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Erik leaned forward. ‘If I could tell you, Manfred, I would. You will never know how much it meant to me for you to come see me in jail as you did; it was very kind of you. It made a difference. But when you finally do know why the Prince is commanding this levy, you’ll understand why I may not speak it now, and that it is of the utmost importance.’
Manfred sighed. ‘Well, very good. I trust you’ll not be lingering in Ravensburg, either of you?’
Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m bound to be back at Krondor within the month, but Roo is a free man and may choose to stay.’
Manfred smiled. ‘He may choose what he wishes, but if your friend is wise, he’ll quickly leave.’ He looked at Roo. ‘My mother has not forgiven either of you, and while I will not seek to do either of you injury, I cannot protect you from her agents. If you wish to live to an old age, you better do it elsewhere.’ He leaned over toward Erik, lowering his voice, and lost his smile. ‘You gain a significant protection by wearing that new tunic, Erik. Even here in sleepy Dark-moor we know of the Eagle of Krondor; you’re the Prince’s Man’s man. But your friend Rupert has no patronage and few friends. It’s better for everyone if you take him with you.’
‘I’m getting a cargo together and will be leaving in a couple of days with my cousin,’ said Roo.
Manfred rose. ‘See that you do. It would be well for you both not to be in town when my mother learns you are alive and back within her reach.’ Glancing at the two men, he said, ‘Even in Krondor, watch your backs.’
‘What about the child?’ asked Erik.
Manfred said, ‘Mother still doesn’t know of his existence, and I would like to see it kept that way for as long as possible.’ He looked troubled. ‘It’s a bit of a different story here than it was with you, Erik. The boy is Stefan’s baby, not her philandering husband’s; it’s her own grandson. But he’s a bastard, and as I have yet to wed …’
‘Understood.’
‘Your presence in Ravensburg might push her to side against the child: have you considered that?’
Erik shrugged. ‘Not in that fashion. Truth to tell, Manfred, I’ve not been much of a thinker the last two years. Too much to do. Not enough time to ponder.’
Manfred shook his head and said, ‘You’ve changed. You were the town lad when we met, and now … you’re a harder man, Erik.’
Erik studied his brother’s face. ‘I think we both are.’
Manfred rose and said, ‘I’m “out hunting,” so I’d better have something to show Mother when I return this evening to the castle. Be about your business and expect the levy to appear tomorrow at that inn you called home.’
Erik followed the Baron outside. ‘One of these days I hope we can meet under more favorable circumstances.’
Manfred laughed and again the resemblance showed itself. ‘I doubt it. Our fortunes and fates are very different, brother. As long as you live and I have no children, Mother sees you as a threat to her line. It’s that simple.’
Dryly Roo said, ‘Then get married and have some.’
Manfred said, ‘Would that it were that simple. I serve at the King’s pleasure and my Duke of Salador’s whim. They have yet to indicate to me which noble daughter would prove suitable wife material.’ He sighed slightly, but Erik noticed. ‘And, truth to tell, I haven’t pressed them to decide. I find the company of women … difficult.’
‘Is there someone?’ said Erik, suddenly sensing that his half brother, mostly a stranger to him, barely held some sorrow in check.
Manfred’s manner turned neutral. ‘Nothing of which I choose to speak.’
Erik had nothing more to say and his brother didn’t offer his hand. Erik saluted and started back to where his horse waited. Roo headed toward the tent flap. With a quick move, Erik turned back toward his brother. ‘That corporal, Alfred.’
‘What of him?’
‘Send him with the levy.’
Manfred shook his head and smiled slightly. ‘You have an account with him?’
‘Of sorts,’ said Erik.
Manfred shrugged. ‘There’s not much to recommend the man. He’s a brawler. He’ll never make sergeant because of it.’
‘You have a need for brawlers,’ said Erik. ‘Once they’re broken of brawling, they’re the kind of men we need.’
‘You can have him.’ Turning back into the tent, Manfred vanished.
Roo and Erik returned to their horses and mounted. Erik looked down at Alfred and said, ‘Fare you well, Corporal.’
‘We’ll meet again, bastard,’ said Alfred with a baleful stare.
‘Oh, count on it.’ Erik returned the dark look.
Roo added, with an evil smile, ‘Sooner than you think.’
With heels to their mounts, Roo and Erik left the soldiers behind and returned to Ravensburg.
‘And I’m telling you that if you put any more on that wagon, you’re going to break an axle!’ shouted Tom Avery.
Roo stood nose to nose with his father, who was only slightly taller than his son, and after a moment said, ‘You’re right.’
Tom blinked, then nodded once, curtly, saying, ‘Of course I’m right.’
The two wagons sat in the yard behind Gaston’s shop, loaded with small barrels of wine. Duncan inspected each tie-down carefully, for the third or fourth time, and looked dubious about the prospect of so many barrels of wine remaining secure.
Roo had spent the day conducting business, spending every coin he had as well as what Erik had given him in purchasing a modest-quality wine that, he hoped, would realize him a significant profit once it reached Krondor.
While not an expert on wine, Roo was a child of Ravens-burg and knew more about it than most merchants in Krondor. He knew that the high cost of wine in the Prince’s city was due to the cost of shipping it bottled. Only the most common bulk wine came otherwise, shipped in large barrels. But the smaller barrels of modest-quality wine, used in the taprooms in the area, were never shipped much farther away than a neighboring village, because the wine commanded little profit in an area where high-quality wine was taken for granted. While still not as fine as the great wines served to the nobility, this wine would stand out in Krondor’s common inns. Roo had shrewdly purchased wines he knew to be a cut or two above the quality of what he had drunk in the Prince’s city. Roo calculated that if he could get the inns and taverns frequented by the businessmen of the Merchants’ Quarter to buy his wine, he could realize as much as a threefold profit on this venture, including the cost of wagons and horses.
Duncan said, ‘You sure you know how to drive this thing?’
Tom wheeled to face his nephew and said, ‘Roo’s a first-rate teamster, as you’d have been had you not run off after that girl –’
Duncan smiled in remembrance. ‘Alice,’ he supplied. ‘That didn’t last long. Besides’ – he put his hand upon the pommel of his sword – ‘this is how I earned my living for the last fifteen years.’
‘Well, we’ll need it,’ said Tom, rubbing his chin. It was the spot Roo had hit him when the old man had come awake and started to bully his son. Three times he had tried to lay hands on the boy and three times had found himself in the dust, looking up at his son. The last time Roo had punctuated his lack of patience for this conflict with a stiff right jab to the old man’s face. After that, Tom Avery looked on his son with a newfound respect. Turning to Roo, he said, ‘You sure you know your way along this road you told me of?’
Roo nodded. It was a backcountry road, little more than a trail in places, where he and Erik had encountered Helmut Grindle, a trader from Krondor. Roo had learned there was a way from Ravensburg to Krondor that was passable without having to pay toll on the King’s Highway. Erik had papers from the Prince, which had saved them any charges on the way to Ravensburg, but Erik and his company of levies from Darkmoor had left that morning for Krondor, and they would be in the Prince’s city a week before the slow-moving wagons would arrive.
Roo knew that the wagons were loaded to capacity, and that any trouble would leave half his cargo stuck in the backwoods between Darkmoor and the coast. But if his plan worked, he’d have enough capital for something more audacious, and he was sure he could make enough on this one journey to get his career fairly launched.
‘Well,’ said Roo, ‘no reason to linger. The sooner started, the sooner finished.’ He said nothing of Manfred’s warning about his mother’s vengeance. He didn’t trust Duncan enough to count on his staying close by should he learn that a noble might be sending agents after Roo. His father, he knew, could be trusted to drive his wagon: say what you might about Tom Avery, he was steadfast in his work when sober. But in a fight he would be useless, no matter what bluster and boasting he indulged himself in when drunk. ‘Ride with me,’ Roo said to Duncan. ‘I’ll reacquaint you with driving a team.’
Duncan rolled his eyes heavenward but climbed aboard. He had sold his horse for a small price, which earned him a share in Roo’s venture, and now was a minority owner of one wagon, four horses, and a great deal of wine. Roo’s father had insisted only on his usual fees, not a coin more or less, which silently pleased Roo. He enjoyed his father’s treating him as he would any other trader.
Gaston waved farewell as they rolled through the gate out of his yard and turned down the cobbles of Ravensburg. The wagons creaked and groaned under the weight and the horses snorted at being asked to work, but they were under way, and Roo felt a keen sense of anticipation.
‘Try not to get yourself killed,’ called out Gaston as the gate shut.
Roo ducked behind the wagon as another arrow sped through the space he had just occupied; the first had struck inches from his head. He yelled a warning to his father and Duncan as he scrambled under the wagon, drawing his sword and trying to ascertain from where the arrow had come. A third shaft emerged from the evening gloom and he marked where he judged it had originated. He signaled to Duncan that he was going to back between the wagons and move in a circle around the ambushers. Duncan signaled he understood and motioned around the campsite, indicating he should be wary of other attackers.
They had been on the road for almost a week, having left the King’s Highway just west of Ravensburg and making their way across open country to the small westward trail road Roo and Erik had used when fleeing the area two years earlier.
The travel had been uneventful and the wagons were proving sturdy and the horses sound, which had contributed to Roo’s increasing optimism as the days passed. If his father had judged him daft for picking a large, unwieldy cargo, he kept his opinion to himself. He was an old teamster and had driven stranger cargo than dozens of small wine casks before.
They camped each night at sundown, letting the horses graze along a picket, supplementing the grass with a small amount of grain, mixed with honey and nuts, which kept them fit and energetic. Each day Roo used what knowledge of horses he possessed to check their soundness, and more than once he had silently wished for Erik’s presence, as he would find anything that Roo might miss. But Roo had been astonished to discover that his father knew as much as Erik, at least on the subject of draft animals, and each day the old man inspected right alongside his son, and each day he judged the animals fit to continue the journey.
Now Roo crab-crawled on elbows and knees, turning as he moved between the wagons, and when he had the wagons between himself and the source of the arrow fire, he stood and ran into the woods. Only two years of combat and intense training saved his life, for another bandit had moved opposite the first and tried to impale Roo on his sword point. The only thing he accomplished was to die silently; Roo hardly broke stride as he ran him through, dodging sideways into the dark woods in case there was another bandit close by.
Silence greeted him as he paused to consider his next move. He slowed his breathing and looked around. The sun had set less than an hour before and the sky to the west might still hold some glow, but under the thick trees it could have been midnight. Roo listened. A moment later he heard another arrow flight, and he moved.
Circling as quietly as he could through the darkness, he ran swiftly to the place where he thought the bowman might be hiding. At this point he was convinced he was being besieged by a pair of poor bandits, trying to pick off the two guards so they could plunder whatever cargo ventured along the small road far from the King’s justice.
Roo waited. After a few more moments of silence, he heard someone stirring in the brush ahead of him and he acted. As quick as a cat on a mouse, he was through the brush and on top of the other bandit. The struggle was quickly over. The man attempted to drop his bow and pull a knife when he sensed Roo’s approach from behind.
The man died before the knife was out of his belt.
‘It’s over,’ said Roo.
A moment later, Duncan and Tom appeared, wraithlike in the gloom. ‘Just two of them?’ asked Duncan.
‘If there’s another, he’s halfway to Krondor,’ said Tom. He had obviously fallen hard, as he was dirty from boot to the top of his head on his left side, and he had a bruise on his left cheek. He held his right arm across his chest, holding tight to his left biceps, and flexed the fingers of his left hand.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Roo.
‘Fell damn hard on this arm, I guess,’ answered his father. ‘It’s all tingly and numb.’ He seemed short of breath as he spoke. Blowing out a long note, he added, ‘Some time of it, that was. Not ashamed to admit I was scared for a bit.’
Duncan knelt and rolled over the bandit. ‘This one looks like a ragpicker,’ he said.
‘Few honest traders and only a few more dishonest ones brave this route,’ said Tom. ‘Never been a rich outlaw I heard of, and certainly not around here.’ He shook his hand as if trying to wake up a sleeping limb.
Duncan came away with a purse. ‘He might not have been rich, but he wasn’t coinless, either.’ He opened the purse and found a few copper coins and a single stone. Walking back into the light of the campfire, he knelt to inspect the gem. ‘Nothing fancy, but it’ll fetch a coin or two.’
Roo said, ‘Better see if the other is dead.’
He found the first man he had encountered lying facedown in the mud, and when he rolled him over, discovered a boy’s face on the corpse. Shaking his head in disgust, Roo quickly found the boy without even the rude leather pouch the other bandit had possessed.
He returned to the wagons as Duncan put down the bow he had taken from the first bandit. ‘Pretty poor,’ he said, tossing it aside. ‘Ran out of arrows.’ Roo sat down with an audible sigh.
‘What do you think they’d be doing with all this wine?’ asked Duncan.
‘Probably drink a bit,’ said Tom. ‘But it was the horses and whatever coin we carry, and the swords you have and anything else they could sell.’
Duncan said, ‘We bury them?’
Roo shook his head. ‘They’d not have done the same for us. Besides, we’ve no shovel. And I’m not about to dig their graves with my hands.’ He sighed. ‘If they’d been proper bandits, we’d have been feeding the crows tomorrow instead of them. Better keep alert.’
Duncan said, ‘Well then, I’m turning in.’
Tom and Roo sat before the fire. Because of his age, Roo and Duncan allowed Tom the first watch. The man with the second had it roughest, having to awake for a few hours in the dark, then turn in again. Roo also knew that dawn was the most dangerous time for attack, as guards were the sleepiest and least alert and anyone contemplating a serious assault would wait for just before sunrise. Chances were near-certain if Tom had morning watch, should trouble come he’d be sound asleep when he died.
Tom said, ‘Had a stone like that one Duncan’s got, once.’
Roo said nothing. His father rarely talked to him, a habit that had developed in childhood. Rupert had traveled with his father many times as a boy, learning the teamster’s trade, but on the longest of those journeys, from Ravens-burg to Salador and back, he’d rarely had more than ten words for the boy. When at home, Tom drank to excess, and when working, remained sober but stoic.
‘I got it for your mother,’ said Tom quietly.
Roo was riveted. If Tom was a quiet man when sober, he was always silent about Roo’s mother, sober or drunk. Roo knew what he did about his mother from others in the village, for she had died in childbirth.
‘She was a tiny thing,’ said Tom. Roo knew his diminutive status was a legacy from his mother. Erik’s mother had mentioned that more than once. ‘But strong,’ said Tom.
Roo found that surprising. ‘She had a tough grit to her,’ continued Tom, his eyes shining in the firelight. ‘You look like her, you know.’ He held his right arm across his chest, clutching his left arm, which he massaged absently. He peered into the fire as if seeking something in the dancing flame.
Roo nodded, afraid to speak. Since he had struck his father, knocking him to the ground, the old man had treated him with a deference Roo had never experienced before. Tom sighed. ‘She wanted you, boy. The healing priest told her it would be chancy, with her being so tiny.’ He wiped his right hand over his face, then looked at his own hands, large, oft scarred, and calloused. ‘I was afraid to touch her, you know, with her being so small and me having no gentleness in me. I was afraid I’d break her. But she was tougher than she looked.’
Roo swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to speak. He finally whispered, ‘You never speak of her.’
Tom nodded. ‘I had so little joy in this life, boy. And she was every bit of it. I met her at a festival, and she looked like this shy bird of a thing, standing on the edge of the crowd at the feast of Midsummer. I had just come up from Salador, driving a wagon for my uncle, Duncan’s grandfather. I was half-drunk and full of myself, and then she was right there before me, bold as bright brass, and she says, “Dance with me."’ He sighed. ‘And I did.’
He was silent awhile. He hugged himself, and his breath seemed labored, and he had to swallow hard to speak. ‘She had that same look you do, not fetching with her thin face and uneven teeth, until she smiled – then she lit up and was beautiful. I got her that stone I was speaking of for our wedding. Had it set in a ring for her.’
‘Like a noble,’ said Roo, forcing his voice to a lighter tone.
‘Like the Queen herself,’ Tom answered with a shallow laugh. He swallowed hard. ‘She said I was mad and should sell it for a new wagon, but I insisted she keep it.’
‘You never told me,’ said Roo softly.
Tom shrugged and was silent. He took a deep breath, then said, ‘You’re a man now. Showed me that when I woke to find you standing over me at Gaston’s. Never thought you’d amount to much, but you’re a shrewd one, and if you can beat the King’s own hangman, and learn to handle yourself so I can’t bully you, why, I figure you’ll turn out all right down the road.’ Tom smiled slightly and said, ‘You’re like her that way; you’re tougher than you look.’
Roo sat in silence a minute, not knowing what to say, then after a bit he said, ‘Why don’t you turn in, Father. I have some thinking to do.’
Tom nodded. ‘I think I will. Got a pain in my neck.’ He moved his left shoulder as if to loosen tight muscles. ‘Must have really twisted it hitting the ground when those lads started shooting arrows at us. Hurts from my wrist to my jaw.’ He wiped perspiration from his brow. ‘Broke a bit of sweat, too.’ He sucked in a large breath and blew it out, as if just standing had been exertion. ‘Getting too old for this. When you get rich, you remember your old father, hear me, Roo?’
Roo started to smile and say something when his father’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward, facedown into the fire. Roo yelled, ‘Duncan!’ and with a single move yanked his father out of the flames.
Duncan was over in an instant and saw the waxy pallor of Tom’s face, the white eyes, and smoldering burns on his cheek and neck. He knelt next to Roo, then said, ‘He’s dead.’
Roo remained motionless as he silently regarded the man who had been his father, and who had died still a stranger to him.
• Chapter Four • Setback
Roo signaled.
Duncan reined in the second wagon, coming to a halt behind the first. Roo turned, stood, and shouted, ‘Krondor!’
They had been traveling this way since burying Tom, in a grave Roo had dug with his bare hands, covering him with stones to keep scavengers away. Duncan had become a fair driver. He had remembered a few things taught to him by Tom when he was a boy, and Roo had increased his skill until he no longer had to spend every minute worrying about the second wagon and its cargo.
Roo was still troubled by his father’s death. He couldn’t escape the feeling that he had glimpsed something in his father when he had been speaking about Roo’s mother. Roo knew there was a great deal about his own history he didn’t understand. His father had always been an aloof man when sober and abusive when drunk, and in part Roo now understood why: each time Tom looked at his son he saw a reminder of the wife he had loved beyond measure, taken from him at Roo’s birth.
But there had been more, and Roo now had dozens of questions, none of which his father would ever answer. He vowed to return to Ravensburg and try to find those few people in the town Tom might have called friend, to ask them those questions. Perhaps he might travel to Salador to visit with Duncan’s branch of the family. But he wanted answers. Suddenly Roo had been made aware that he really didn’t know who he was. Pushing aside that thought, he insisted to himself it wasn’t as important who one is as who one becomes, and he was determined to become a rich, respected man.
Duncan tied off the reins and jumped down from his wagon, walking to where Roo stood. Roo had come to like his cousin, though there was still the rogue in his manner, and Duncan didn’t bring out any strong sense of trust, the way Roo trusted Erik or the other men he had served with under Calis. But he liked the man and thought he might be useful, for he had enough experience with nobility to tutor Rob in manners and fashion.
Duncan climbed up on the first wagon and looked at the distant city. ‘We’re going in tonight?’ he asked.
Roo glanced at the setting sun and said, ‘I don’t think so. I’d have to find a stable yard to house this wine until we could move out in the morning. We’re still more than an hour from the gate now. Let’s make a camp and we’ll head in at first light, try to sell some of this before the inns get too busy.’
They made camp and ate a cold meal before a small fire, while the horses, tied in a long picket, grazed along the roadside. Roo had given them the last of the grain and they were making satisfied noises. ‘What are you going to do with the wagons?’ asked Duncan.
‘Sell them, I think.’ Roo wasn’t sure if he wanted to depend on other shippers, but he didn’t think his time was best spent actually driving the wagons back and forth between Ravensburg and Krondor. ‘Or maybe hire a driver and send you back for another load after we sell off this lot.’
Duncan shrugged. ‘Not much by way of excitement, unless you count those two hapless boy bandits.’
Roo said, ‘One of those “boy bandits” almost put an arrow through my head’ – he tapped the side of his skull – ‘if you remember.’
‘There is that.’ Duncan sighed. ‘I mean by way of women and drink.’
‘We’ll have some of that tomorrow night.’ Roo glanced around. ‘Turn in – I’ll take the first watch.’
Duncan yawned. ‘I won’t argue.’
Roo sat by the fire as his cousin grabbed a blanket and crawled under one of the wagons to protect himself from the dew that would form during the night. This close to the ocean it wasn’t a possibility, it was a certainty, and waking up wet wasn’t either man’s idea of a pleasant way to start the day.
Roo considered what he would do first in the morning, and made up several speeches, rehearsing each and discarding this phrase or that as he tried to determine which sales pitch would work best. He had never been a focused thinker in his youth, but so much was riding on his doing well that he became lost in his thinking, and didn’t realize how much time had passed until he noticed the fire burning down. He considered waking Duncan, but decided instead to reconsider some of his sales pitch, and just stuck some more wood in the fire.