The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  The boy looked up at him, nodded, and then looked back at Ulgani. Blood was soaking through the blanket.

  ‘I can run,’ Osami whispered. He started to reach for his trousers, but they had been cut away and laid by his side, shredded and blood-soaked.

  Panicked the boy looked around.

  Someone tossed the boy a pair of trousers, tanned leather, most likely from a dead moredhel. It was the Kingdom priest.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on him,’ Brother Corwin said.

  ‘Stay out of this, dark robe.’

  ‘No. I put a lot of effort into that boy. He’ll keep up, same as that other boy,’ and the priest nodded to the Kingdom soldier with the broken leg. Grimacing, the boy was on his feet, supporting himself with a makeshift crutch.

  ‘If it comes to running they’re both dead.’

  Dennis had come up to join the debate and was looking over coldly at Corwin.

  Corwin grinned. ‘We’ll see when it comes time to run, won’t we? For now, let them be my concern.’

  ‘Be it on your head then, priest, but we slow for no one.’

  Corwin waved him aside and bent over to help the Tsurani get dressed. Osami rejected the offer, even though it was obvious that he was in agony getting the trousers on.

  ‘Everyone out!’ Dennis shouted. ‘Form up by unit!’

  Asayaga, not wanting to let even the implication form that he was following Dennis shouted out his orders for his men to be outside first and ready to march.

  There was a final frenzy of activity: men cutting off steaming slices from the haunch of stag still roasting in the fire, dipping earthen mugs into the bottom of the kettle for the last of the stew, snatching blankets from bunks to use as capes; while others filled skins with water, and tucked the skins under their tunics so they wouldn’t freeze.

  Asayaga headed for the door, Sugama falling in by his side.

  ‘You know what will be said back home of this arrangement,’ Sugama whispered.

  ‘Why, what would you say of it?’ Asayaga fixed him with his gaze. Sugama backed down.

  ‘They are enemies, but we have a truce; that is sufficient for now,’ Asayaga explained patiently. ‘We are, as the Natalese Ranger puts it, only postponing our fight.’

  The bitter wind cut off his words as he stepped out into the open ground in front of the barracks. His men were rapidly falling in. The last of those coming in from guarding the flank stumbled into line, grateful when a comrade offered them a warm piece of meat, or a dry blanket to throw over their shoulders.

  He almost felt as if it was a race to see who could form up first, thus demonstrating their discipline. The last of the Kingdom troops came out of the barracks as Tasemu walked down the line and barked a command, the men snapping to attention.

  Asayaga looked over at Hartraft’s men who were standing in lines, half a dozen feet away. They did not come to attention as their captain passed. He paused with several of the men, checking their packs, slapping one of them on the shoulder, trading a comment with another that triggered a gruff laugh. Several of the men looked over at Asayaga and he wondered if they had made a joke about him.

  ‘Order of march,’ Gregory announced, stepping between the two groups.

  ‘The trail is wide enough for the next few leagues that we move in twin lines. I’ll bring up the rear, laying traps to slow them. I’d like several of the Tsurani to help.’ He looked over at Asayaga and saw Dennis had crossed to stand next to him. Asayaga’s eyebrow lifted in an unspoken question. ‘I estimate an hour, two at most before they try to storm this place. By that time we’ve got to be three miles or more away, then we’re off the trail and into the woods. You have more men, and they’re fresher if we need to run like hell to catch up. If that is acceptable to you, Force Commander,’ Gregory added, grinning.

  Asayaga was surprised by the Natalese. He had given an order but offered it as a suggestion. His diplomacy was good. Asayaga nodded and repeated the suggestion of the scout, making it an order, and detailing off four of his best runners to bring up the rear.

  Dennis looked over at Asayaga. ‘Keep your men separate from mine. No weapons drawn except bows. If we hit an ambush you break to the left of the trail, I’ll take the right. Make sure your men keep up.’

  ‘Make sure yours keep up,’ Asayaga snapped.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘All right, you bastards, let’s get out of here!’

  For a second Asayaga flared, ready to explode at the insult to his lineage, then realized that Hartraft was addressing his own men.

  Strange, these Kingdom men, he thought. The informality, the casualness of how they speak to each other, even the way they march.

  Asayaga started to move towards the head of the column. There was an explosion of curses behind him. Turning, he saw one of the Kingdom soldiers stepping out of the ranks, shouting, charging into his line of men, shoving a Patrol Leader, Fukizama, to the ground.

  Asayaga could barely understand the words the Kingdom soldier was shouting, but it sounded like ‘… you thieving bastard!’

  Fukizama rolled and came up, dagger drawn. He slashed out, slicing the man across the thigh. The Kingdom soldier, swearing, leapt back, drawing his sword.

  Blades snapped out from scabbards on both sides and the two lines began to move towards each other, ready to fight.

  Asayaga ran down the line, shouting, Dennis by his side, knocking swords up.

  Fukizama had now tossed his dagger aside, and had his sword drawn.

  ‘My name!’ Fukizama screamed. ‘My honour has been insulted!’

  He started forward but Asayaga pushed him back.

  ‘He struck me. Are we cowards, Force Commander? Are we dogs to be whipped without reply? I claim the right of honour.’

  Asayaga froze. He saw Tasemu standing behind Fukizama. The sergeant was silent. He could hear the whispers of his men.

  He turned and looked over at Hartraft who was standing in front of his men, blocking the enraged Kingdom soldier who was shouting obscenities at Fukizama.

  ‘Your man there,’ Dennis announced, pointing towards Fukizama. ‘He stole Wilhelm’s money-purse in the barracks. Wilhelm just now saw him slipping it into his pouch.’

  Asayaga looked over at Fukizama and said nothing. It would be like him to do such a thing, most of his comrades did not trust him in any game of chance. He was crafty, and was part of the group gathered around Sugama.

  He could see though that there was no chance of settling this, since Fukizama had already claimed his right to honour.

  ‘It is a duel then,’ Asayaga said, his voice cold. ‘Your man struck mine first.’ He then said the same in Tsurani.

  ‘Damn all to hell,’ Dennis snapped. ‘The Dark Brothers are breathing down our necks.’

  Asayaga turned to face Dennis. ‘It is a duel,’ he said, ‘or we fight, here and now. Which shall it be, Captain?’

  Gregory was between the two. His anger barely reined in, Dennis looked at Asayaga, then finally nodded his head in disgust. ‘You god-cursed Tsurani. You and your damnable honour.’

  Even as he spoke he stepped back.

  Asayaga nodded to Fukizama. As he did so his own men stepped back, forming half a circle.

  The two had their blades out, the Kingdom soldier a heavy bastard-sword, Fukizama a lighter one-handed weapon. Fukizama assumed the ritual stance, blade drawn back behind his left shoulder, both hands on the hilt.

  The Kingdom soldier held his sword with two hands, then charged in, bringing the blade down in a flashing arc. It was over in seconds. Fukizama jumped deftly to one side, holding his footing on the icy ground. Before the Kingdom soldier could recover Fukizama was in on him and with a single blow brought his sword down in a slashing blow, nearly severing the man’s head from his shoulders.

  The soldier collapsed, dark blood spraying out. A cheer went up from the Tsurani.

  Asayaga looked over at the other Kingdom soldiers. Blades were still out, angry mutters echoing. It
had been closer to murder than a real fight. Asayaga looked back at his own men and it was all so clear. Fukizama had picked his opponent well, gauged him, looking for someone young, tired and obviously inexperienced and had then provoked him.

  Fukizama turned to face the Kingdom troops, a taunt forming. The Kingdom troops were ready to charge.

  ‘Fukizama!’

  The triumphant soldier turned.

  ‘Drop your weapon!’ Asayaga shouted.

  Tsurani-bred discipline caused instant obedience before the man realized something dire was about to happen to him. ‘Force Commander?’

  ‘Tasemu.’

  The Strike Leader came forward, tore the pouch from the waist of the motionless man and opened it. He reached inside and pulled out a leather purse and held it up.

  ‘That’s Wilhelm’s,’ one of the Kingdom troops whispered.

  Asayaga nodded, took the purse and opened it. There were half a dozen coppers inside – trivial wealth on Midkemia, but a year’s earnings on metal-starved Kelewan. He looked at Fukizama and said, ‘You dishonour your family and clan. You know the penalty for thieves.’

  The man’s eyes widened as Tasemu motioned to two other Tsurani who seized the man. Another pulled a rope from a backpack, walked to a tree next to the trail, and threw the rope over a high branch, knocking loose the accumulated snow.

  In an instant it was done. The shaking, wide-eyed soldier was lifted and carried by four men, and the noose was placed around his neck. Another half-dozen Tsurani hauled away and Fukizama seemed to spring into the air, as if fetched heavenward by a giant’s hand. His neck snapped audibly when the Tsurani let the rope drop a couple of feet then pulled it taut again and even battle-hardened Kingdom soldiers flinched at the sound. He hung twitching for a minute while the rope was tied off.

  Asayaga threw the paltry coins on the ground.

  ‘Anyone else?’ Asayaga barked, glaring at his men.

  No one spoke.

  ‘I will tolerate neither a thief nor a disobedient man. Fukizama was both. Now form ranks.’

  He looked back at Dennis. The men behind him stood silent, not sure how to react, startled by the swiftness of Asayaga’s kill. He could see the wary looks in their eyes and the shock his actions had created.

  ‘My man was wrong. He has paid with his life and I apologize. But Hartraft, tell your men not to come near mine again,’ he snarled.

  Dennis said nothing, looking down at the body sprawled on the slush-covered ground, then up at the twisting Tsurani. ‘Your man stilled two of our swords,’ Dennis finally hissed at last.

  Asayaga said, ‘At least your hothead died a warrior’s death, by the blade. Fukizama died a dishonourable death and this is the last time any man of the Kodeko will say that name. His ancestors turn their eyes away from him.’

  Dennis continued to look at the corpse in amazement, then at last he said, ‘We waste time.’

  Gregory stepped between the two leaders and overturned a large jar of stew on the road. ‘You’re both wasting time.’ Tinuva was already dragging away the Kingdom soldier and would cut down the Tsurani. He would leave no signs for the Dark Brothers to know what had occurred here.

  Dennis walked away, heading to the front of the men.

  The twin columns started to move, Asayaga sprinting to the front of his own line.

  They marched for a mile, then came to a small clearing, then halted.

  Less than ten minutes later, Gregory came up the trail. He moved past the waiting men and pointed to a barely noticeable side trail leading off to the north-west. ‘We must go that way,’ he said. He then took a small jar out of his backpack and started splashing a steaming fluid around the clearing.

  Dennis threw him a questioning look, and the Natalese Ranger said, ‘The men are carrying enough hot food to start a small festival. The moredhel will be able to smell it a mile away. This will make it tough for them to determine which path we’ve taken.’ He motioned for the four Tsurani who had come up the trail with him, behind the main body of men, and indicated they should rejoin their comrades. ‘I’ll wait here for Tinuva,’ he said. ‘He should be along shortly and we’ll do what we can to mask your tracks.’

  Asayaga and Dennis exchanged glances, then without comment both motioned for their men to move up the indicated trail.

  The wind was at their backs, the frozen ground beneath their feet crunching. He looked up. The trees lining the tops of the ridges to either flank were swaying, cracking under their icy loads. The snow had ceased, the clouds were blowing away, and the stars were coming out. Moonlight illuminated the mountains and the trail ahead.

  They headed north, fleeing into unknown lands.

  • Chapter Six •

  Pursuit

  FOG CLOAKED THE PASS.

  Bovai dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a human. Like most of his race he had little affection for horses and let the human renegades who brought them north care for them.

  The moredhel scouts who had just rushed the stockade parted at his approach. Their uneasy manner and slight shifting of weight from one foot to the other – signs impossible for the human renegades who rode with Bovai to notice – signalled to the moredhel leader that something was dreadfully wrong even before he reached the gates of the fortification. He stopped inside the open gates.

  His dark gaze swept the compound, taking in every detail: the bodies of his warriors lying where they had fallen, the stains of blood in the slush, the wisp of smoke still coiling from the chimney of the barracks hall and the fact that the place was empty. The enemy had fled.

  The Lesser Chieftain of Clan Raven raised his head and sniffed the air. Nothing: just the scent of the raw wind, smoke, dead bodies, but nothing living, other than his own followers.

  He walked to the open gate through which he had just ridden and knelt to examine the neck wounds of two headless corpses sprawled on the ground.

  Clean blows, single strikes, the spray of frozen blood indicating that the killer had decapitated one, swirled around, blood flecking off his blade and then taken the second with a back-handed blow.

  Masterful.

  The fact that one of the dead was a nephew bothered him not at all. If the youth was so foolish as to be taken in such a manner then he was better off dead; besides, his father was a fool.

  He absently nudged the body with the toe of his boot, it was unyielding, beginning to freeze into the icy slush, dead most likely since the evening before.

  The troop of wood goblins coming up the road behind him approached the open gate. They slowed to a stop, grounding their spear staffs and battle clubs, heads lowered, eyes averted in fear. Their primitive minds knew that the moredhel did not take kindly to others seeing the bodies of their fallen.

  He ignored them. In the shadowy mist he saw one of his riders coming back from his scouting ride to the far side of the pass, horse breathing heavily, plumes of steamy mist blowing from its nostrils. It was Tancred, his Master of the Hunt and he did not look pleased.

  Dismounting, he approached, eyes as cold as the morning frost.

  ‘They have joined together.’ Tancred pointed out the bodies of both Kingdom soldiers and Tsurani warriors.

  Bovai nodded. ‘That is obvious,’ he replied, speaking slowly, his voice barely a whisper, as was his fashion. He inclined his head slightly toward the carnage: thirty-two brothers dead, and only eleven bodies of the humans and the alien Tsurani left behind.

  Golun, his second-in-command and leader of the scouts, was silent, arms folded, eyes darting back and forth, watching the exchange between the two. Bovai gave him a quick look, a warning. Golun nodded almost imperceptibly and turned away to continue his examination of the tracks in the slush.

  ‘That they joined and attacked this post is most interesting,’ Bovai continued. There was a flicker of a smile on his face. ‘Their dread of us overcomes their own petty hatred of one another at the moment.’

  ‘Hartraft is the human leader,’ Tancred announced.<
br />
  He could see several of his followers, standing at a respectful distance, look towards him now with interest. Golun, down on his knees running a fingertip along the edge of a footprint in the ice barely looked up, his intent stare indicating agreement.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Bovai asked, attention focused on Tancred.

  ‘I thought I recognized him back at the fort, on the trail when we pursued them.’

  ‘Thought, or know for certain?’

  ‘I am certain, my chieftain. I know his track, his ways on the trail. I followed for nearly five miles.’ Tancred nodded back to the crest of the mountain, the road disappearing into the swirling mists.

  ‘They moved on opposite sides of the path, the Tsurani to one side, the Kingdom men to the other. Traps were laid, cunning was shown.’

  ‘Where is Kavala?’ Bovai asked, his tone casual. ‘He went with you?’

  Tancred hesitated.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You’ll see his body when we renew the pursuit. It was an eledhel arrow that slew him.’

  Bovai could sense the injured pride. So even his Master of the Hunt had been surprised and bested. Was there fear in his heart now as well?

  He gazed intently at Tancred, probing his thoughts. A hunt leader could not show fear, or let it linger in his stomach, for others would sense it soon enough, taste that fear and become possessed by it. They would hesitate when an order was given, and uncertainty would claim their life as readily as the blade of the enemy.

  Golun was behind him, eyes fixed on Tancred, waiting for a response.

  ‘You want revenge, don’t you? Your pride is injured because they surprised you and that one was killed.’ He avoided using the name of the fallen moredhel.

  Tancred nodded.

  ‘Two tracks turned off from the trail and I dismounted to examine them. One was eledhel, the other heavy, I think the track of the dark-skinned companion of Hartraft, a Natalese Ranger. I should have sensed them; how I did not is difficult to understand.’

  ‘And then your companion was killed.’