Rage of a Demon King. Raymond E. Feist
that Erik had learned in the military, he thought he understood something only to discover later he possessed merely a surface apprehension of the way things were, as a deeper appreciation of the topic seemed to unfold in his mind. Tactics and strategy were like that. William kept telling him he had a knack, yet often Erik felt stupid, as if he were missing the obvious.
Almost blushing, Erik said, ‘I understand.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ said Calis in a friendly tone.
William said, ‘We’re delighted to put the Hadati to such use, though they will likely be used as scouts and couriers; few of them are competent enough horsemen to serve as explorers.’
‘I can train them,’ said Erik, suddenly interested.
‘Perhaps. But we’ve got some Inonian mountain rangers coming in from the East. They are experienced riders.’
Erik had seen the occasional Inonian in Darkmoor. Swarthy, tough little men from the Inonia region along the coast of the Kingdom Sea nearest the southeastern borders with Kesh, they were reputed to be as fierce in their ability to defend their mountain highlands as the Hadati or dwarves. Erik knew them firsthand only for the excellent wines they traded in exchange for Darkmoor’s best; their wines were distinctive, using different varieties of grapes from those found in Darkmoor, often spiced or treated with resins or honey, but treasured for that very difference. The Inonians also produced the finest olive oil known, and that was the primary source of their prosperity.
‘From what I understand,’ offered Erik, ‘Inonian horsemen are able enough.’
‘In the mountains,’ said William, standing up as if to throw off the weight of fatigue. ‘Hit and run tactics are the rule. They also don’t marshal many men at a time, doing most of their damage with a dozen or fewer raiders.’ He waved to a bookshelf on the opposite side of his office. ‘We have at least one account of the Kingdom’s conquest of their region in there. They have some nasty tricks that may help us when the invaders get here.’ He stretched. ‘They ride small, tough ponies, and getting them to accept our faster horses may take some doing; you may have to give them some instruction, too.’
Calis grinned, and Erik knew without being asked that the eastern hill fighters were unlikely to take being trained gracefully. ‘But for the moment,’ the Captain said, ‘you’re to head back into the hills with another batch of soldiers.’
‘Again?’ Erik barely suppressed a groan.
‘Again,’ said Calis. ‘Greylock and Jadow have got sixty survivors of their boot camp they swear will take to your training like a baby to the teat. You and Alfred and another six of your men will take them out tomorrow morning.’
William said, ‘Teach them everything you can, Sergeant Major.’
‘And keep your eye out for potential corporals,’ Calis added. ‘We need more sergeants, too.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Erik rose, saluted, and turned to leave.
Calis said, ‘Erik?’
‘Yes?’ asked Erik as he paused at the door.
‘Why don’t you go out tonight and have some fun? You look like hell. Consider that an order.’
Erik shrugged, shook his head, and said, ‘You’re no daisy.’
Calis smiled. ‘I know. I’m taking a long hot bath; then I’m turning in early tonight.’
William said, ‘Go find a girl and a drink and relax.’
Erik left the Knight-Marshal’s office and moved to his own quarters. He had been working in the marshalling yard all day, and if he was going anywhere he wanted to bathe and change.
After his bath and in a fresh tunic, he felt hunger and considered heading to the mess. He weighed his choices and decided a meal in town might be just the thing.
Erik decided to walk to the Broken Shield, the inn operated by Lord James for the men, giving them a place to drink and meet the whores hand-selected by the Duke to ensure no one said anything to a potential agent of the enemy.
Evening was falling and the city was ablaze in torch and lantern light as Erik reached the inn. James had picked a location far enough from the palace to look a likely hangout for soldiers wishing to be away from the scrutiny of their officers, yet close enough that a message would reach anyone in minutes. Only Erik, the officers, and a few others realized that every person within the inn was an agent or employee of the Duke.
Kitty waved as Erik entered the room and he found himself smiling at her. He had been the one who had told the girl of Bobby de Loungville’s death and since then he had looked in on her from time to time. She had shown no reaction to the news, excusing herself for a few minutes, and when she had returned, only slightly red eyes had betrayed her feelings. Erik suspected the former thief had been in love with the man who had held the position of Sergeant Major before him. Bobby had been a difficult, even cruel, man at times, but he had treated the young girl with nothing but respect since she had come to the inn.
Erik had asked James if the girl did more than tend bar, but the Duke had simply replied he was pleased with the girl’s services since she had become one of his agents. Erik knew her primary job was to keep alert for any Mocker, a member of the Guild of Thieves of Krondor, attempting to enter the Broken Shield.
‘What’s new?’ asked Erik as he reached the bar.
‘Not much,’ said Kitty, retrieving a large jack from under the counter, then filling it at the ale tap. ‘Just those two in from somewhere.’ With a motion of her chin she indicated two men sitting at a corner table.
‘Who are they?’ asked Erik, then took a long pull on the ale. Say what you will, he thought, about being told to frequent only this one inn: at least the Duke kept it serving only the finest ale and food.
Kitty shrugged. ‘Didn’t say. They sound like Easterners to me. Certainly not from around here.’ She picked up a bar rag and began wiping imaginary spills. ‘One of them is quiet, the dark fellow in the corner, but the other talks enough for both of them.’
Erik shrugged. While the inn was known to locals as being the hangout of garrison soldiers off duty, a few strangers wandered in from time to time, and although the staff was always on the lookout for spies and informers, most of those strangers had legitimate business in the area. Those few who didn’t were either followed out by Duke James’s agents or conducted to a basement room for interrogation, depending on the Duke’s instructions.
Erik glanced around and noticed that none of the girls who serviced the soldiers was in view. He glanced at Kitty and found he preferred talking to her for the moment. ‘The girls keeping out of sight?’
‘Meggan and Heather are working tonight,’ said Kitty. ‘They ducked out when the strangers arrived.’
Erik nodded. ‘The special girls?’
‘One’s on the way,’ said Kitty. The special girls were agents of the Duke, and when a stranger stayed too long at the inn, one quickly appeared, ready to accompany the stranger and ferret out whatever information might prove useful.
Erik found himself wondering who had taken up the role of ‘Spymaster,’ as Erik was certain that had been one of Bobby de Loungville’s many masks. Certainly it wasn’t Captain Calis, and Erik knew it wasn’t himself.
‘What are you thinking?’ asked Kitty.
‘Just wondering about our’ – glancing at the two strangers, he changed what he was about to say – ‘landlord’s employees.’
Kitty raised her eyebrows in question. ‘What do you mean?’
Erik shrugged. ‘It’s probably none of my business, anyway. A man can get too curious.’
Kitty leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and said, ‘Curiosity is what got me the death mark.’
Erik raised his eyebrow. ‘The