Rage of a Demon King. Raymond E. Feist
hamstring his horse. He was probably calm and confident enough to attempt that dangerous move.
His men were taking a terrible toll on those in camp, and Erik circled his opposite number, waiting. The man eyed him warily, ready for the charge that didn’t come, and Erik shouted, ‘Keep as many of them alive as possible.’
When it became clear that the men in the camp were hopelessly outclassed by those on horseback, soldiers began throwing down their weapons and crying for quarter.
Quickly the matter resolved itself in Erik’s favor, and when at last there was no doubt, the leader threw down his weapon. Erik knew that in Novindus, it was the accepted sign of surrender by mercenaries.
Erik glanced around and saw a banner lying on the ground. The emblem was familiar to him. Erik rode his horse toward the man. Garret and the other soldiers looked perplexed as the Prince’s Sergeant Major spoke in a strange tongue.
To the man, Erik said, ‘Duga and his War Dogs, if I’m not mistaken.’
The man nodded. ‘Who are you?’
‘I rode with Calis’s Crimson Eagles.’
Captain Duga, mercenary leader of one hundred swords, sighed. ‘You were to be killed on sight, and that was on the other side of the world.’
‘You’ve come a long way,’ observed Erik.
‘That’s the truth.’ He glanced around and saw his men being disarmed by Erik’s. ‘What now?’
‘That depends. If you cooperate, you’ll get a chance to stay alive. If you don’t …’
‘I won’t break oath,’ Duga said.
Erik studied the man. He had been almost a classic mercenary captain in Novindus. Clever, if not intelligent, but smart enough to keep his men alive, a requirement of any captain. He’d be tough enough to keep a surly band of cutthroats in line, and he’d be honest enough to keep contracts, else no one would hire him.
‘No oath need be broken. You’re our prisoner, but we can hardly give you parole to return home.’
Bitterly the man said, ‘I don’t even know where home is.’
Erik pointed to the southwest. ‘That way – on the other side of the world, as you said.’
‘Care to loan us a boat?’ Duga asked with bitter irony.
‘Perhaps. If you share some information with us, you might find yourselves with some opportunity to return home.’ Erik didn’t comment on how slim the chance of that occurring might be.
‘Talk,’ said Duga.
‘Start with, how did you get here?’
‘Through one of those magic gates the snake men make.’ He shrugged. ‘They offered a bonus for any captain who led his men through.’ He glanced around. ‘Though where I’ll spend it, the gods only know.’
Erik said, ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Who are you waiting for?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the Captain of mercenaries from Novindus. ‘All I know is the orders from General Fadawah were simple. Go through this rift thing and find a place to camp nearby. Then wait.’
‘For what?’
‘I don’t know. I just know we were told to wait.’
Erik felt a stab of uncertainty. Until the next element of his column arrived, he had almost as many prisoners as he had men to guard them, and at any moment new enemies might appear. Thinking quickly, he said, ‘Limited parole. You’ll not be harmed, but we won’t let you ride away. We’ll negotiate better terms when we get to our camp.’
The mercenary considered it for a moment, then said, ‘Done.’ With obvious relief, he shouted to his men, ‘No more fighting. Now, let’s eat!’
Erik once more was amazed at the attitude of mercenaries from Novindus, who treated conflict and fighting as jobs, who faced men across the line one day who might have been allies the year before, and might be again someday, and who carried little or no ill will as a result.
Erik motioned to Garret and said, ‘After things settle down, make camp and let the men eat.’
The Sergeant from Ironpass saluted, and started giving orders.
Erik stretched in the saddle and felt as if every bone were jangled out of its joint. His backside was sore and he couldn’t remember ever having been this tired. With a silent groan he dismounted and, smelling the food on the fires, realized he was hungry.
Before beginning the questioning of the prisoners, he paused once more to curse his Captain. He started to tend his horse and again paused a moment to curse Calis.
Roo nodded.
The trade delegate had been speaking for nearly an hour, and Roo had sensed the entire course of negotiations within the first five minutes, but protocol dictated he endure the entire presentation before declining the opportunity. Roo wished the man would come to the end, as he knew this meeting was entirely pointless.
Since seizing control of the grain market in the Western Realm of the Kingdom, Roo had seen the control of his various companies, especially the Bitter Sea Company, grow by the month, until he had only one rival in the Western Realm in commerce: Jacob Esterbrook.
The one area where Jacob completely dominated was in trade with Kesh. The profitable luxury trade with the Empire was like a locked room to Roo, and no attempt of his to gain a foothold in that lucrative market had resulted in anything more than a minor contract or a marginally profitable trade.
He had again sought to gain a concession into Kesh, but now he was being told at great length by this minor Keshian functionary that his latest attempt would come to naught.
At long last the man finished, and Roo smiled at him. ‘So, to put it another way, the answer is no.’
The trade delegate blinked as if seeing something for the first time and said, ‘Oh, I think it too harsh to simply say “no,” Mr Avery.’ He put the tips of his fingers together. ‘It is far closer to the truth to say that such an arrangement is not feasible at this time. However, that is not to say that at some future date such an accommodation might not be possible.’
Roo glanced out the window of the upper floor of Barret’s Coffee House. Night was approaching. ‘The afternoon is late, sir, and I still have much to do before enjoying my evening meal. May I say that when next we speak, I plan on starting a great deal earlier in the day.’
The Keshian rose, his expression showing Roo’s humor was completely lost on him, and bowed slightly, then departed.
Duncan Avery, Roo’s cousin, sat almost asleep in the corner, and stretched as he rose. ‘Finally,’ he said.
Luis de Savona, Roo’s general manager, said, ‘I agree. Finally.’
Roo said, ‘Well, we had to try.’ He sat back in his chair, glanced at the coffee and rolls that had sat upon the table for hours and were now cold and stale, and said, ‘Someday I’m going to figure out how Jacob has such a stranglehold on Keshian trade. It’s almost as if …’ He left the thought unfinished.
‘As if what?’ asked Duncan.
Luis glanced at Roo’s cousin. The two men barely got along, though they remained civil with one another. Luis, a former comrade-in-arms with Roo, was hardworking, conscientious, and meticulous in every detail of whatever task lay before him. Duncan was lazy, paid no attention to detail, and was in Roo’s employ only because he was his cousin. He was also charming, funny, and