Rage of a Demon King. Raymond E. Feist
could capture her interest, let alone her heart. Still, she seemed relieved when he could arrange to visit her and her father, especially if he could spend the night. Her lovemaking was always inventive and enthusiastic, but as the months wore by, he suspected everything wasn’t as it seemed to be. He also suspected she might be giving information to her father that cost Roo in his business. He decided he would have to be more careful what he said to Sylvia. He didn’t think she was getting information out of him to give to her father, but a chance remark repeated over dinner might give the crafty old Jacob enough of an edge to better his younger rival.
Stretching, he watched as the cloud rolled past. Sylvia was a strange and unexpected presence in his life, a miracle. Yet doubts continued to stir. He wondered what Helen Jacoby would make of this. Thinking of Helen made him smile. While she was the widow of a man he had gotten killed, they had become friends and, truth to tell, he enjoyed talking to her more than either Karli or Sylvia.
Roo sighed. Three women, and he didn’t know what to make of any of them. He softly left the bedchamber and crossed to the room he used as his office. Opening a chest, he extracted a wooden box and lifted the lid. In the moonlight rested a brilliant set of matched rubies, five large stones as large as his thumb and a dozen smaller ones, all cut in identical fashion.
He had tried to sell the set in the East, but too many gem merchants recognized it for what it was, stolen goods. The case was inscribed with the name of the owner, a Lord Vasarius.
Roo laughed softly. He had cursed his luck at being unable to sell the gems, but now he counted himself fortunate. He knew that in the morning he would tell his apprentice Dash to inform his grandfather, Duke James, that when he was ready to send his message to Queg, he knew what it would say:
‘My Lord Vasarius. My name is Rupert Avery, merchant of Krondor. I have recently come into possession of an item of great value I am certain belongs to you. May I have the pleasure of returning it to you in person?’
The ship rocked gently inside the huge harbor that was the entrance to the city of Queg, capital of the island nation of the same name. Roo watched with fascination as they edged close to the quay.
Huge war galleys crowded the harbor, along with dozens of smaller ships and boats, from large trading vessels down to tiny fishing smacks. For an island the size of Queg, it seemed an improbably busy port.
Roo had studied as much as he could on the hostile island nation, asking his trading partners, old soldiers and sailors, and anyone else who could give him an ‘edge,’ as the gamblers like to say. When the Empire of Great Kesh had withdrawn from the Far Coast and what were now the Free Cities, pulling out her legions to send south to fight rebellious nations in the Keshian Confederacy, the Governor of Queg had revolted.
A child of the then Emperor of Kesh, from his fourth or fifth wife, he claimed one gods-inspired divine reason or another that led to the founding of the Empire of Queg. This tiny nation of former Keshians, mixed with local islanders through intermarriage, would have been something of a joke save for two factors. The first was that the island was volcanic and had some of the richest farmland north of the Vale of Dreams, surrounded by unusual local currents so that it was the most clement climate in the Bitter Sea – meaning it was self-sufficient when it came to feeding its populace – and the second was its navy.
Queg had the largest navy in the Bitter Sea, a fact of life constantly driven home by its regular harassment and occasional seizure of Kingdom, Keshian, and Free Cities ships. Besides Queg’s claim that it had territorial rights throughout the Bitter Sea – a legacy of that long-ago claim on this sea by Kesh – there was the additional irritation of its pirates. Often galleys without flags would raid along the Kingdom coast or the Free Cities, down even along the far western coast of the Empire in a bold year, and at every turn the Emperor and Senate of Queg denied knowledge.
More than once Roo had heard from a minor palace official, ‘And all they’ll ever say is, “we are a poor nation, surrounded on all sides by enemies.”’
Odd shadows skimming across the water caused Roo to lift his eyes aloft, and they opened wide in amazement. ‘Look!’
Jimmy, grandson of Lord James, and his brother, Dash, both looked up and observed a formation of giant birds flying out to sea. Jimmy was along at his grandfather’s insistence, which caused Roo no small amount of discomfort. Dash worked for him, at least nominally, and was a reliable apprentice trader. Jimmy worked for his grandfather, though Roo wasn’t certain in what capacity. He was certain it wasn’t accounting. For a brief instant Roo wondered if the Quegans would hang the entire party if the boys were accused of being spies, or just him.
The brothers didn’t resemble each other much, Jimmy looking mostly like his grandmother, fine-boned and with pale hair, while Dash, like his father, Lord Arutha, with a mass of curly brown hair and a broad open face. But they shared more than most brothers in attitude and cunning. And he knew where they got that attitude: from their grandfather.
‘Eagles,’ said Jimmy. ‘Or something like them.’
‘I thought they were only a legend,’ said Dash.
‘What are they?’ asked Jimmy.
‘Giant birds of prey, harnessed and ridden like ponies.’
‘Someone’s riding on them?’ asked Roo in disbelief, as the ship was hauled into the quay by dock workers catching ropes tossed to them by deckhands.
‘Little people,’ said Jimmy. ‘Men who have been chosen for generations for their tiny size.’
Dash said, ‘Legend has it that a Dragon Lord flew them as birds of prey, as you or I might fly a falcon, ages ago. These are the descendants of those birds.’
Roo said, ‘You could do a lot with a flock of those in battle.’
‘Not really,’ suggested Jimmy. ‘They can’t carry much and they tire easily.’
‘You suddenly know a great deal about them,’ suggested Roo.
‘Rumors, nothing more,’ said Jimmy with a grin.
‘Or reports on your grandfather’s desk?’ suggested Roo.
Dash said, ‘Look at the reception committee.’
Jimmy said, ‘Whatever you wrote, Mr Avery, it seems to have done the trick.’
Roo said, ‘I merely informed Lord Vasarius I had something of value that belonged to him, and wished to give it back.’
The gangway was rolled out, and as Roo made to leave, the ship’s Captain put a restraining hand on his chest. ‘Better to do this by custom, Mr Avery, sir.’
The Captain called ashore. ‘Mr Avery and party from Krondor. Have they leave to come ashore?’
A large delegation of Quegans stood waiting, surrounding a man in a litter, carried by a dozen muscular slaves. Each wore a robe with a fancy drape that hung over one shoulder, what Roo had been told was called a toga. In the cold months, the locals wore wool tunic and trousers, but in the hot months of spring, summer, and early fall, this light cotton garb was the preferred dress of the wealthy. One of the men said in the King’s Tongue, ‘Please come ashore as our guest, Mr Avery and party.’
The Captain said, ‘Who speaks?’
‘Alfonso Velari.’
The Captain removed his hand from Roo’s chest. ‘You are now invited to set foot on Quegan soil, Mr Avery. You’re a free man until that Velari fellow withdraws his protection. By custom he’s supposed to let you know a day in advance. We’ll be waiting here, ready to up anchor and set sail at a moment’s notice.’
Roo regarded the man, one of his many ship’s masters, named Bridges, and said, ‘Thank you, Captain.’
‘We’re at your disposal, sir.’
As he stepped on the gangway, Roo overheard Dash mumble to Jimmy, ‘Of course he’s at Roo’s disposal. Roo owns the ship!’
Jimmy