The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon. Raymond E. Feist
only caused his own to redouble. At last he sat up, gasping, with his sides hurting.
Catching his breath, Pug said, ‘I missed that set-to. I was doing something else, but I don’t remember what.’
‘You were down in the village learning to mend nets, if I remember rightly, when Roland first came here from Tulan.’
With a crooked grin Roland said, ‘I got into an argument with someone or another – do you remember who?’ Tomas shook his head no. ‘Anyway, I got into an argument, and Tomas came over and tried to break it up. I couldn’t believe this skinny boy—’ Tomas began to voice an objection, but Roland cut him off, holding a finger upright and wiggling it. ‘Yes, you were. Very skinny. I couldn’t believe this skinny boy – skinny common boy – would presume to tell me – a newly appointed member of the Duke’s court and a gentleman, I must add – the way to behave. So I did the only thing a proper gentleman could do under the circumstances.’
‘What?’ asked Pug.
‘I hit him in the mouth.’ The three laughed again.
Tomas shook his head at the recollection, while Roland said, ‘Then he proceeded to give me the worst beating I had since the last time my father caught me out at something.
‘That’s when I got serious about fist-boxing.’
With an air of mock gravity, Tomas said, ‘Well, we were younger then.’
Pug refilled the cups. Moving his jaw in discomfort, he said, ‘Well, right now I feel about a hundred years old.’
Tomas studied them both a moment. ‘Seriously, what was the fight about?’
With a mixture of humor and regret, Roland said, ‘Our liege lord’s daughter, a girl of ineffable charm . . .’
‘What’s ineffable?’ Tomas asked.
Roland looked at him with intoxicated disdain. ‘Indescribable, dolt!’
Tomas shook his head. ‘I don’t think the Princess is an indescribable dolt—’ He ducked as Roland’s cup sailed through the space occupied by his head an instant before. Pug fell over backward laughing again.
Tomas grinned as Roland, in a display of great ceremony, fetched down another cup from the shelf. ‘As I was saying,’ he began, filling the cup from the hogshead, ‘our lady, a girl of ineffable charms – if somewhat questionable judgment – has taken it into her head – for reasons only the gods may fully comprehend – to favor our young magician here with her attentions. Why – when she could spend time with me – I can’t imagine.’ He paused to belch. ‘In any event, we were discussing the proper manner in which to accept such largess.’
Tomas looked at Pug, a huge grin on his face. ‘You have my sympathy, Pug. You most certainly have your hands full.’
Pug felt himself flush. Then with a wicked leer, he said, ‘Do I? And what about a certain young apprentice soldier, well-known hereabouts, who has been seen sneaking into the larder with a certain kitchen girl?’ He leaned back and with a look of mock concern etched upon his face added, ‘I’d hate to think what would happen to him should Neala find out . . .’
Tomas’s mouth fell open. ‘You wouldn’t . . . you couldn’t!’
Roland lay back, holding his sides. ‘Never have I seen such a fair impersonation of a freshly landed fish!’ He sat up, crossed his eyes, and opened and shut his mouth rapidly. All three degenerated into helpless mirth again.
Another round was poured, and Roland held up his cup. ‘Gentlemen, a toast!’
Pug and Tomas held up their cups.
Roland’s voice turned serious, and he said, ‘No matter what differences we have had in the past, you are two fellows I gladly count friends.’ He held his cup higher and said, ‘To friendship!’
The three drained their cups and refilled them. Roland said, ‘Your hand upon it.’
The three boys joined hands, and Roland said, ‘No matter where we go, no matter how many years pass, never again shall we be without friends.’
Pug was stuck by the sudden solemnity of the pledge and said, ‘Friends!’
Tomas echoed Pug’s words, and the three shook hands in a gesture of affirmation.
Again the cups were drained, and the afternoon sun quickly fled beyond the horizon as the three boys lost time in the rosy glow of camaraderie and ale.
Pug came awake, groggy and disoriented. The faint glow from his nearly extinguished fire pot cast the room into halftones of rose and black. A faint but persistent knocking sounded on his door. He slowly stood, then nearly fell, still intoxicated from his drinking bout. He had stayed with Tomas and Roland in the storage room all evening and into the night, missing supper entirely. ‘Putting a considerable dent’ in the castle’s ale supply, as Roland had described it. They hadn’t partaken of any great amount, but as their capacity was slight, it seemed a heroic undertaking.
Pug drew on his trousers and wobbled over to the door. His eyelids felt gritty, and his mouth was cotton dry. Wondering who could be demanding entrance in the middle of the night, he threw aside the door.
A blur of motion passed him, and he turned to find Carline standing in the room, a heavy cloak wrapped around her. ‘Close the door!’ she hissed. ‘Someone might pass the base of the tower and see light upon the stairway.’
Pug obeyed, still disoriented. The only thing that penetrated his numb mind was the thought that it was unlikely the faint light from the coals would cast much brightness down the stairwell. He shook his head, gathering his wits about him, and crossed to the fire pot. He lit a taper from the coals and lit his lantern. The room sprang into cheery brightness.
Pug’s thinking began to pick up a little as Carline looked about the room, taking stock of the disorderly pile of books and scrolls next to the pallet. She peered into every corner of the room, then said, ‘Where is that dragon thing you keep about?’
Pug’s eyes focused a little, and marshaling his balky tongue, he said, ‘Fantus? He’s off somewhere, doing whatever it is firedrakes do.’
Removing her cloak, she said, ‘Good. He frightens me.’ She sat on Pug’s unmade pallet and looked sternly at him. ‘I want to speak with you.’ Pug’s eyes went wide, and he stared, for Carline was wearing only a light cotton sleeping gown. While covering her from neck to ankles, it was thin and clung to her figure with alarming tenacity. Pug suddenly realized he was dressed only in trousers and hurriedly grabbed up his tunic from where he had dropped it onto the floor and pulled it over his head. As he struggled with the shirt, the last shreds of alcoholic fog evaporated. ‘Gods!’ he said, in a pained whisper. ‘Should your father learn of this, he’d have my head.’
‘Not if you’ve wits enough to keep your voice lowered,’ she answered with a petulant look.
Pug crossed to the stool near his pallet, freed of his drunken wobble by newly arrived terror. She studied his rumpled appearance and with a note of disapproval in her voice said, ‘You’ve been drinking.’ When he didn’t deny it, she added, ‘When you and Roland didn’t appear at supper, I wondered where you’d gotten yourselves off to. It’s a good thing Father also skipped the meal with the court, otherwise he’d have sent someone to find you.’
Pug’s discomfort was growing at an alarming rate as every tale of what horrible fate awaits lowborn lovers of noblewomen rushed back into his memory. That Carline was an uninvited guest and that nothing untoward had occurred were niceties he didn’t think the Duke would find particularly mitigating. Gulping down panic, Pug said, ‘Carline, you can’t stay here. You’ll get us both into more trouble than I can imagine.’
Her expression became determined. ‘I’m not leaving until I tell you what I came to say.’
Pug knew it was futile to argue. He had seen that look too many times in the