The Complete Darkwar Trilogy: Flight of the Night Hawks, Into a Dark Realm, Wrath of a Mad God. Raymond E. Feist
know, Erik.’ Nakor understood if it ever came to a choice, Erik would put his oath and duty to the Crown ahead of anything Pug asked. He put the amulet back. ‘How long have you had it?’
‘A week. Some minor court officials and influential merchants are starting to turn up dead in the City of Kesh. It’s a big place and the dead men are of marginal importance, so the Keshians don’t appear to be taking note of it yet.’
Nakor was thoughtful. ‘Or someone highly placed is ensuring they don’t.’
‘My thought, as well,’ said the Duke. He looked at the window, and said, ‘How long before dawn?’
‘Four hours or so,’ said Nakor.
‘I think I will stick around a while longer, Nakor. If the approaching danger is worse than the Emerald Queen’s army, I want to be fit enough to stand on the wall with my sword in my hand.’
Nakor grinned. ‘You will.’
Erik smiled back and Nakor could see the health returning to his cheeks. When Nakor had seen him sleeping, Erik had looked like an eighty-year-old man, near death’s door. He now seemed more like a vigorous man of seventy or less.
‘I need to go. Drink the rest of that vial now.’ Erik did so and handed the empty bottle back to Nakor. The skinny gambler pulled another and said, ‘Hide this somewhere. Drink half of this one in a week’s time if you don’t feel as strong as you’d like to. And if you want to feel really wonderful, drink the rest a week after that.’ He put it on the pillow next to the Duke. ‘I’d leave more, but it would be difficult for you to explain to the Prince why you suddenly look younger than he does.’ Grinning, he added, ‘It’s a good thing you were born blond, Erik, because people won’t notice your hair isn’t as grey as it used to be.’
The door at the far end of the room began to open. ‘Got to go now, Erik,’ said Nakor and he darted into the shadow behind the large curtain.
Erik knew that the window behind the curtain had stayed closed, but that if he rose and investigated it, Nakor would have vanished.
The Royal Chirurgeon and the Duke’s squire entered the Duke’s chamber and showed open astonishment at seeing the Duke sitting up in bed. ‘Your Grace!’ exclaimed the healer.
‘Rossler,’ said the Duke.
‘Sir?’ asked the squire with a near stammer.
‘What are you two staring at?’
‘Why, Your Grace … you, sir.’
‘Well, you can stop it.’
‘It’s just that, well …’
‘I know,’ said Erik, interrupting the healer. ‘You didn’t think I’d make it through the night. Well, I’ve got better.’
‘Apparently so, Your Grace. May I?’ he indicated his desire to examine the Duke.
Erik patiently allowed the man to proceed, listening to his heart and breathing, and thumping on his back and chest. When he began examining the colour of his eyes, Erik pushed him away. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he said, ‘I need to go to the jakes.’
The squire said, ‘Your Grace, I will fetch the chamber pot.’
‘Not tonight, Samuel. I’m certain I can walk to the garderobe by myself.’
Both stood a moment in silent amazement as Erik stood and walked across the room to the door that led to his private garderobe and opened the door. When it closed behind the now revitalized Duke, the stunned healer and the grinning squire exchanged looks of wonder.
THE BOYS GROANED.
Caleb looked back over his shoulder from the driver’s seat at the two slowly-waking boys. He had dumped them in the wagon, said goodbye to Marie, and left Stardock Town before dawn.
Zane was first to regain a semblance of consciousness and he blinked like a stunned owl as he tried to sit up. It proved a bitter mistake as his head throbbed and his stomach heaved. He barely got his face over the side of the wagon before the sour contents of his stomach reappeared.
Caleb slowed the horses, then halted them. By the time the wagon came to a complete stop, Tad had joined his foster brother in a painful display of morning-after distress.
Caleb jumped and with a rough grab, pulled Tad, then Zane out of the wagon and deposited them in a heap on the roadside. They were a portrait of misery. Both had pale complexions and perspiration dripped off their brows. Their eyes were red-rimmed and their clothing dishevelled and dirty.
‘Stand up,’ said Caleb, and the two lads did so. ‘Follow me.’
Without turning to see if they complied, Caleb started walking down a gentle slope dotted with trees. From the sounds behind him, he judged that the two boys were following along grudgingly.
They reached a small gully thick with waist-high grass, and Caleb motioned for them to move ahead of him. The two miserable lads half-stumbled, half-walked through the grass. Zane trampled upon what was in front of him, while Tad parted the slightly waving foliage with his hands.
One minute they were trudging along and the next, Zane vanished from sight with a loud yelp of shock. Tad only just avoided stepping off the bank, some six feet above the river. As Zane’s head appeared above the water, Tad felt Caleb’s foot on his rump, and suddenly he was propelled through the air, landing backside-first in the water next to Zane.
‘Clean yourselves up,’ instructed Caleb. ‘You smell like the floor of a tap room.’ He threw down something which landed in the shallow water between them. Zane picked it up and saw it was a bar of milled soap. ‘It won’t take your skin off like that stuff your mother makes, boys, but it will get you clean – hair, bodies, clothing, everything. You can carry your clothing back to the wagon.’
Grudgingly the pair began to strip off their wet gear as Caleb watched. ‘Drink some water, too, while you’re at it. It’ll help get you back amongst the living.’ He turned back towards the wagon, then shouted, ‘But try not to drink the soapy water.’
Caleb returned to the wagon and waited. In less than half an hour, a pair of dripping boys appeared, nude and carrying their clothing. Caleb pointed to the cart and said, ‘Spread them out on the side of the wagon and let them dry in the sun.’
Both young men stood shivering in the cool morning. After a few minutes, Caleb pointed to a small chest nestled behind the driver’s seat and said, ‘You’ll find dry clothing in there.’
As the boys dressed, Tad said, ‘I’ve never felt this sick from drinking before.’
Caleb nodded. ‘Whiskey has a terrible hangover, no doubt.’
‘Why’d you do it?’ asked Zane as he pulled on a fresh tunic.
‘So I wouldn’t have to beat you senseless to get you to leave Stardock.’
As if coming out of a sleepwalk, the boys looked around. ‘Where are we?’ asked Zane, his dark eyes narrowing. Caleb could see the anger rising.
‘We’re on the road to Yar-rin, then we’ll go on to Jonril.’
Tad’s eyes also narrowed. ‘Why Jonril?’
‘Because your mother didn’t like what was going on with you two in Stardock, and asked me to take you somewhere that you could find trades.’ He motioned for them to finish dressing. ‘You two have been aimless layabouts since the Choosing two years ago.’
Zane’s eyes flashed angrily as he said, ‘That’s