Eriand twisted

upon the floor, but the dandy's sword struck his side. Hot pain erupted

along his ribs. And at the same instant the man had opened his left side to

a counter thrust. Sitting upon the floor, Eriand thrust upward with his rapier,

"Or he you. And I'd not want to face Father had I let that happen.

Besides, you really wouldn't have killed him; you just don't have the instinct.

You'd have tried to disarm him or something equally noble," Borric

observed, catching his breath in a gasp, ". . . and stupid. Now, let's see

about getting out of here."

Eriand gripped his wounded side as they headed toward the door.

Several town toughs, seeing blood upon Eriand's side, moved to block the

twin's exit. Borric and Eriand both leveled their sword points at the band of

men. Borric said, "Keep your guard up a moment," picked up a chair, and

threw it through the large bay window facing the boulevard. Glass and

leading showered the street, and before the tinkle of shards upon stone

had stopped, both brothers were leaping through what remained of the

window. Eriand stumbled and Borric had to grip his arm to keep him from

falling.

As they straightened, they took in the fact that they were looking at

horses. Two of the more bold thugs jumped through the window after the

twins, and Borric smashed one in the side of the head with his sword hilt,

while the other man pulled up short as three crossbows were leveled at

him. Arrayed before the door was the small company of ten burly and

heavily armed town watchmen commonly known as the Riot Squad. But

what had the half-dozen denizens of the Sleeping Dockman standing in

mercenaries.

"Ah . . . good evening, my lord," said Borric, a smile slowly spreading

across his face. The leader of the Riot Squad, seeing no one else in sight,

moved to take custody of the two young men.

The leader of the Royal Guard waved him off. "This doesn't concern

you, Watchman. You and your men may go." The watch commander

bowed slightly and led his men back to their barracks in the heart of the

Poor Quarter.

Eriand winced a bit as he said, "Baron Locklear, what a pleasure."

Baron Locklear, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, smiled an unamused smile.

"I'm certain." Despite his rank, he looked barely a year or two older than the

boys, though he was nearly sixteen years their senior. He had curly blond

hair and large blue eyes, which were presently narrowed as he watched the

twins in obvious disapproval.

Borric said, "And I expect that means that Baron James—"

Locklear pointed. "Is standing behind you."

Both brothers turned to see the man in the great cloak framed in the

doorway. He threw back his hood to reveal a face still somewhat youthful

despite his thirty-seven years of age, his curly brown hair slightly dusted

with grey. It was a face the brothers knew as well as any, for he had been

one of their teachers since boyhood, and more, one of their closest friends.

Locklear and I comb the entire city for two days seeking you out." He

studied the two young men, "But I trust you'll remember all those little

details when your father has words with you after court tomorrow."

Two horses were brought forward and a soldier deferentially held out

the reins to each brother. Seeing the blood along Eriand's side, a

Lieutenant of the Guard moved his horse nearby and said in mock

sympathy, "Does His Highness require help?"

Eriand negotiated the stirrup and heaved himself into the saddle without

aid. In irritated tones, he answered, "Only when I see Father, Cousin Willy,

and I don't think you can do much for me then."

Lieutenant William nodded and in unsympathetic tones, he whispered,

"He did say come home at once, Eriand."

Eriand nodded in resignation. "We just wanted to relax for a day or two

before—"

William couldn't resist laughing at his cousins' predicament. He had

often seen them bring disaster down upon themselves and he never could

understand their appetite for such punishment. He said, "Maybe you could

run for the border. I could get very stupid following you."

Eriand shook his head. "I think I'll wish I had taken your offer, after

tomorrow morning's court."

the business of the court being conducted before him. A slender man in his

youth, he had not gained the bulk commonly associated with middle age,

but rather had become harder, more angular in features, losing what little

softening effects youth had given his lanky appearance. His hair was still

dark, though enough grey had come with the twenty years of ruling Krondor

and the West to speckle it. His reflexes had slowed only slightly over the

years, and he was still counted one of the finest swordsmen in the

Kingdom, though he rarely had reason to exercise his skill with the rapier.

His dark brown eyes were narrowed in concentration, a gaze that seemed

to miss nothing, in the opinion of many who served the Prince. Thoughtful,

even brooding at times, Arutha was a brilliant military leader. He had

rightfully won his reputation during the nine years of the Riftwar—which had

ended the year before the twins' birth—after taking command of the

garrison at Crydee, his family's castle, when only a few months older than

his sons were now.

He was counted a hard but fair ruler, quick to dispense justice when the

crime warranted, though often given to acts of leniency at the request of his

wife, the Princess Anita. And that relationship more than anything typified

the administration of the Western Realm: hard, logical, evenhanded justice,

tempered with mercy. While few openly sang Arutha's praises, he was well

respected and honored, and his wife was beloved by her subjects.

The other members of the royal family were not normally required at

morning court, but since the twins had returned from their service upon the

border at Highcastle, it had become a family gathering.

Princess Elena stood at her mother's side. She looked a fair

compromise between her parents, having red-brown hair and fair skin from

her mother but her father's dark and intelligent eyes. Those who knew the

royal family well often observed that if Borric and Eriand resembled their

uncle, the King, then Elena resembled her aunt, the Baroness Carline of

Salador. And Arutha had observed on more than one occasion she had

Carline's renowned temper.

Prince Nicholas, Arutha and Anita's youngest child, had avoided the

need to stand next to his sister, by hiding from his father's sight. He stood

behind his mother's throne, beyond his father's gaze", on the first step off

the dais. The door to the royal apartments was hidden from the eyes of

those in the hall, down three steps, where, in years past, all four children

had played the game of huddling on the first step, listening to their father

conduct court, enjoying the delicious feeling of eavesdropping. Nicky

waited for the arrival of his two brothers.

Anita glanced about with that sudden sense mothers have that one of

their children is somewhere he shouldn't be. She spied Nicholas waiting

down by the door, and motioned him to stand close. Nicky had idolized

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contrasttothemoodofmostestablishmentsofitsilk,thisinnwasnearlysomber.Inmurkycorners,menspokeinhushedtones,discussingthingsbestnotoverheardbytheuninvolved.Agruntofagreementtoawhisperedproposalorabitterlaughfromawomanofnegotiablevirtueweretheonlysoundstointrudeuponthesilence.Themajorityofthedenizensof...

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