Exile’s Return. Raymond E. Feist
man who can use a sword as well as having other talents.’
‘What talents?’
‘Can you ride?’
Kaspar studied his would-be employer and realized this man was dangerous. Whatever he was about to suggest was probably illegal, and if so, Kaspar stood to make good money from doing it. He studied the man’s face for a moment and found little in it to recommend itself. He had a thin nose that made his dark eyes look too close together. His hair was oiled and combed flat against his head, and his teeth were yellow and uneven. His clothing was of a fine weave, if simply cut, and Kaspar noticed that his dagger had an ivory handle. But the most noticeable thing about the man was his expression, one of fatigue and worry. Whatever he needed done would undoubtedly be dangerous, and that might mean a healthy wage. After considering the question, Kaspar said, ‘As good as some, better than most.’
‘I can’t place your accent. Where are you from?’
‘A lot of places, most of them very far from here, but most recently up north, around Heslagnam and Mastaba.’
‘You’re not from the south?’
‘No.’
‘Any problem with having to fight?’
Kaspar was silent for a moment, as if considering his answer. He knew that if a horse was involved in the bargain, he was taking the job, no matter what the task; he didn’t plan on returning to Simarah in this lifetime. If he didn’t like the job, he’d steal the horse and ride south. ‘If the job is to fight, I’m no mercenary. But if you mean can I fight if I need to, yes, I can.’
‘If things go as planned, you only need to be able to ride, my friend.’ He motioned for Kaspar to follow him. As he walked away, he said, ‘My name is Flynn.’
Kaspar stopped in his tracks. ‘Kinnoch?’
Flynn spun around and spoke in the language of the Kingdom of the Isles. ‘Deep Taunton. You?’
‘I’m from Olasko.’
Flynn glanced about and in the King’s Tongue said, ‘Then we’re both far from home, Olaskon. But this may be the gods’ way of providing us both with what we need, because unless I’m sadly mistaken you didn’t just decide to come down here to this godforsaken side of the world out of choice. Follow me.’
The man named Flynn hurried along a series of streets in the seedier part of the merchants’ quarter, then turned down a long alley. Kaspar kept his face immobile and tried to maintain a calm demeanour, but his heart raced. Flynn had been the surname of one of his boyhood instructors; a man from a region known as Kinnoch, part of a nation long ago overrun by the Kingdom of the Isles. But the inhabitants had retained their strong cultural identity and still spoke a language used only among their community. Kaspar’s instructor had taught him a few phrases, to indulge a curious boy, but even that much would have been considered a betrayal by other clan members. The men of Kinnoch were redoubtable fighters, poets, liars and thieves; prone to drunkenness, sudden bursts of rage and deep sorrow, but if this man had found a way to this godforsaken side of the world, he might well have the means to return to civilization.
Flynn entered a warehouse which looked draughty, dusty and dark. Inside, Kaspar saw two other men waiting. Flynn stepped to one side and nodded, and without warning the other two men drew their swords and attacked.
KASPAR LEAPT TO HIS RIGHT.
Before his attacker could react, Kaspar had drawn his sword and spun round to deliver a crushing strike to the man’s back.
Flynn’s blade scarcely blocked the blow as he shouted, ‘Enough! I’ve seen enough.’ He still spoke the King’s Tongue.
Kaspar took a step back as the other two men did likewise. Flynn quickly resheathed his blade and said, ‘Sorry, my friend, but I had to see if you really could use that thing.’ He pointed to Kaspar’s blade.
‘I said I could.’
‘And I’ve known women who said they loved me, but that didn’t make it true,’ countered Flynn.
Kaspar kept his blade out, but lowered it. ‘You have a problem with trust, it seems.’
Flynn nodded, a wry smile on his lips as he said, ‘You’re observant. Now, forgive me, but we had to be sure you’d wits enough for trouble at any time. These lads wouldn’t have killed you, just cut you up a little if you hadn’t been able to defend yourself.’
‘Your test almost got your friend here crippled for life,’ said Kaspar, as he pointed to a wiry man with shoulder-length blond hair who was not amused by Kaspar’s observation. He said nothing, but his blue eyes narrowed. He nodded once at Flynn.
The third man was broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and covered with hair everywhere, except for his balding pate. He laughed; a short bark like a dog’s. ‘It was a good move, I’ll grant.’
Kaspar raised an eyebrow and said, ‘You’re a Kinnockman, or my ears have never heard that accent.’
The blond man said, ‘We’re all from the Kingdom.’
‘I’m not,’ said Kaspar. ‘But I’ve been there.’
The two men looked enquiringly at Flynn, who said, ‘He’s from Olasko.’
‘You’re even farther from home than we are!’ observed the blond man.
‘I’m McGoin, and he’s Kenner,’ said the burly man.
‘I’m Kaspar.’
‘So, we’re four kindred spirits; men of the north.’ Kenner nodded sagely.
‘How did you get here?’ asked Kaspar.
‘You first,’ urged Flynn.
Kaspar thought it best to hide his identity. These men might think him a liar, or they might seek to use such knowledge to their benefit and his disadvantage in the future. Mostly, he decided that his former rank hardly mattered now; he was on the wrong side of the world and had been stripped of his title and lands. He might tell them more, later, after he had heard their tale.
‘Nothing very fancy, really. I got on the wrong side of a magician who has enough power to relocate the people who annoy him. One minute I’m in Opardum, the next I’m up near Heslagnam with half a dozen Bentu riding towards me.’
‘You got away from Bentu slavers?’ asked McGoin.
‘No,’ said Kaspar. ‘First they caught me; then I escaped.’
Flynn laughed. ‘Either you’ve a touch of a magic yourself, or you’re enough of a liar to be a Kinnockman.’
‘I haven’t that honour,’ said Kaspar.
‘Magicians,’ observed Kenner. ‘They’re a curse, no doubt.’
‘Well, that one certainly was,’ said Kaspar. ‘Still, he could have landed me halfway across the ocean and let me drown.’
‘True,’ said Flynn.
‘Now, your story.’
‘We’re traders out of Port Vykor,’ began Flynn.
Instantly Kaspar knew Flynn was lying. It was far more likely that they were pirates out of the Sunset Isles.
‘We were a consortium put together by a trader out of Krondor, name of Milton Prevence. When we reached the City of the Serpent River we found a clan war underway. We couldn’t even come into port, because two clans were battling over who controlled