Читать книгу Shadow of a Dark Queen - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 13

Erik fell.

Roo turned and helped his friend back to his feet. In the distance, the baying of hounds could be heard, accompanied by the clatter of horses.

The boys had been running on and off since leaving the orchard the night before, with no more than a few minutes’ rest at any one time. Erik’s wound refused to stop bleeding, though the flow was slight. Still, it throbbed and burned with heat and he felt himself grow weaker by the hour as they worked their way down out of the low mountains of Darkmoor.

The area west of Darkmoor and north of the King’s Highway was still fairly underpopulated. Rocky terrain with little to recommend itself to farmers, much of the land had been timbered out but left unplowed. Thick stands of trees gave way to a sea of stumps, only to be replaced by unexpected rocky ridges. This region was rich with gullies, ravines, dead-end canyons, and low, flat meadows. Despite their having run down any number of streams, the sound of the dogs had been carrying on the wind for hours. And as Erik weakened, the sound was getting closer.

As the morning sun crested the peaks behind them, Erik said, ‘Where are we?’

Roo said, ‘I’m not sure. When we left the old wagon trail, I think we turned around a bit. The sun’s in the right place, so we’re still heading west.’

Erik looked around, perspiration streaming off his forehead. He wiped it away and said, ‘We’d better keep going.’

Roo nodded, but after three or four fumbling footsteps, Erik collapsed. Roo tried to help his friend up. ‘Why’d you have to be so damn big?’

Erik gasped for air and said, ‘Go on without me.’

Roo felt the hair rise upon his neck and felt panic slash through his stomach. Finding strength he didn’t know he had, he forced Erik to his feet. ‘And have to explain to your mother how I lost you? I don’t think so.’

Roo silently prayed that Erik could hold on long enough for them to find shelter and hide from the dogs. Roo was terrified. One of the heartiest lads in Ravensburg, Erik had stamina almost as legendary as his strength among the boys he grew up with. His ability to work from dawn to dusk since the age of ten, his ability to carry iron ingots to the forge, his ability to withstand the constant weight of draft horses leaning on him while being shod – all had given Erik an almost superhuman stature among the townspeople. His weakness was as alien to Roo as it was to Erik himself. Roo found it far more frightening than anything else that confronted them. With Erik at his side, he felt he had a fighting chance to survive. Without Erik, he was helpless.

Roo sniffed the air. ‘Do you smell something?’

Erik said, ‘Only the stink of my own sweat.’

‘Over there.’ Roo motioned with his chin.

Erik put his hand against his friend’s shoulder and rested a moment as he sniffed the air. ‘Charcoal.’

‘That’s it!’

‘There must be a charcoal burner’s hut upwind.’

‘It might mask our scent,’ said Roo. ‘I know we can’t go much farther. You’ve got to rest, get your strength back.’

Erik only nodded, and Roo assisted him as they moved toward the source of the smoke. Through light woods they stumbled as the sound of the dogs grew louder by the minute. Erik and Roo were not woodsmen, but as boys they had played in the woodlands near Ravensburg enough to know those searching for them were less than a couple of miles behind and coming fast.

The woods thickened and grew more difficult to navigate, darker shadows confusing their sense of direction, but the smell of burning wood grew stronger. By the time they reached the hut, their eyes stung from it.

An old woman, ugly beyond belief, stood tending a charcoal kiln, feeding small cuts of wood into it, banking flames as she ensured the wood burned down properly; too hot, and she’d have ashes.

Seeing the two young men suddenly appear out of the gloom, she shrieked and almost dove inside the rude hut beside which her kiln rested. The shrieking continued and Roo said, ‘She’ll bring them down on us if this keeps up.’

Erik tried to raise his voice over her shouting. ‘We mean you no harm.’

The shrieking continued, and Roo added his protestation of no evil intent to Erik’s. The woman continued to shriek. Finally Erik said, ‘We had best leave.’

‘We can’t,’ answered Roo. ‘You’re on your last legs now.’ He said nothing about the wound, which continued to weep blood, despite the rags pressed against it.

Stumbling down a small incline to the charcoal burner’s hut, they confronted a simple piece of hide that served as a door.

Erik leaned his weight against the mud-covered wall and pulled aside the leather door. The woman huddled back against the bale of rags that served as her bedding, shrieking all the more.

Erik finally shouted, ‘Woman! We mean you no harm!’

Instantly the shouting ceased. ‘Well,’ she answered. her voice as raspy as a wire brush on metal, ‘why didn’t you say something?’

Erik almost laughed, he felt so light-headed and giddy. Roo said, ‘We were trying to, but you kept screaming.’

Getting up off the rags, showing a surprising nimbleness for her age and weight – easily as much as Erik’s and he stood a good foot and a half taller than she – the woman stepped out of the hut.

Roo reflexively stepped back. She was the ugliest human being he had ever encountered, if indeed she was human. From her appearance, she could possibly be one of those trolls he had heard about that haunted the woodlands of the Far Coast. Her nose was a lumpy red protrusion, resembling a large tuber, with one big wart on the tip of it, from which several long hairs grew. Her eyes could only be called piggish, and they wept from some sort of inflammation. Her teeth were blackened stumps with green edges, and her breath was as foul as anything Roo had remembered smelling that wasn’t dead. Her skin looked like dried leather, and he shuddered to consider what her body under that assortment of filthy rags might resemble.

Then she smiled and the effect was heightened. ‘Come to pay old Gert a visit, have you?’ She tried to be girlish as she combed her fingers through grey hair tangled with straw and dirt, and had the boys not been so tired and frightened, they would have laughed. ‘Well, my man is gone to the city, so maybe –’

‘My friend is hurt,’ interrupted Roo.

Suddenly the old woman’s manner changed again as she caught the sound of the dogs on the wind. ‘King’s men are hunting you?’

Roo thought about lying, but Erik said, ‘Yes.’

Roo said, ‘Baron’s men, really.’

‘Same thing. Soldiers.’ She spat the last word. ‘Well, you’d better hide.’ She motioned for them to enter the tiny hut. ‘They won’t find you in there.’

Roo helped Erik into the hut and gagged at the stench. Erik’s eyes watered and he gasped, ‘I thought Tyndal’s room was bad.’

Roo said, ‘Try breathing through your mouth.’

Gert knelt down next to Erik and said, ‘Let me look at that,’ motioning to his bloodstained shoulder.

Erik pulled aside his tunic and the rags. The rags pulled the skin where blood had dried and he gasped in pain. Gert probed at the wound with a filthy finger and said, ‘Sword wound. Seen a hundred of them. Swollen around it. Got the hot sickness in it. Going to kill you, boy, if we don’t clean it out. You got a strong stomach?’ she asked Roo.

He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I’m here and haven’t thrown up yet, haven’t I?’

‘Ha!’ She almost cackled as she laughed. ‘There’s more to you than meets the eye, Roo Avery.’ She rose up as high as the low floor permitted and said, ‘I have just the thing to put you right. Be back in a jiffy.’

Roo lay back, glad to be resting despite the stench of the hut. He glanced around; enough gaps in the wall permitted light to enter, and he saw what looked to be a water jar with a long neck. He moved the clay vessel and heard a promising sound of liquid. Pulling the cork, he sniffed and got no odor. He sipped and was rewarded with fresh water. Drinking a huge mouthful, he suddenly realized he was ignoring his sick friend.

He put the neck of the jar to Erik’s lips and he drank several mouthfuls, then sank back into the pile of rags. A fly began to buzz around Roo’s head and he absently swatted at it.

Erik drifted off into a difficult slumber, his fatigue overwhelming his fear. His breathing came heavily, and perspiration continued to pour off his brow.

Roo tried to relax, wondering if they could trust this strange old woman but knowing that further flight was next to hopeless. Then suddenly there was the sound of barking nearby, and Gert’s shriek cut the air.

Erik came awake with a start at the sound. ‘What …?’ he began, but Roo grabbed his arm.

Dogs could be heard barking nearby and Gert shouted, ‘Shoo! Away with you!’

Then horses approached and the boys heard Gert shout, ‘Get these miserable curs away! They’ll be bitin’ old Gert in a minute.’

A commanding voice said, ‘Have you seen two men, one large and blond, the other short and dark?’

‘And if I did, what’s it to you?’

‘They’re wanted for murder.’

‘Murder, is it?’ There was a long pause, punctuated by the sounds of the dogs sniffing the area and the occasional odd yelp of inquiry. ‘What’s the reward?’

Erik felt Roo’s hand tighten on his arm at that, and the answer was, ‘The Baron’s offered one hundred golden sovereigns for their arrest.’

‘That’s a tidy bit, isn’t it?’ said Gert. ‘Well, I haven’t seen them, but if I do, I’ll want the gold.’

‘Check inside the hut,’ ordered the leader.

‘Here, now!’ Gert began to protest.

‘Stand aside, old woman.’

Erik backed away, trying as hard as he could to push himself backward through the dirt wall, while Roo drew the ragged, filthy blanket up below his chin.

The leather door was swept aside, and the light was almost blinding after the darkness. ‘What a stench!’ said the soldier, drawing back.

‘Go on,’ commanded the leader of the troop.

The soldier stuck his head back inside and blinked against the darkness, then looked directly at Roo and Erik. He looked to one side and then the other, and at last pulled his head back out. ‘Nothing in there but filthy rags and some pots, Captain.’

Roo and Erik exchanged glances of wonder in the gloom. What magic was this?

‘What’s the matter with the dogs?’ asked the captain.

The man who must have been the Houndmaster said, ‘They seem to have lost the scent. The charcoal must be confusing them.’

‘Then let us go back to the last place you know they had it, and begin again. Lord Manfred will have our ears if those murderers escape.’

The dogs began to bark as the Houndmaster blew his whistle, commanding them to follow. The horses rode away, and Roo let out his breath, held since the soldier stuck his face into the hut.

‘What caused that?’ asked Roo.

Erik said, ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was too dark to see.’

‘No, it was a spell. This Gert is a witch of some sort.’

Erik said, ‘The captain said “Lord Manfred.” My father is dead.’

Roo didn’t know what to say. He glanced at his friend; in the gloom he saw that Erik had leaned back and closed his eyes.

After a few moments, the leather door was pulled back. Instead of Gert, a young woman appeared before them, tall enough to have to lean forward to enter. Her hair was dark, black in the gloom of the hut, and her features were masked, as she was silhouetted against the daylight.

‘What …?’ began Roo.

‘Say nothing,’ she replied, then turned to Erik. ‘Let me examine that wound.’

Something in her manner caused Roo to feel uncertain. Her clothing was nondescript, at least what he could see of it: a simple dress of some middling color, perhaps grey, perhaps green or blue; it was difficult to tell in the dark hut. Her features were partially visible now that the door was again shut. She had a high forehead and a regal nose, fine features that would have looked pretty had they not been set in an expression of concentration.

She pulled back Erik’s tunic and glanced at the wound. ‘This will have to come off. Help me,’ she ordered Roo.

He helped Erik stay upright as the woman gathered up the bottom of the tunic and pulled it up and over Erik’s head, causing him no little pain. He lay back, perspiration running off his body, panting as if he had exerted himself in hard work for hours. She touched the wound and he grunted in pain, teeth clenching.

‘You’re a fool, Erik von Darkmoor. Two, three more days, and you’d be dead from blood poison.’

Roo got a good look at the woman and thought she was beautiful, but something very offputting in her manner made him view it as a distant, unobtainable sort of beauty.

‘Where’s Gert?’ asked Roo softly.

‘Off on some business for me,’ came the answer.

‘Who are you?’

‘I told you to say nothing, Roo Avery. You need to learn there are times to speak and times to listen, and which time is which. When you have need to speak, you may call me Miranda.’

She set about tending Erik’s wound. From somewhere in the cluttered hut she produced a bag from which she fetched a small vial. Opening it, she poured the contents over the wound, and Erik gasped at the pain. Then he relaxed. She next pulled the cork from a flask of liquid and said, ‘Drink this.’

Erik obeyed and made a face. ‘It’s bitter.’

‘Not as bitter as untimely death,’ said Miranda.

She quickly finished tending Erik’s wound, placing a poultice over it and then bandaging it. By the time she was finished, Erik was asleep. Without another word she rose and left the hut.

Roo watched Erik sleep for a minute, then got to his feet and peeked outside. There was no sign of another person and he left the hut.

Looking around, he saw only the charcoal kiln smoldering and a pile of dog droppings from when the pack had been nearby, but otherwise the area was deserted.

‘Hello there, love!’ came a cheerful voice behind him, and Roo jumped. He turned to find Gert approaching with a pile of wood in her arms.

‘Where is she?’ asked Roo.

‘Where is who?’

‘Miranda.’

Gert stopped and made a face. ‘Miranda? Can’t say as I know any Miranda. When the soldiers left, I went to get more wood to burn, and haven’t seen any Miranda.’

‘A young woman, about this tall’ – he held his hand up a bit higher than his own head – ‘with dark hair, very pretty, came into the hut and tended Erik’s wound.’

‘Pretty, you say?’ Gert scratched her chin. ‘I think you must have been dreaming, boy.’

Roo took a step toward the hut, drew aside the hide door, and said, ‘Did I dream that?’ He pointed to the fresh bandage on Erik’s shoulder.

Gert stared at it. ‘That’s a puzzler, now, isn’t it, dearie?’ She stood there a minute. ‘All manner of queer folk in the woods, though. Perhaps she was one of those elf creatures you hear of, or a ghost.’

Roo said, ‘She was the most flesh-and-blood ghost you’ll ever see. And she looked nothing like any elf I’ve heard of.’

He looked at Gert and saw her smiling; then her expression turned somber. ‘Well, some mysteries are best left alone. I’ve got wood to burn, so get back in there and take a rest. I have something to eat around here somewhere.’

Roo felt fatigue wash over him. ‘Rest is good,’ he muttered, suddenly tired beyond belief. The thought of sharing a meal with Gert did nothing for his sense of well-being, but sleep was welcome. Reentering the hut, he was surprised he didn’t notice the stench this time. Must have gotten used to it, he thought.

Quickly he felt a heavy lethargy sweep over him. Odd sounds intruded, but he found them difficult to identify. He lapsed into a deep sleep, ignoring the very busy sounds of preparation from outside.

A chattering from above caused Roo to sit upright, brushing leaves from his face. He looked around, then up, and saw the author of the scolding racket, a red squirrel defiantly challenging their right to be camped under his tree. Before Roo could clearly focus on the creature, it vanished around the bole.

Then he realized he was outside. He turned and saw Erik sleeping soundly, under a clean blanket, his chest rising and falling evenly, his color good. Roo looked down and saw he was likewise bundled against the night’s chill in another heavy blanket, and he felt behind him, to where his head had rested.

Like Erik’s, his head had rested on a travel bundle. His own was missing. He opened the new one, fearing he had been robbed. Inside, he discovered a clean tunic and trousers, a fresh pair of underdrawers and stockings, and at the bottom he found his money pouch. He quickly counted and was pleased to find his twenty-seven golden sovereigns and sixteen silver royals all there.

Roo stood, and found himself remarkably rested. Of the charcoal burner’s hut there was no sign, not even ashes from the kiln. Roo felt he should have been alarmed by this, but he found himself amused and close to happy.

He knelt beside Erik and tried to examine the bandage. It was still clean and, if anything, looked as if someone had just changed it. He gently reached out and touched his friend on the arm. ‘Erik,’ he said.

Erik came awake, blinking for a moment, then sat up. ‘What?’

‘I wanted to see how you felt.’

Erik looked around. ‘Where are we? Last thing I remember …’

‘A hut and an old woman?’

Erik nodded. ‘And someone else, too. But I can’t recall who.’

‘Miranda,’ said Roo. ‘She said that was her name, but old Gert said she knew nothing of her.’

Roo stood and extended his hand to Erik. Erik took it and let his friend pull him to his feet. Expecting to be the worse for wear, Erik discovered he felt fairly fit.

‘How’s the shoulder?’

‘Stiff,’ he answered as he moved it experimentally. ‘But better than I thought it would be.’

Roo looked around. ‘There’s no hut, no kiln, no Gert, no nothing.’

Erik said, ‘And what are these?’ He pointed to the two blankets and bundles on the ground.

‘Someone was taking great pains to see we don’t freeze in the night, and they’ve given us clean clothing.’

Erik suddenly looked at the clothing he was wearing, and then pulled away his tunic and sniffed. ‘I should smell like a horse after a day in the field, but I don’t. And this shirt feels clean.’

Roo examined his own clothing. ‘You don’t suppose old Gert gave us a bath?’ He found fear rising up rather than humor.

Erik shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ Then he glanced around. ‘It’s about nine of the clock from the angle of the sun, so this day is a quarter over. We’d better get moving again; I don’t know why the soldiers didn’t find us in the hut, but they’ll come back and check again, I’m certain.’

‘Check your bundle,’ said Roo. ‘See what’s in it.’

Erik did as he was bidden and found his was packed much the same as Roo’s: fresh shirt and trousers, underdrawers, and stockings. Also there was a small loaf of hard bread, and a note.

He unrolled the tiny parchment and read aloud: ‘You lads are safe for the time being. Make straight for Krondor and Barret’s Coffee Shop, Erik. You are now in our debt, Gert’s and mine. Miranda.’

Roo shook his head. ‘Running from the King’s justice and now we’re in debt to a pair of witches.’

‘Witches?’

‘What else do you think?’ said Roo, looking as if a demon were about to leap up from the earth and snatch him to hell. He glanced around, the color gone from his face. ‘Look at that! That’s the same low ridge we had to come down to reach the hut! There was a hut, and a kiln – now there’s no sign that anyone has ever been here.’ He walked over to where the kiln had been. ‘There’s no soot, no ashes. Even if you moved the bloody damn thing, you couldn’t clean up this much.’ He got down on one knee. ‘There’s got to be something!’ His voice was growing loud, as if he was becoming angry at discovering the hut and kiln missing. ‘Damn it, Erik! Someone stripped us, bathed us, cleaned our clothing, and dressed us again, and we never woke up. What else could it be but magic!’ He rose and went over to Erik. He put his hands on his friend’s arms, and said, ‘We’re trapped by a debt to two evil black witches.’ His voice continued to get louder, and Erik realized anger was quickly turning into hysteria.

‘Easy,’ said Erik as he placed his hands on Roo’s shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. Moving to where the kiln had been, he looked quickly around. ‘There’s nothing left to show we were ever here, that’s for certain.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Gert was no beauty, but I don’t remember anything about her that smacked of evil, Roo.’

‘No one that ugly could be good, believe me,’ said Roo, his tone showing he was obviously not reassured by Erik’s judgment.

Erik smiled. ‘It’s a mystery and it makes my flesh crawl, too, but we were not harmed and I seen no way anyone, witch or not, could force us to serve without our consent. I know little of this, but the priests claim you can only enter the service of dark powers willingly. I’ll not be obliged for a favor unasked for, should the price be a black deed.’

‘Fine, you can sound like a litigation solicitor all you wish while demons are carrying you off to the Seven Lower Hells, but I’m making straight for a temple when we reach Krondor and asking for protection!’

Erik shook Roo gently by the arm. ‘Take a breath and let’s be off. If you’re right, and we need protection, we still must reach Krondor first. They may think it likely we’re striking for the Vale of Dreams, but that patrol last night means they’re looking everywhere.’

Roo bent down to pick up the bundle and blanket, and as he folded the blanket, he noticed something. ‘Erik?’

‘Yes, Roo.’

‘See that dog dung over there?’

Erik looked over, partly amused, and said, ‘What about it?’

‘I noticed that last night when I went out to talk to Gert, but look at it now.’

Erik knelt and saw the dried droppings. ‘These are days old.’ He started searching around and found a place where one of the horses had also relieved himself not too far away. ‘Three or four days, from the look of it,’ he said after causing the horse dung to fall apart with a touch of his boot toe.

‘We slept three or four days?’

‘From the look of it,’ Erik repeated.

‘Can we leave now?’

Erik smiled, but there was no humor in it. He picked up his blanket, folded it, and tucked it inside the bundle. Then he swung it over his shoulder, saying, ‘I think we’d best do so.’

Roo gathered together his new bundle, shoved the blanket inside in a haphazard fashion, and swung it over his back. Without another word, the two lads headed west.

Erik held up his hand. They had been traveling for three days, moving steadily westward through the woodland north of the King’s Highway. They avoided the occasional farm they encountered and lived off wild berries and the bread they had found in their bundles. Hard and chewy, it nevertheless provided surprising nourishment and kept them going. Erik’s shoulder was healing rapidly, far sooner than either young man thought possible.

They spoke little, fearing discovery, and fearing also to delve into the mystery of the charcoal burner’s hut. It had been the second day after leaving that they realized that both Gert and Miranda had known their names without either young man’s having mentioned them.

Toward sundown, a distant voice cried out, a wordless sound of pain. Erik and Roo exchanged glances and moved away from the narrow path they had followed.

Whispering, Roo said, ‘What’s that?’

‘Someone’s hurt,’ said Erik, his voice as low as his friend’s.

‘What should we do?’

‘Avoid trouble,’ answered Erik. ‘That may be miles away. Sound carries funny out here.’ Neither of them had been too far from their hometown as boys, so there was always some background sound of civilization, no matter how faintly heard: a voice calling across the vineyards, the sound of a wagon caravan moving down the distant King’s Highway, a woman singing while she washed clothing in a stream.

These woodlands were hardly wild, having been heavily forested over the years for lumber, but they were infrequently traveled and were therefore dangerous. Other lawbreakers besides Erik and Roo were likely to be hiding in the forest.

Erik and Roo moved along at a slow pace, reluctant to rush into danger. Near sunset they found a man lying on his back below a tree, a crossbow bolt in his chest. His eyes were rolled back into his head and his skin was cold.

Roo said, ‘It’s funny.’

‘What’s funny?’

He looked at Erik. ‘We killed Stefan, but I never got a good look at him. This is the first dead man I’ve had a chance to look at.’

‘Tyndal was the first for me,’ said Erik. ‘Who do you think this is?’

‘Was, you mean,’ said Roo. ‘Soldier of some sort.’ He indicated the sword held in loose fingers, and the small round shield still on the left arm. A simple conical helm with a bar-nasal lay a short distance away, having rolled off his head when the man fell.

Roo said, ‘There might be something useful here.’

‘Stripping the dead is not to my liking,’ answered Erik.

Roo knelt next to the man and investigated the contents of a small pouch. ‘He won’t mind, and we can certainly use that sword.’

In the pouch he found six copper coins and a ring of gold. ‘This will be worth a bit,’ he said.

‘Looks like a wedding band,’ observed Erik. The dead man was young, only a few years older than himself. ‘I wonder if it was intended for his sweetheart. Perhaps he was going to ask her to wed.’

Roo pocketed the ring. ‘We’ll never know. One thing for certain, he’s never going to get the chance to ask.’ Roo took the sword and handed it hilt first to Erik.

‘Why me?’

‘Because I have my knife and I’ve never used a sword in my life.’

‘Neither have I,’ protested Erik.

‘Well, if you need to, just swing it like your hammer and hope you hit someone. You’re strong enough, you should be able to do a lot of damage if you connect.’

Erik picked up the sword, then pulled the shield off the man’s arm and put it experimentally on his own. It felt alien, but he felt better for having it there.

Roo put the helm on his own head, and when Erik looked at him with a questioning expression, he said, ‘You’ve got the shield.’

Erik nodded, as if this made sense, and the two set off, leaving the nameless man to the scavengers of the forest. The idea of burial was ignored, as they had no shovel and were concerned that whoever killed the man might still be around.

A short time later they heard movement in the brush ahead. Erik signaled Roo for silence, then motioned that they should circle off to the right. Roo nodded and began walking with a tiptoed exaggeration that would have been comic if Erik hadn’t been as badly frightened as his friend.

They almost walked past the man, but he shifted his weight and they heard the brush he hid in rustle. Then a dull thud sounded as a crossbow bolt sped through the air and struck a tree nearby.

From a short distance away, a fearful voice shouted with false bravado, ‘I have enough bolts to fell an army, you bastard! You had better leave me alone, or I’ll do to you what I did to your friend.’

Then, from what seemed almost within touching distance, a voice shouted, ‘Leave your wagon and run, old man. I’ll not bother you, but I mean to have your cargo. You can’t stay awake forever, and if I set eyes on you again, I’ll cut your throat for what you did to Jamie.’

Erik could hardly act, he was so startled by the sound of the man’s voice so close. Roo looked at his friend, eyes wide in fright, and motioned that they should move away. Erik was about to nod agreement when a voice shouted, ‘Hey!’

Suddenly a man with a sword and shield stood up, less than six feet ahead of them. He saw Erik and Roo and leaped toward them, brandishing his sword as another bolt flew through the air, missing all three of them. Erik reacted. He blindly thrust with the sword, not intending to do more than push the fighter away. The man tried to parry, but he was expecting a feint, not a blind thrust, and Erik’s sword slipped along the man’s blade and the point took him in the stomach.

Both Erik and the man stared at each other with astonishment on their faces, then with what sounded like a faint ‘Damn’ the man collapsed at Erik’s feet.

Erik was rooted in shock, but Roo leaped away and for his trouble was almost impaled by another bolt. ‘Hey!’ he yelped.

‘Who is that?’ asked a voice from beyond the brush.

Erik hazarded a look through the brush beyond the man he had just killed and saw a wagon sitting in a small clearing. Two horses stood in traces beyond it, and behind it a crouching figure waited.

‘We’re not bandits!’ cried Roo. ‘We just killed the man you were shooting at.’

‘I’ll shoot you, too, if you come closer,’ cried the man behind the wagon.

‘We won’t come closer,’ shouted Erik, a note of desperation in his voice. ‘We just blundered into this mess and we don’t want any trouble.’

‘Who are you?’

Roo pulled on Erik’s sleeve. ‘We’re on our way to Krondor, looking for work. Who are you?’

‘Who I am is no one’s business but my own.’

Roo got a familiar look, one Erik knew meant Roo was planning something that usually got both of them in trouble. ‘Look, if you’re a merchant traveling alone, you’re an idiot,’ shouted Roo. He spoke now in a voice forced to ease. He looked green at the sight of the dead man. ‘If you’re out here, you must be a smuggler.’

‘I am no damn smuggler! I’m an honest trader!’

‘Who’s avoiding paying toll on the King’s Highway,’ replied Roo.

‘There’s no law against that,’ came the answer.

Roo grinned at Erik. ‘True, but it’s certainly a hard way to save some copper. Look, if we come out slowly, will you promise not to shoot?’

There was silence, then: ‘Come ahead. But I’ve got a bolt pointed at you.’

Roo and Erik moved slowly out of the woods into the clearing, hands held where they could be seen. Erik held the sword point down, because he had no scabbard in which to sheathe it, and he had the shield back on his arm so the man could see he was not hiding a weapon in the other hand.

‘You’re a couple of boys!’ said the man. He stepped out from behind the wagon, holding an old but obviously useful crossbow leveled at them. The man was gaunt and looked older than his years. Long dark hair fell to his shoulders, from beneath a felt cap with a tarnished badge on it. His clothing was old, and oft-mended, and he obviously cared nothing for fashion; his tunic was green, his leggings red, his boots brown, and his belt black. He wore a yellow scarf, and nothing about him was remotely appealing. His beard was grey, and his eyes were black.

Roo said, ‘Master merchant, you chose a brave course, but it almost proved your undoing.’

‘Likely you’re bandits like those other two,’ he answered, making a threatening gesture with the crossbow. ‘I should put a bolt through you just to be safe.’

Erik was out of patience with this talk and queasy from the bloodshed. ‘Well, shoot one of us, damn it! And the other will cut you in two!’

The man almost jumped back, but seeing Erik plant his sword point first in the dirt, he lowered his crossbow slightly. Roo said, ‘You’ve no driver?’

‘Drive myself,’ said the merchant.

‘You really keep your overhead down,’ observed Roo.

‘What do you know about overhead?’ asked the man.

‘I know a thing or two about business,’ said Roo in the insouciant tone Erik knew well: it meant Roo had almost no idea what he was talking about.

‘Who are you?’ repeated the man.

‘I am Rupert,’ answered Roo, ‘and my big friend’s name is –’

‘Karl,’ interrupted Erik, not wishing his identity known. Roo winced, as if he should have thought of that himself.

‘Rupert? Karl? Sounds Advarian to me.’

‘We’re from Darkmoor,’ said Roo, then winced again. ‘Lots of Advarian stock in Darkmoor. Rupert and Karl are common enough names.’

‘I’m Advarian,’ said the man, putting away his crossbow. ‘Helmut Grindle, merchant.’

‘Are you going west?’ asked Erik.

‘No,’ snapped Helmut. ‘I’ve just got the horses facing west for my amusement. They’re trained to walk backwards.’

Erik flushed. ‘Look, we’re bound for Krondor if you don’t mind company.’

‘I do mind,’ snapped the merchant. ‘I was doing fine until those two murderers tried to boost my cargo, and I would have killed the second one – I was just about to let fly into that brush when you killed him for me.’

Erik said, ‘I’m sure. Look, we’re going to Krondor, and it would profit us all if we stayed together.’

‘I don’t need guards and I won’t pay for mercenaries.’

Erik said, ‘Oh, wait. I don’t mean you need to pay us –’

Roo leaped in. ‘We’ll share guard duty with you for food. Besides, I can drive your team.’

‘You’re a teamster?’

‘I can drive up to six horses without a problem,’ Roo lied. His father had taught him to handle four.

Helmut thought about it. ‘Very well. I’ll feed you, but you’re standing night watch, and I sleep with my crossbow.’

Erik laughed. ‘No need to fear, Master Merchant. We may be murderers, but we’re not thieves.’ His bitter irony was lost on the man, who, grumbling, motioned for them to approach the wagon.

‘We’ve still got the better part of an hour’s light left, so there’s no sense in dawdling. Let’s get moving.’

Roo said, ‘Get started and I’ll catch up. That second man had another sword.’

‘See if he has any gold!’ shouted Helmut after him. Bending over, he said to Erik, ‘He’ll probably lie to us both if he finds any. It’s what I would do.’ Not waiting for a reply, he clambered up on the seat of the wagon and shouted at the horses as he shook the reins. Erik watched as the overworked and underfed animals pulled into the traces, and the wagon lurched forward.